2019-08-17 - A Meeting of Victims

Rebecca is home as per the scheduled meeting. Being the personal assistant she is, she's laid out an assortment of snacks and beverages for the "guests", if she can really call them that. Since returning from California and her sister's funeral, she's thrown herself into her work.

Tonight she's wearing tailored black slacks with a pale blue silk tank and a black cardigan with crystal embellishments at the collar. Her apartment is eclectic, sort of industrial artistic.

Alexander, for various reasons, is trying to Fit In, and not Be Obviously Crazy at the apartments today. Which means he's actually dressed up from his usual, with off-the-rack dress slacks that at least fit, a button-down shirt, and a battered leather briefcase that looks like it originally belonged to a lawyer in the 1920s or something. Of course, he can't really do anything about his general air of wary intensity, so instead of looking like a homeless man, he more looks like he's going to insist you listen to a spiel on the Book of Mormon.

At least it makes getting through security a little easier, and assuming that Rebecca doesn't change her mind at the last minute, he makes his way up to the apartment, all slouch and paranoia, but taking a moment to compose himself before he raps on the door. Three strong taps. A pause. Three more.

With all the craziness that's been going on in town, which some know to be the norm for Gray Harbor, Byron Thorne's been kept incredibly busy these days. These unsolved murders in his building (and elsewhere, in truth) along with several other incidents that plagued the Bayside Apartments in recent weeks as well as his own personal demons have, well, he still has some catching up to do. To be expected, he's dressed well, in a dark blazer and black slacks. A darkly striped tie neatly done at the collar.

"I know that this is probably going to be a difficult conversation for you, Miss Carr." He starts, a pause when he hears the knock at the door, "But the more information that we have, the more that we get to work with and figure out what happened that evening. And hopefully, /how/ it happened." He won't offer to get the door for her, though he knows full well who was invited.

Rebecca nods to Byron. She hasn't been terribly talkative; likely she is saving her energy for having to discuss painful things with strangers. When the knock comes at the door, she crosses to it, checks out the peephole, and undoes the deadbolt. She opens the door and asks, "Mister Clayton, I presume? Please come in. Mister Thorne is here already."

She is, as always, prompt - the British are sticklers to punctuality and several years living across the pond has instilled in Isabella the same proclivities, so as the rest get settled at the apartment, the third of the intrepid City Hall trio arrives with very little fanfare.

That isn't to say that she hasn't been busy before then.

She has elected to go up the stairs, if nothing else than to get some cardio in and burn that restless energy that seems part and parcel of her no matter what she does, and where she is, emerging through the doors leading into Rebecca's floor and taking brisk strides down the hallway. Her hair is free today, windblown and tousled around her face that she's busily attempting to secure with a single pen - an academic's favorite weapon, and given her gender, she has mastered the small bit of feminine sorcery that allows her to take the sheer volume of it in a twist and secure it to the back of her head with just that and without any additional assistance from a clip. She's carrying her own things - a satchel and a folio bursting with paper, though it is less in connection with their current troubles and more attached to the research that brought her back to her hometown in the first place, as well as a few other bits and pieces that she decided to look up while she was in the library.

Compared to Byron and Alexander, she's casually dressed - fitted jeans, sandals and a loose, sleeveless top, her moonstone pendant glittering against the fabric her, sunkissed skin dewy from the humidity outside. She wears no cosmetics, leaving just a touch of her favorite ocean-safe sunscreen on her complexion and clear gloss on her lips. At seeing Alexander's taller form already at the door to Rebecca's apartment, she picks up the pace, flashing him a smile, imbued with genuine warmth and paired with that ever-present flare of mischief in the green-and-gold depths. "Oh, good," she murmurs to him. "I'm right on time." She reaches up to push her aviators further up her hair.

When the door opens, she lifts her fingers to Rebecca in greeting. "Miss Carr, I'm Isabella Reede." A fellow survivor of the present ordeals.

Alexander turns, hearing steps on the floor, and smiles as Isabella approaches. "You are. And it's good to see you." His expression carries the warmth that the somewhat stilted words do not. When the door opens, he steps back a little to let Isabella take the lead, but offers a more strange and uncertain smile to Rebecca. "Miss Carr. Apologies for intruding. I," he pauses as she invites them in, "I think we've met. Once before. You told me about Mr. Vydal's establishment. Thank you for that." Then he's slinking his way in, pausing only for a moment when he notes that Byron is already there. A tentative nod in that direction. "Thorne."

Now that the gang's all here, Byron, with a glass of wine in hand, idly takes up one of the smaller cookies available to the guests. As he's nibbling quietly on that, he waits for Carr to allow the others entry. For this brief moment, his dark gaze examines the delectable treat held within his slender fingers, turning it from one side to the other after the initial bite. It's an idle act, his mind is elsewhere. He then pops the remaining bit into his mouth, chewing politely.

"I had informed Clayton and Reede about what you had told me. Isabella Reede had lost her mother in all of this as well." It's so easy to forget these things after so many people had lost loved ones.

"Ah yes, I vaguely remember that," to Alexander. "Hello Miss Reede, please do come in." She leads them to the dining table which looks like it was once in a bakery of some sort, with a heavy gear system to raise and lower it. There is a bottle of red wine and glasses, or water available, along with a bucket of ice, and a nearby coffee maker has some brewed in a carafe with mugs at hand. Veggies and fruit with dips are also there, as well as some fancy looking crackers and cookies.

Rebecca has a glass of wine for herself, which she sips from after sitting at the table. At Byron's words she says quietly, "I am sorry for your loss, Miss Reede. I understand we are not alone in our losses either."

"I bet." She flashes Alexander a quick wink, followed by a softer, quieter: "You, too."

Isabella takes a breath, necessary, perhaps, to gird herself for what follows before she does, indeed, take the lead, never one to hesitate in charging first into the breach. Green eyes alight on Byron immediately, always in-tune with her surroundings - almost extraordinarily so, but before she can quip or say something clever and bladed in greeting, his contemplative expression stops her. Lashes lid as she observes her childhood friend.

Banished thoroughly, however, by his introduction. The braided black ribbon she has made after the first one had been lost suddenly feels weighted by a ball and chain - the only apparent sign that she is in mourning.

Hearing the words would be difficult from anyone, regardless of their position, and there's a slight tightening of the hinge of the young woman's jaw when she's forced to confront her loss in the midst of multiple people - and one a relative stranger - out of necessity. "...you also, Miss Carr," she says, her voice low; the better to mask the pain she has yet to fully process, and the anger she has yet to truly unleash. "I know what we have to ask you is probably going to be difficult, if we had a choice, I wouldn't want you to relive what happened at all. But it would help us if you could tell us about what happened that night."

Alexander is trying to be on good behavior. He is. But this table is fascinating, and he stares with open interest, and doesn't sit down until he's completed a circuit of it, staring at the gear system with fixed intensity. Only afterwards does he seem to twitch, mumble an apology, and move to take a seat, finding one that lets him watch Rebecca and the door, if possible. His hands shift and dance a little against each other, and he doesn't reach for any of the treats, but his voice is soft as he adds to Isabella's words, "Condolences for your loss. There have been too many." His attention then fixes on her with a frank study that is, unfortunately, both intense and rude.

There's no use holding back the questions and inquiries regarding these deaths any longer. As soon as everyone else looks comfortable, Byron starts, "At first, I had thought that the killer may have..." His brow furrows, his thoughts forming. Before he continues, he releases a sigh, "I'd thought that the killer either pulled your sister and yourself into a dream or... somehow entered your apartment from.. the other side. Similar to where you found yourself, maybe, when you retrieved those bones?" So many things are linking up to one another in odd ways. The bones. These murders.

"That said," He looks to Isabella now, "There are other theories. Only because physical evidence was found at a couple of the other crime scenes. That doesn't explain how the killer got through our gates and security, however, but.." Now his eyes turn to Alexander, looking on the man in silence. "I will let Miss Carr explain what she experienced."

Rebecca grimaces, steeling herself as she can already feel the cold, liquid lead in her belly at the very thought of describing her sister's murder. She takes in a slow breath and releases it. "My sister was set up to sleep on the couch, and was messing around on her phone while I was finishing up some work on my computer." She gestures to the couch, and past it, along the wall, the desk setup with computer equipment. "I heard her flailing around suddenly and rushed over, and there was blood every. Her throat had been slashed open. It was all over her, the couch, the floor, her phone, the coffee table..."

Her eyes go a bit distant as she rememebers, because she cannot ever forget. It's burned into her memory permanently. "I felt something...touching me. Trying to cut me, but it couldn't quite manage enough pressure to part flesh. I couldn't see anyone or hear anyone. Just felt it. I tried to stop the bleeding, called 9-1-1, but it was already too late. She'd bled out." She picks up her wineglass for a deep drought.

"Felt." Alexander's voice is toneless. He glances sidelong to meet Byron's look, an upward tilt of his shoulder, but his attention soon fixes back to Rebecca. "But not saw. Did you hear any signs of a person, or smell, or see anything that looked out of the ordinary beyond the damage done?" Each question asked precisely, neutrally.

Byron, himself, has nothing else to add. Some recent information that was told to him has him thinking, but for now, he'll allow Carr to describe the incident in details and for the investigator to inquire. He had heard this story once before, perhaps, not in as much detail as Rebecca cares to share today, but he can imagine it all happening in his mind. Remaining quiet, he takes another small sip from wine glass.

Rebecca shakes her head at Alexander's questions. "It...might be easier to just show you. Byron spoke about the other side. I assume everyone here is aware of these things? And abilities?" She taps her temple to indicate her mental proficiency. "I apologize as I'm only now learning fully about these things. I was quite in the dark until I came here."

There's an uncomfortable shift from her side of the room. While Isabella has set down her things in a courteous and out of the way place, there's a tension on her shoulders that only grows when Rebecca asks the question. "If you're related to the Baxters, that's not surprising," she finally says quietly. "Whatever you could give us, Miss Carr. I know it's difficult."

Alexander sits back, considering Rebecca with dark eyes. "Yes. It would be easier for me if you could show me. I can help. If you like." A long pause. "It might not be easier for you, however. It can be...intense. I can try to relax you. During. If you want." It's tentative, and from the way his gaze drops, he clearly intends to be told no.

Byron's eyes narrow at Rebecca's suggestion, looking her over for a long moment. She was new to town and new to any of this, but could she really...? He quietly sips at his cup, seemingly going along with the group as a whole. "It always surprises me that there are those who have lived here all their lives and still have no idea what goes on." With slow steps, he takes up a seat near the others, shifting to set his wine glass down on a nearby counter. "But then again, I'd forgotten almost completely about the strangeness surrounding this town. Only to be rudely reminded a month or so after I'd returned home." So many years ago.

"Intense or not, I prefer not to be�altered in my thinking or emotions, Mister Clayton. But thank you for the offer." Rebecca is a bit of a control freak in that respect. She doesn't even like to take allergy medication, and one glass of wine is her personal hard limit. Focus is everything for her. "I can show you all if you'd like. And yes, apparently my family were once Carrs, with a name change some generations back. I'm not entirely sure on the significance of that, and I'd appreciate it if you could tell me. Apparently there is a woman in town who may be my cousin, by the name of Andrea Johnson? And only a few days after I came here, my boss and others all wound up Lost for a little bit. When that gas explosion happened downtown. It's been a crash course in the bizarre."

Alexander inclines his head. "I don't blame you at all, Miss Carr. Just thought that I would offer." He reaches out, then, for one of the snacks. But seems more inclined to play with it in his hands than eat it. "Although Miss Reede can explain in more detail, it seems that your family, the Carrs, spring from the same bloodline as a family known as the Baxters. Both myself and Miss Reede are also of that bloodline, although different branches. And others in the city, as well." He grimaces. "The family has an unusual past, and some sort of significant relationship to Gray Harbor's strangeness. I'm sorry. That you got involved."

It's an odd thing to be the only Non-Baxter blooded within a room. This should be, unlike these other poor souls, Byron Thorne should be the least cursed of them all. And yet, he has a mind to think otherwise. Not with everything that he's gone through in his life and especially what had more recently come up that threatens to destroy this small empire that he's building for himself. "I, I had informed them that you were of Baxter blood once you relayed that information to me." He decides to bring up, "Since Isabella, at least, was mapping out her own bloodline. It would seem that this town is filled with Baxters." For good or bad.

She is silent for a moment, but only a moment. When the topic of genealogy comes up, however, Isabella finally pushes off the wall and strides towards the refreshments, marveling silently at the settings there - clearly a young woman who likes doing things properly.

"I can give you the broad scope of the family tree," Isabella says as she reaches out to pour herself a glass of wine, but doesn't sit, tension and her inherent restlessness rendering her unable to do so. "But I'm afraid I'm not quite sure where your branch of the family fits in. Alexander is descended from the Baxters' matrilineal line. I'm descended from the patrilineal - through the male heir of the original Baxter couple that settled here in the 1800s. Alexander is descended from that male heir's sister, Elizabeth."

Isabella pauses. "My full name is Isabella Baxter Reede." Her first name being the Spanish form for Elizabeth.

"Is there a Kenneth in either of your lines? That was my great-grandfather who changed our name to Carr." She looks between them. "Well then, Mister Clayton, if you are amenable, I can show you what happened." If he agrees, Rebecca locks eyes with him for a moment, then closes hers. He can feel a tentative knock on the door of his mind, a request for access, to show him what she experienced on that night. If she is allowed in, she replays her memory of it, the one burned into her soul, with all the fear and horror and helplessness associated with it. There is no sound or sight or smell of an assailant, but he can feel the pressure, a pinch in the wrist. A sharp, slicing pain jolts up from the bend of the wrist, running up the length of the arm all the way to the ball of the shoulder. But it doesn't break the skin. No blood, just the feeling of pressure and pain that jumps through the body. Then again, a second slicing-stab that tries to cut into the chest, into the heart, and then one more feeling - this time, the pressure is on the throat, dragged across the chin, ear-to-ear.But it never breaks the skin.

Alexander thinks about it, closing his eyes for a moment and going back through his own memories. "...no. Not that I was made aware of. I don't think any of us have done a full and total genealogy, if only because the records aren't always easily accessed. I know mostly what Miss Reede has already shared." His eyes open again, and he simply nods to the offer. His eyes meet hers without fear, and when she knocks on his mind, he opens it to her - it's a quarantined sort of space that he allows her into, for her to play the memory in without contamination from his own thoughts and imaginings. He doesn't close his eyes, but his expression goes distant - to those watching, it's clear that he's no longer seeing the woman sitting at her place at the table. At least not as she is.

He shifts, uncomfortably, one hand coming up to trace the line of those attempted attacks on his own skin as he feels them. "...this could very well be remotely deployed healing," he murmurs. "But it's more controlled, more practiced, than the crude violence I've seen other such users perpetrate in the heat of the moment. This person knows how to use their abilities like a knife."

While the Baxter family line has come up in his presence many a time, even having seen it written out via sticky notes once before, Byron had no real intention to memorize any of it. He had passed along the information given him to the other two Baxter-blooded, having no idea where in this web of Baxter blood the Carr's truly fit into. "Whichever of you are related to the Johnsons who owned the mortuary would be related to Kenneth Carr." All that he recalls is the Johnson name coming up in this Baxter family research somewhere. "That may be something to inquire with Andi." Though, he honestly, doesn't know what importance any of that has on anything.

Then he is silent, watching this exchange between Alexander and Rebecca. First noting Alexander's acceptance of the image, before that careful, almost scrutinizing gaze looks on Rebecca the whole time. She was doing something that he only learned to do. Something he'd only done once with a still picture, not an entire memory. His eyes narrow for this brief moment, a hand reaching over for his glass to finish it off entirely now.

What's mentioned, however, brings his attention back to Alexander. "Remotely from how far?" He asks, before his own growing irritation gets the better of him, "This is far different than destroying everything in my bathroom medicine cabinet."

"I think I may have innately resisted, without realizing I was doing so. Kelly clearly failed to do so. But if I had, I'd likely have been dead right beside her," Rebecca says with a clenching of her jaw. Her eyes open again as the memory ends, and she looks greenish and slightly ill from it. Reliving such a thing is not easy. She blinks at Byron. "Your bathroom cabinet too? I thought maybe we had a small earthquake. I came home to find all its contents on the bathroom floor."

"In theory? Miles. As far as the perpetrator could reach with their strength," Alexander murmurs. He taps his own skin lightly, then lets his hand drop. "But it doesn't look like either you or your sister became lost at any point. The attack happened in the real. Just using," a grimace, "difficult to counter means." And then Rebecca mentions that her cabinet, too, got messed up, and he actively groans. Raising a hand to cover his face. "...Christ. Sorry. Very sorry." A sidelong look to Byron. "Theoretically there's nothing different about it at all. Simply the application of power at a distance to create an effect. Although, clearly, the perpetrator is far more, ah, skilled at doing so than," he clears his throat, "our experimental group."

See, Byron didn't realize that he wasn't the only one affected by the destruction of the medicine cabinets. He put full blame on Alexander there, only because he knows the guy. That had to be the reason why /his/ medicine cabinet was randomly targeted. This, however. He blinks when Rebecca mentions that the carnage of pills and medication happened to her as well. Shit. "I thought this was an isolated case because.." Clayton. Breathing in deeply, he pulls out his phone to tap a non-too pleased message to one of the other residents of his building. His mother. Just the idea that all of his tenants could have suffered this same fate makes him, well, he does shoot an annoyed glance Alexander's way.

"Could it be done from afar because of our...relation to the killer? Is it that man? William Gohl? Was he related to the Baxter family?" Rebecca asks with a deep frown furrowing her brow. She helped bring that bastards bones back after all. She shakes her head at Byron. "It's been happening to me. I haven't asked my boss, I figured it was just me."

Alexander twitches under that annoyed look, but manages to neither wilt and cringe, nor snarl and snap back in guilty annoyance. He takes a deep breath, and sighs. "It could be done by afar because, Miss Carr, people like you and me can find people's minds at a distance. Theoretically, if you can find a mind, you can target them, if your power in another area is as great. How far...that's going to vary by person. But outside the hall, or even from the parking lot? That could be very possible."

Another deep breath. "Your medicine cabinet seems to have...exploded because of an experiment I did to test the hypothesis. Which seems to have gone a little...awry. I apologize. It was never meant to target anyone or anything in this building. And, yes, Gohl was also a Baxter." A long pause. "We think that he's behind these murders. Or, his spirit. Ghost. Whatever. He was, also, my great-great-great grandfather." A pause. "I'm sorry. About that."

Byron was about to chime in right there that Alexander was part Gohl too, simply out of annoyance, but the investigator takes it upon himself to reveal just that. So far, there's no response from Mary Thorne. She's probably trying his patience. Reclining back against his seat, though he looks far from comfortable now, he asks Alexander, since he is the man with all the information. "And how exactly does this experiment work? You piggy back off of," He doesn't know how to address them, these different aspects, "say Lilith. What she can do. And then what? You're standing in /your/ bathroom, showing this other exactly what it looks like? And then they decide to ruin your day, probably with your consent." Unlike with everyone else. Those poor elderly or sick in need of their medication to live comfortable lives. Oh Alexander.

"But I've always had to have at least met the person, Mister Clayton. And my sister was only here for a few days. So how did they find her? She's not from here, she was just visiting." Rebecca sips her wine again, tapping manicured nails on the table top. At his relation to Gohl she swallows hard. "And I apologize for bringing your great-great-great grandfather's bones back from the other side."

Whichever of you are related to the Johnsons who owned the mortuary would be related to Kenneth Carr.

Isabella has been silent throughout the talk about the medicine cabinet and the pills, mulling over the family tree information in her mind and Byron's words. Finally, she shakes her head slowly. "Suzanne Baxter is my great-aunt," she supplies to Byron. "She's the one who married Mitchell Johnson, who owned the funeral parlor. As far as I know, the Johnsons are only tied to the Baxters by marriage. If Andi Johnson is a cousin of Miss Carr's, Kenneth would have to be somehow tied to Suzanne's branch, but the only other person I know who occupies the same branch is my grandfather...unless a Baxter from another branch happened to also marry a Johnson, somehow. Or if my grandfather has a sibling that he doesn't know about. Which wouldn't be unheard of, honestly."

The annoyed looks shot between Byron and Alexander has her sighing a little, but otherwise she doesn't comment on it. She takes a drink from her wine and turns her green eyes to Rebecca. "Would you happen to know why Kenneth Baxter changed his name to Carr? If he had moved away from Gray Harbor, why would he bother? Most of the mysterious stigma surrounding the family name would be localized here. If he had moved to a different part of the country, he could just be any Baxter. It's not an uncommon surname."

"When I experimented with it, I served more as a...targeting system, you might say. Albeit with a willing target. I reached out for their mind, and the mind of someone who can move things without touching them. The willing target fed me a picture of the room they were in - just as Miss Carr did the memory - and then I gave that information to the mover, who exerted power. They always had the range, they just needed to know how to direct it." A wince from Alexander. "Although clearly something...leaked. With Miss Winslow, I could theoretically do the same - just show her /where/ to exert her abilities and against who, and she could..." his gesture is sharp and final. "I think it would be easier, with a healer, than a mover. Because the mover needs an external picture, while a healer just needs to know where the warm body is."

A guilty look towards Rebecca. "That wasn't your fault, Miss Carr. No one had any way of knowing what would be unleashed. But we're doing everything we can to stop it." After a moment, he adds, "If we're dealing with a ghost, who is to say you didn't meet them? And they do appear to have some manner of living accomplice. You're working in public, you meet a lot of people. If someone already knew they wanted to target your family, it might be easy to arrange a close enough brush to recognize your mind."

Byron /knew/ someone's relative married a Johnson somewhere down the line. He nods slowly once Isabella supplies this. "I recalled it mentioned. I just didn't know when and where in your family line." Though she does bring up a point. If the Johnsons only married a Baxter and Rebecca's ancestor somewhere up the line was a cousin of the Johnsons, but he /was/ also a Baxter... "It's all very convoluted, but not unsurprising yes. The Johnsons were just," Plagued, "They just have a lot of Baxter connections it would seem. Eventually, having off-spring of that blood line."

Sure, he listens to Alexander's explanation, making mental notes of these steps, in case they'll come in handy some day. But what Rebecca says has him asking, "Maybe you were actually the target since it was you who came into William Gohl's bones. Not your sister. Despite the shared Baxter bloodline." It's then that his phone buzzes. It was Mary Thorne, letting him know that, yes, her medicine cabinet went mad. "And I wonder why she hadn't said anything about this before." He says out loud to himself in an exasperated tone, typing out a response.

Rebecca shakes her head at Isabelle. "I have no idea. My brother simply did a records search and came up with this information. He's a police officer in California." She listens to Alexander's explanation and shivers run down her spine. "That's a terrifying thought. One that is making me consider becoming a hermit," she points out. She shrugs at the absolution from Alexander and looks between the three guests. "Still. I feel partly responsible. I was gullible and let him trick me."

"I don't think it would be possible with a....mover."

Isabella glances down at her fingers. "When I was a child, I've tried to move and affect people and animals before." There's a hint of a smirk. "Plenty of rats in the basement before Daddy finally just gave up and called an exterminator." In the days where she embraced her gifts, and used without a thought of the consequences. "If I'm right, there's no way someone like me can affect a living body like that."

Just talking about it grates, makes that sense of discomfiture grow, but the archaeologist takes another drink of her wine and sets the empty glass down on the table to refill it, her fingers absently coming up to toy with the moonstone pendant around her neck. "But the family tree is messy." she says, glancing over to Byron with a resigned expression. "I had no idea how much until I started looking into it seriously."

Rebecca's response has her frowning in thought, before taking another swallow of wine. "Do you have any other relatives who might be able to find out?" she wonders. "I apologize for pressing, but if we intend to stop this, the more we know, the better off we'll be."

There's a thoughtful nod at Byron's words. "It's possible. That you were the target. But I don't know why. I still don't know why Gohl is doing this, or choosing the targets he's choosing. The Addingtons make sense. And the Carrs? Your family were the one who requested his bones be disinterred. Which I get the impression he never wanted to happen. He'd like to be reburied, and I admit, I've wondered if we shouldn't just do that. And see what happens. But why the coroner's? Or Miss Reede's mother? The coroner didn't do anything except look at the bones, which at least three others have done. And Miss Reede's mother has the least connection of anyone. It's...frustrating."

It's only after he goes on that bit of a rant that he realizes that Isabella is right there. An apologetic look is thrown in her way, and he clears his throat. As if to distract himself, his attention shifts to Byron again. "Who hadn't said anything?"

"So after the bones were exhumed what happened? They buried in our reality, then exhumed by the Carrs where they found themselves in the other place?" Byron asks, eyes darting between the other faces, before they light upon Rebecca, "That's where you, a Carr, found them. It's all mysterious and interesting. I just wonder how it got there in the first place. And I'm only saying this because he was institutionalized, somewhere on that side, at one point. A mysterious place, as far as I can tell." He waves a dismissive hand when he says this, "Where they keep people like us for various reasons. Now, I don't have much details regarding any of this, but that's all I know. I think he was being experimented on or worked on. Then he died in their care, I believe. Which suddenly became reality." He looks to Isabella now and her experience with Gohl's last stand.

At Alexander's question, he murmurs with a shake of his head, "No one of importance."

"I'm afraid not," Rebecca admits to Isabelle. No one else in my family will even discuss anything about the Baxters. They simply refuse to talk about the family, or Gray Harbor, at all. Which is why I moved here without knowing there might be danger." She nods to Alexander. "Yes, the Carrs requested he be disinterred. His voice in the bones, he wanted to be buried. I thought it was some innocent who had been lost over there and just wanted to be laid to rest." She frowns. "The coroner is who we brought the bones to and asked her to burn them. He did NOT want to be burned. It may have been the cause. But the librarian was who brought Chef Vydal and I there, and neither of them seem to be targets."

Green eyes lift to meet Alexander's dark ones across the table, though she says nothing, face rendered inscrutable by so much that she doesn't express.

"We might have to revisit Doctor Faust's connection to all of this," Isabella murmurs at the last. "As much as I hate to say it, the last thing I want is to distress her further. My mother, we know, is distantly related to the Ghoul and it appears that the two main lines of the family have a disturbing penchant for murder. It wouldn't surprise me if there was some family in-fighting, on top of everything else since all of this appears to be following the theme of grudges that have managed to spill from their graves."

Byron's glance towards her has her pausing against the absent fiddle she makes against her pendant, feeling the stitches still, somewhere underneath her top. "From what I gathered from the incident, he was arrested after a shootout with Sheriff Addington's men. I assume he ended up in the asylum after that." Her temper bleeds through her words, pushed through teeth that are slowly clenching.

More people - Vydal is familiar, his name is on the patisserie, but a librarian? She tilts her head curiously.

"Harper, yes," Alexander murmurs. "But she hasn't been targeted at all. No one in those who found the bones except you, Miss Carr, seem to have been - if it was recent outrage, then that wouldn't be true, I think." He grimaces, leans back in his seat, and absently eats the snack he's been playing with all this time before pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes closing as he thinks. "And the good Doctor suggests that Gohl felt that he was set up by the Addingtons. That they were the murderers." His expression is neutral about this.

"I wonder if it is possible to find the mind of a ghost? Would it feel different enough to be picked out from the masses? Perhaps if one already had a connection." It's a thoughtful question. "Not that I disagree with you, Miss Reede. Dr. Faust must have some other connection to the matter than just wanting the bones destroyed."

When he opens his eyes again, there's a flick of them towards Byron at the 'no one of importance' remark. He studies the other man, silently, for a few moments.

"Imagine if they were destroyed." Byron pipes up, eyes on Alexander for a long, thoughtful moment, "That would have been devastating." It's not a taunt. It's a statement and fact! Turning to Rebecca now, when Alexander brings up Harper, his brow arches, "She was there as well? It's strange to find out who all was involved in these otherworldly activities. It's a small town, but it goes to show just how busy our lives really are." His, especially. His throat clears, "Vivian is still investigating the institute. There are those who can find ways into it with relative ease it seems." He's not quite sure how that works himself.

When using a ghost is brought up, Thorne asks, "It would be interesting if we could test that out on a friendly ghost. How many have you have encountered one? Gohl aside, if that's what this is." A pause, "I have my doubts."

"If the Addingtons set him up, why isn't he just targetting them? I don't seem to be related to that family at all." Rebecca frowns and swirls her wine in the glass. "I haven't encountered any ghosts that I recognize as such. I'm not sure we found any answers tonight, just more questions," she notes to the others. "Is there anything else you need, or anything else I should know? I have an early wakeup tomorrow," she points out.

As hypotheses are bandied about, talks about experimentation, Isabella shifts uneasily, draining her glass of wine and sets it on the table. "The best person I know who we could ask about ghosts in the area doesn't live here anymore," she says. "My aunt Mary was a paranormal investigator before she decided on a more lucrative career change. She still moonlights in New Orleans as one, sometimes. But if it's a question that needs to be answered, maybe we ought to find one and try." There's a glance to Alexander and Byron at that - her agreement that it might be a good idea to test out the theory is a reluctant one, but whatever her personal misgivings are about exploring the Talent are clearly ones she can push aside in favor of getting this done.

With Rebecca's words, she gathers up her things. "If I find out how Kenneth is related to the rest of the tree, I'll let you know," she tells her. "Otherwise I don't have any more questions."

"I haven't ever seen anything I'd call a ghost. Not in the real," Alexander says. His gaze remains on Byron, dark and blank, at that helpful statement of fact regarding the bones. "It would have been irritating. Yes." He holds the look for a moment or two longer, before he shifts his attention to Rebecca. Socially adept, the man isn't, but he does recognize a dismissal when he hears one, and rises ungracefully to his feet. "I'm sorry, Miss Carr. We've overtaxed your time. But thank you for sharing what you know with us. I know it was difficult." A hesitation. "If there's ever anything I can do to help, please don't hesitate to reach out?" There's a brief nod to Isabella, however; he's up for the experiment, if a ghost can be found.

With things coming to a close, Byron rises from his seat, taking up his glass to place it somewhere more accessible to clean up. "Thank you for your time, Miss Carr. I know that it might not seem as if we learned anything today, but after hearing more about Mister Clayton's experiment, it's not something that I'd rule out even if we yet to figure out who could be remotely doing all of this. Vivian watched someone be murdered right before her eyes as well." He's about to say more to that, but thinks it's best not to add. "And /that/ has something to do with Gohl as well. Partly anyway."

As he leads the others to the door, he pauses for a brief moment, in thought, perhaps, before carrying on. "I will keep in touch, Miss Carr." He says, then turning to regard her with his full attention again, "And please, if anything strange happens while you're at the Bayside," The medicine cabinet incident, "Don't hesitate to let me know."