2019-08-27 - Summoning a Ghoul

Minerva had made the preparations for the seance a few days ago. No mirrors were uncovered, no windows were letting light in. It was the creepiest the apartment had looked in a long time.

And Minerva was dressed all in the signature black today. Her hair down and her missing eye covered with a patch. She wasn�t sure what else to wear so here she was. She�d given Alexander and company instructions to come up and knock. The door would be unlocked for them.

The table had been set up inside the sigil of ameth. She wasn�t sure that there would be any more protection from it, but she was going to try to protect people. The candles are lit, the table is spread out with all the occultist decor you could imagine. The puppies were sleeping in their crate and the spiders were...somewhere.

Since a canvas sack full of human bones tends to attract attention, Alexander has sorted all the remaining bones he was able to gather together and laid them neatly in a gym bag. This may have involved sneaking back into Penny's house and liberating her share. Maybe. Either way, he's got some bones in a bag, and is otherwise dressed as he usually is: threadbare t-shirt, jeans, and stompy work boots. He's with Isabella, since she's got the car, and he knocks briskly - three knocks, a pause, and three knocks. Once they're allowed in, he looks around, having never been in Minerva's apartment before. "Oh, I like this," he says, with no mockery whatsoever. "I've never done much in the way of a seance before. I don't think summoning angels or demons counts. And that never worked, anyway. Hi."

By contrast, Isabella has been here before, and is immediately cognizant of the changes. A novice when it comes to the occult - or at least in anything more advanced past the ancient belief systems of cultures she has had to study in pursuit of her doctorate - green-gold eyes sweep curiously through the space and its transformation into a spectral echo chamber. She arrives with Alexander, though she lets him do the honors this time, clad in the fashion of a young, twenty-something graduate student anywhere: jeans, boots to ward off the effects of meteorological instability, and a loose, short-sleeved linen top to ward away the lingering humidity. Her hair is pulled in its usual messy knot, dark locks framing her face.

"It's good to see you again, Minerva," she says, pausing to scrutinize their hostess, to inspect the injuries she remembers were on her after the Two if By Sea Incident. "How are you feeling?" Her expression does change immediately when she sees the puppies in the crate, and nearly makes a beeline for them. The look on her face makes it perfectly clear that she's absolutely a dog person, though considering her career and what she chooses for extracurricular activities, she can never keep one.

Minerva gives a soft smile, "Welcome." she tells them. "I'm sorry if it's a bit...dark, but peaceful places with little light tend to work best." she admits. Then there's a chuckle, "Hopefully we'll not have to burn down the place." she states. "And thank you for coming at such a late hour. I know we're hoping this works. Please come in and have a seat." she states.

Then there's a smile to Isabella, "It's good to see you as well, I apologize it is during a seance, but I hope that the event is educational...or we're all just going to think I'm crazy at the end of the day." she muses. "I'm feeling a lot better." she states. Then her eyes go to the puppies, "That is Azrael and Dumah. They had dinner and sleep like rocks." she tells her quietly.

Then she moves towards the table, "Alexander, you have part of our deceased?" she asks as she looks to him. Once she does, she takes her seat at the table.

"I'm always up late, anyway. Thank you for agreeing to let us participate," Alexander says, then pats the bag. "Right here." The dogs in the crate get a curious look, but hey, there's weird occult shit going on, and unless it's a particular conure, Alexander is always going to go for the weird over the furred. He smiles to see how Isabella reacts to them, though. Then his eyes flick back to Minerva. "Do you want me to lay them out in a specific way, or just...put them somewhere?"

"I'm always up late, anyway. Thank you for agreeing to let us participate," Alexander says, then pats the bag. "Right here." The dogs in the crate get a curious look, but hey, there's weird occult shit going on, and unless it's a particular conure, Alexander is always going to go for the weird over the furred. He smiles to see how Isabella reacts to them, though. Then his eyes flick back to Minerva. "Do you want me to lay them out in a specific way, or just...put them somewhere?"

"Well, don't jinx us," Isabella laughs, as always quick to don humor as armor, though there's an appreciative look at Minerva there at that small quip. Eyes quietly study her from where she stands - something past how she looks, remembering the bits of her past that she has imparted upon her in their last quiet conversation. When invited to take a seat, she does so, on the other side of the table from the woman and Alexander.

"I'm glad you're feeling better, and your new additions are adorable," she murmurs. "My father's always kept dogs." Azrael and Dumah - she recognizes the first name but not the second.

She folds her fingers on the table and waits, happy to leave the arranging of the bones to Alexander.

"It's better to do it with others. And if they are open minded it helps more." Minerva smiles to that. "That and if I get my head cut off you'll be able to alert the authorities." she winks. Then she's lifting a black veil to put over her head. "Just put the bones on the table however you would like. I think that you two might be the thing that draws him the most if anything draws him at all." she admits.

While Alexander arranges the bones, she starts to carefully call the spirits for protection before they get this show on the road.

"No one's head is going to get cut off," Alexander says, even though he can't KNOW that. He can only hope. He's nervous, and this comes out with the way he starts bringing out the bones. Each one is considered, almost caressed, and then placed down in a pattern around the table. It takes a little while, because he's almost obsessively meticulous about this, but eventually there's a geometric pattern that's as precise as he can make it, made out of human bone. Those who mess around with the Lesser Key of Solomon might recognize the inspiration, but working in only about half a skeleton has made it a bit hard to do the full thing, so it's just...suggestive.

"Ah hah. Hah hah hah. Hah..." It's a laugh that's not really a laugh, somewhat done mechanically because they are calling a serial killer and he has a penchant for slitting throats. There's a skeptical look glanced at the table again.

If anything draws him at all.

Green-gold eyes fall on Alexander at the wake of those words, Isabella's lips pressing faintly together - she doesn't confirm nor deny Minerva's assertions in that regard. With the bones laid out though, she has absolutely no idea what the pattern means, if anything. There's a curious look, a slight furrow of her brow, but otherwise she falls quiet again, her usual restlessness all the moreso today, fidgeting slightly in her seat.

"Alright. Now, seances don't always work out. There's a chance he might not show." Minerva states as she looks to them. "I'm going to start. If somehow this goes horribly wrong and I end up possessed, there's a bat by the door." she tells them. Wait, Minerva possessed might be a terrifying thing!

Oh well, too late for that though. She'd already called corners, now we just needed a seriel killer. What every goth girl dreams of.

The woman that's acting as a Medium reaches out to pick up one of the bones that belong to William and then sets it down exactly like Alexander had it, then she offers her hand to each of them, "Take each others hands please." she whispers.

"William Gohl. I call you into this space with us tonight for you to speak to us. There's been something done to you. I don't know why. But it's something that let your spirit out and now there's a lot of bad things being done, Mister Gohl. So come and speak. Speak to your actions and to your relative. Speak to people that want to hear your side of the story." Minerva states clearly and a bit louder than her normal tone.

Oh, right. The touching part of the evening. Alexander settles into place. His hand goes easily to Isabella - touching is no longer a problem there, but it takes him a moment to nerve himself up to take Minerva's hand. When he does, he takes a deep breath, and just tries to be...receptive? Or something like that. He concentrates. And then...goodness. His eyes widen. "William Gohl." A long pause. "Hello." He's manages to keep it neutral, if not friendly. "We wish to speak with you. If that's alright."

She reaches out, threading her fingers into Alexander's, and on Minerva's own alabaster ones. Isabella falls silent and waits, though her attention is an active thing - never passive or disinterested. She does, however, absently squeeze the investigator's hand.

The world shifts, blurs - this is unexpected, as if passing through a doorway and it takes everything inside of her not to bolt away. Her fingers twitch but she manages to keep her breaths level and steady, eyes fixed on William Gohl; the man whose spirit slaughtered her mother, sitting within breathing distance. White-hot veins of rage start to clamber up the sides of her face, unaddressed, and her poor companions would feel every effort she expends to bolt herself down on her seat and keep this civil and informative. It's difficult, but so far, so good.

But she doesn't trust herself to speak. Not yet.

Minerva's veiled head rises when she feels the shift, "Welcome, William." she states. Ewww, get off the bed she just washed those sheets! But hey, she could joke that she finally had a man in them. Ahah!

Focus!

"Do you wish to speak with us, Mister Gohl. I know that my friends have questions for you." she states in an even tone. Never let the spirit sense weakness.

Alexander isn't good at charm, or banter, even in comparison to a dead serial killer, possibly with lung disease. So he just sort of stares at Billy for a long moment, then says, "Sorry. For interrupting." It's not even sarcastic. "You've been killing people, Mr. Gohl. We'd like to know why. Why those specific people, and why now? Anyone who harmed you is long, long dead. As are you. Murder seems," a pause, "inefficient."

Addressed directly, Isabella's silence is a heavy, weighted thing, eyes flicking from the man himself to her companions and then back, as if unable to look away.

"What's wrong with your voice?" is what she elects to ask - she could have chosen to enumerate any other query on her list, but that is what comes out of her. She didn't hear this before in the Dream; he was being perfectly clear, and fit when he was attempting to riddle Sheriff Addington with bullet holes. And now he sounded sick.

"Thank you for that, and I do apologize for just...calling you up. But we didn't have another choice." Minerva admits. She doesn't release the hands of the others. Bad juju. "I've been alright, Mister Gohl. I think that Alexander has questions. I know that mine are much less pressing." she admits. Then there's a look to Isabella and a bit of a nod, good question.

Alexander's lips thin. "Yes. I know." It's curt. "And it's an impressive number, I won't lie." And he's not; he actually does sound - grudgingly - impressed. "But we'd like you to stop. Go back to sleep, or...whatever you were doing before you started killing people. We know that someone was trying to keep you asleep. It's time for you to go back to that state." It's laid out very reasonably. C'mon Billy, just lay down and die again, pretty please.

There's a glance over at Alexander and Minerva, before Isabella closes her eyes and takes another breath, buckling within herself in an attempt to grab Vivian's mantra with her bare hands. Try not to come from a place of anger.

It's difficult though, increasingly. "How are you connected to Thomas Addington?" Isabella asks, in a direct tail-end to Alexander's earlier remarks. "My friend..." She nods to Minerva. "Told me that when they were dragging you out in your arrest that you were screaming that everyone knows who the killers are. What's your beef with the Addington family? Is it because they tried to stop you? They're saying that you tried to destroy Gray Harbor."

Minerva doesn't really have a dog in this fight. She just tazed the shit out of the man that they are speaking with and it had stuck with him. That's good to know. She does listen though. To all of it. She waits until Isabella has asked her question and then she takes a breath, "Mister Gohl. The murders...did you do all of them yourself or were you helping a group?" she asks him.

"Yes, she ended up dying," Alexander says. And look how calm he is. Never you mind that his hands in Minerva's and Isabella's are tightening to the point of bone-grinding pain. He doesn't seem to notice. "Why? What makes you kill?" He leans forward a little bit - not enough to breach the perimeter of the space, but enough to peer into the image more closely. "And...are you still in the asylum? As well as...wherever you exist as a whatever you are? What did they do to you, there?"

That isn't a real answer, and Isabella's eyes start to narrow from where she sits. Her jaw sets, a faint ticking at the side of her throat - like a timebomb liable to blow out her jugular.

She knows precisely who the man is referring to, the eighth victim, and her fingers grip Alexander's tightly - as much for himself as it is for her, to prevent herself from lunging into the waking apparition. He seems to have the same idea, though, and it hurts. There's a wince, but she tries not to let it show.

"You said you had a long ways to go yet," she murmurs, her voice low in an effort to mask her rising fury. "Are you trying to beat your record?" A pause. "How do you choose who goes next?"

Minerva gives a look to the others and then back to the William. She didn't have any other questions at the moment. She gives Alexander's hand a squeeze, but not hard enough to hurt him.

"It is one of the big questions, yes." Alexander's frustration is visible. "Over in the asylum, they were doing something to you. Working on you. Somehow. What were they doing? Do you remember?" His voice has gone flat. Not with anger - although some of that is leaking through - but in concentration. For those who can feel such things, they can feel his power gathering, reaching out for...whatever that is, there. He's not sure he believes it IS William Gohl, or just a random collection of impressions empowered to kill, but his curiosity has the better of him. He wants to know if it has a mind.

No smokes, at least not from her - even if she was inclined to give him any, and it has been years since she quit, though Isabella still occasionally craves it. But she falls quiet now, since Alexander seems to actually be getting somewhere and she's not about to get in the way of his momentum.

"If I get you a cigarette you better not try anything. I'll zap you enough to make you feel like a lightning rod." Minerva tells him as she meets his gaze. "I doubt you get any in there." she states as she lets go of Alexander's hand, "Don't leave the circle." she tells them. She reaches under the cloth and produces a pack of lucky strikes. Because weirdos had all sorts of stuff. "Alright. Smokes." she lifts the package up.

There's just no way to be stoic when someone cuts your throat, whether that someone's a ghost or a living person. Alexander lets go of Isabella's hand and chokes as blood pours down his chest. He clutches at his throat, eyes wide, and sort of falls to the side. It's not graceful or controlled, and he's just trying, desperately, to put some sort of pressure on the wound, the salt-copper scent of his own VERY NEEDED blood filling the air as he ruins - RUINS - Minerva's floor.

Azrael and Dumah howl out as the shit hits the fan. Animals could sense it.

Minerva gives a look to Alexander and there's a moment taken to shove her chair back as she shouts something in Enochian at Billy. Seance was over folks. Alexander was bleeding and that was more the focus now. She lets go of Isabella's hand and then rushes over to flip the lights on, "Isabella, put pressure on the wound, quick." she hurries back as she pulls her phone out of her pocket. GOD. DAMN IT! Floors could be replaced. Alexander couldn't. "I'm sorry..." she mutters over and over as she dials 911.

Blood starts to pour on the table, and Isabella's eyes go wide. There's too much of it to be able to tell whether anything looks vital or not and her heart leaps to her throat. What pushes out of her is a strangled cry, and as the man collapses sideways she follows, dropping on her knees and reaching for him. It will take a moment for her to realize that the lack of arterial spray is probably a good indicator that the man will survive, but at the moment, red is everywhere and he is clutching at his throat in a panic - and that spreads.

Her heart is trying to stage its own jailbreak as she drags a bandanna out from her back pocket. She's trying to get to the wound but his hands are in the way. "Alexander, let me!" It comes out as a snap, concern and temper on the verge of spiraling out of control and threaten to blow the top of her head off. But whenever she manages to wrangle the man into letting go, she rolls it up and presses it hard against the wound. "Minerva, where's your duct tape?!"

Alexander's hands are pretty easy to move away from his throat. They're all slick and slippery with blood, and with that kind of bloodloss, he's going loopy pretty quick! He flails weakly at her, for a moment, mouth moving to try and say something, but it's nonsense and his eyes close. He's just resting, no worries. Juuuuust resting.

Duct tape! Minerva runs over to the kitchen and grabs it, along with a kitchen towel. She rushes back to Isabella and Alexander. "Duct tape, towel. If I need to grab anything else just tell me." she tells her in a low tone. "Alexander don't you die. Please don't die. They're coming. Please hold on." she whispers. "Isabella, do we try to move him?" she asks her. She was not a medical doctor, she was a psych doctor, which they'd be questioning that after this!

Minerva is pissed off. More at herself than anything else. She should have put better wards up. She kneels down and tries to help with things. The puppies are freaking out and she's sure that the spiders are freaking out as well. There's a moment taken to raise a hand and a wave of calm settles over the animals. That might help work on things. The ambulance siren can be heard already.

She catches the duct tape and works quickly, pressing the bandanna along the wound and tight before she tears off the first strip with her teeth, wrapping it around his throat - just to secure the fabric, before she rips off another and another. It's going to sting later, once people rip it off, but she has no choice, she has to stop the bleeding now. At the moment, she can barely breathe - there is a reason why surgeons and doctors don't treat their own relatives. Somehow, however, she's able to keep her fingers from shaking too hard once she clips off the last of the duct tape - he still needs to breathe after all.

He's losing color, fading before her eyes and Isabella grits her teeth visibly. "You promised me," she whispers in a low hiss, reaching out with her own bloodied fingers to cup both sides of his face, forcing him to look at her with his fluttering stare "You promised me. Didn't I tell you before? If you die..."

She squeezes her eyes shut. I'll kill myself and come after you!

Something snaps; it could be anger and panic, it could be both, but she forces herself to do it. To sink herself hard and fast into the thing she has denied herself for a decade, folding the threads of power around herself. The old exhilaration returns, rendering her breathless - and with it, the fear that threatens to choke her but she tries her best, her damndest to push that aside. Because she can't not. She can't.

It leaves her in a rush, the world falling away, leaving nothing but a torrent of energy that she can only sense. With a soft, strangled cry, she dips her mental fingers into it and channels it through every nerve in her body, to bleed through her and permeate into him. The old, forgotten pathways open and the agony and ecstasy of it floods through her veins and threatens to immolate her from within. In the swirling maelstrom of her own inadequately exercised potential, she feels the bleeding slowly stop.

Push.

She does. Tears cling stubbornly to her lashes, but they don't fall.

She sags on her knees once she feels the Talent delay the passing of a life that she is desperate to save, but she holds onto it. "How long until they're here?" Her voice is urgent, but she hasn't lost her head. Not yet. But she will keep doing so, until help arrives, and through it, she burns like the sun.