2019-09-24 - Marshall To The Rescue

It's finally autumn, the warm summer days will soon be a thing of the past once the autumn chill hits. Of course, this is something that every Gray Harbor resident it used to, but the darkened skies can sometimes lead to negative emotions-- especially, when one is feeling under the weather.

Even though he's dressed sharply in his business suit, his hair perfect in every way, despite probably not taking as much time this morning to douse it full of gel, this heavy lethargy is something that Byron Thorne is having a difficult time hiding. His body was burning up beneath those fancy threads and even while he's standing here out in the hallway of the fourth floor of Building A, listening to one of his tenants take snipes at him the whole time, Thorne's eyes glaze over every so often, something which Mister and Missus Harrold now notice.

"Are you even listening to my concerns, Mister Thorne!" The wife is talking here. They weren't Gray Harbor natives and in a few days time they would be returning back home to Chicago since summer was over. Missus Harrold was in her early twenties and though the Harrolds had money, or else they wouldn't be able to afford this place, there was this lack of sophistication that some might associate with being wealthy. These were just spoiled rich. "People are /dying/ in your building. You keep saying that the police department are on it and that you don't have any details, but I call BULLSHIT! Do you want me to get on the phone with the precinct now and ask if you've been doing your due diligence as landlord to this property?"

Mister Harrold is around Byron's age, nearing thirty. He's had this unit for as long as Byron owned the apartment complex. While he's not a New Yorker, he seems to be just as hot headed as his wife, acting like the big man on campus in his aloha shirt, "I demand a refund for our rent starting from," He looks back at Samantha, "When was the first murder again?" Before turning to look on Byron, "Since Lewis died. You told us to keep calm during that meeting that you'd amp up security, did that stop that other lady from getting killed? Or the one that was attacked more recently? Did your security do shit about that? NO!"

It's only then that Byron blinks back to the present. His head was throbbing, but he's sort of grasping what is being said. "I hope that you accept my apo--"

"We don't need more apologies, Mister Thorne!" Says the tall, waif-like red head, "You've been doing abso-fucking-lutely nothing to keep us safe. To keep us protected? That front gate? That's a joke! If you were as effective as you've promised, the killer wouldn't have been able to slip past your rent-a-cops!"

If Byron Thorne was having a piss poor day ever since he woke up, his mood was beginning to take the turn for the worse now. When he speaks next, his jaw sets and he looks the couple over with this dark intensity within his eyes, "You're right. I'm not sorry. I'm not sorry that I'm unable to protect you from a psychotic serial killing /ghost/. In fact, I wish you'd fit the MO, then I wouldn't have to listen to this shit right now."

The ticking of Easton's wristwatch is normally hard to hear unless you have the watch right against your ear. But right now he would swear that it's incessant ticking fills the apartment, somehow even being clearly heard over the angelic, calming sound of Bruce Willis hunting down and killing terrorists in a tower at Christmas time. Easton sits in a pair of tiny green PT shorts and a gray tanktop, staring at the television willing himself not to listen to the ticking of his watch reminding him at every second that this food is still not here.

The movement in the hall prickles at the back of his neck where sweat already glistens despite the cool breeze from the balcony. He can feel the approach of the bag of Chinese being carried down the hall. And somehow the slow approach of the man, probably stumbling over where #400 is exactly only infuriates him more. The hand meant to knock on the door finds only air for a moment before being caught in Easton's grip. The poor Chinese food delivery man, a middle aged employee who has only the bad luck of being assigned to this order, squaks in surprise at both missing the door and being grabbed.

"What are you doing?! Let go! You ordered food!"

Easton growls in response, "You are eleven minutes late." As he slowly starts to twist the arm, feeling how easy it would be snap it. Fully aware of how it would feel to pull the man into the apartment, first break his arm and then slam his face into the floor again and again until he dies. Fully aware of how good it would feel.

"Babe? Is that the food?"

A weak call from the main bedroom causes Easton to let go of the man who drops the bag and makes a run for it. Easton picks up the bag and drops it off on the counter before taking a breath, trying to calm himself back down, uncertain of why he wanted to hurt him so badly. "Yea. I'm just gonna run out for some more gatorade or somethin.." His voice is shaky. His voice is never shaky. He clears his throat and doesn't wait for a reply as he exits the apartment, slamming the door on the way out.

The deliveryman desperately pushes the elevator button when he sees Easton come into the hall, pure panic in his eyes. Easton bellows, "You better run!" again surprised by his own anger at the man over a trivial inconvenience. But at least he makes no move for the elevator. He instead opts to take the stairs, needing to burn off some of that anger and hopefully get his calm back. Coming around the corner Easton comes upon Byron confronting the residents. He takes in the scene and it somehow seems to calm him. His voice, not quite at it's booming volume comes from behind the couple. "Thorne? Everything okay?"

At the booming voice coming from down the hall, all eyes are turned in that direction, spotting the fleeing delivery guy as pushes that down button desperately to get into the safety the elevator car. If anything, this just helps to fuel Byron's irritation. Nothing was going right today. When the delivery boy's gaze meets with his own before disappearing into the elevator, the guy might just see that anger brewing within Thorne's dark eyes.

"Mister Thorne!" That's Missus Harrold again, her voice practically shrieking. She doesn't quite touch him, though she's close enough to, with her face practically right in his. The husband stands right beside her, not liking the disrespect that they are being shown by the landlord's inattention.

"Don't give us that ghost crap! There's no such thing as ghosts. Not here, not anywhere. I don't care how much of a shitty shanty town this is. Hey! Hey! Don't turn away when we're talking to you. We're paying you rent. Though after this, I think we're done. Done!"

The more that they go on, Thorne gets all the more riled up. There's this danger found in his eyes, every muscle in his body tensed. As he stares at them, he's imagining their mangled bodies in his mind. Or the sight of watching them burn. Or their corpses laid out with their eyes and their flesh being torn by seagulls on the shore. Image after image plays within his mind, his eyes solely locked on them, perhaps trying to peer into their own minds to project the horrors of what's to come.

Then again, the couple are just as stubborn and entitled, so while there's this heavy shift in the air-- whatever sensations they feel are not the sights intended. They are spared from that reality for now, even if they both begin to develop a slight headache due to this intrusion.

It was around this point that Easton stops by, finding Thorne and the Harrods facing off against each one another. More than likely, Marshall can tell that something is amiss. Maybe it's in Byron's body language, the way that he looks about ready to lash out at the pair. Or maybe it's that electricity in the air.

"I'm not feeling so good." Missus Harrold complains, "This place is probably filled with asbestos too."

It doesn't take long for Easton to understand the situation, the 'I want to speak to your manager' voice shrilly grating on his very strained nerves, even if she's currently pointed in Byron's direction. But Easton owes Thorne and he can probably help defuse this situation or at least give Byron an easy out?

There's no such thing as ghosts

"How fucking dumb are you?" Easton snaps at the woman before he can help himself. He catches himself and visibly bites his lip to regain some compose before he smiles, "I meant, how fucking dumb do you think we are? Right?" He gives his best mollifying smile to the couple, which looks very much like the face someone might make after sitting on a tack. It's not super comforting. But then the woman says she isn't feeling well and Easton helpfully chimes in, "Flu's going round." Even though it's nowhere near traditional 'flu season'.

"Actually Thorne, I need you. Now Bennie's real sick and she won't let me call an ambulance. Can you please come talk some sense into her?"

He looks to the married couple and again attempts a smile, "Sorry to steal him away but it's serious." His smile fades as he roughly informs them, "You understand." Even if they don't understand the first thing of what is actually going on around them, let alone in this particular situation.

The small trio are standing so close to one another than they can feel the heat of each other's breaths. The mind assault may have disoriented the couple somewhat, but if they are feeling mostly fine now, it will only be time until they suffer the same fate as many other residence of Gray Harbor.

Both Harrold's blink over at the intrusive Easton when it seems that he just snapped at the Missus. In fact, her husband was getting all the more agitated, feeding off of both his wife and Thorne's rising ire. But when he realizes that that's not the case, he has to scoff openly, "Right? Ghosts? Give me a break. That's gotta be the worse excuse I've ever gotten from anywhere ever." He says ever twice.

For a very long uncomfortable moment, Byron doesn't even look in Marshall's direction, there's almost this menacing smile on his lips, those eyes focused solely on Samantha Harrold. Easton might even see one of Thorne's arms twitching, this spark of electricity building up his open palm. He wanted to choke the life out of here while electrocuting her at the same time. The imagery is so intense that he can smell her burnt flesh.

"The fucking flu?" Cries out Mister Harrold. "Fuck. We better hurry up and pack and get the hell out of here if the whole building's infected." He then turns back to Byron, "Oh, don't think we forgot about you, Thorne. Unless we're allowed to renegotiate our contract--"

"RENEGOTIATE? Let's just fucking leave. We don't need to live in this shitty little town." Cries out Missus Harrold as she turns to duck back into her room less they catch some crappy small town disease.

Seeing the quick retreat, there's this urge for Byron to follow suit. Finish this little business once and for all. If they wanted to leave the Apartments, they could leave permanently in body bag. Though Easton actually gets to him for the moment and though he doesn't take his eyes off of the couple, not until their door shuts closed, he'll respond without turning his attention to the other man, "Can't you see I'm busy..." But it seems that another tenant was feeling ill. Probably as ill as he was feeling now.

Byron looked terrible, incredibly tired. His skin was hot and feverish, which probably added to his agitation. He finally looks to Easton, "Why not just call the ambulance anyway? The whole town seems infected." He won't say that he, himself, is, but there are beads of sweat that trickle down at his temple. "Bennie's not the only one." He looks like he's about to follow, "Lilith's ill too. In fact, she's out getting meds right now."

Easton also is sweaty and disheveled, the bags under his eyes heavy and his complexion a little on the green side of things. As to why he didn't just call the ambulence, he leans over to one side, to looks past Byron's shoulder to make sure the Harrold's have closed their door before he admits, "I don't actually need your help. I just wanted to give you an excuse to blow off those idiots." He then glances down at Byron's hand and says, "Without blowing off their damn heads."

He nods at the news that Lilith is sick, Lilith whom he still hasn't met yet somehow despite them having been involved on the ends of many similar situations. "Yea, you look like you need a rest man." Something in him makes him stress the word rest oddly. He puts a weird amount of emotion into it, like he's talking about the best thing in the world that somehow is eluding him. He thinks it's probably just because he's not sleeping that well right now. It's more than that.

"I'm on edge too though." He tries to assure Byron that he doesn't judge him wanting to murder his tenants. "Probably cause of this flu shit." Probably not.

Just as it took a while for Byron to pay Easton any mind, the crackle of electricity can still be felt in the air, only diminishing ever so slowly after a good long minute. "They don't know what lengths I've had to go through-- what many of us had to go through to keep this damned place safe. They see the guards, the patrols, the gates. They see the murder and attacks and suddenly it's all my fault." He's going off on a rant here, having held all of this in ever since the murders started and especially on learning that there was nothing that he could do to protect his tenants at the time.

"They don't know the sacrifices that we're all making or the dangers that we put ourselves in just by--" He can already feel that simmering irritation beginning to spark within him again.

"It's almost over. Gohl's soul has been removed from Thomas Addington and trapped in a box. Now we get the funeral over and done with and we can finally move on with our lives." Here he has to laugh, "Do you know how relieved I was to read about the other murders happening throughout town and not in my buildings? Isn't that twisted?"

Something about Byron's speech causes a wry smile to curve the corners of Easton's lips. The fact that people wouldn't understand the sacrifices others are making on their behalf is often a refrain of veterans he knows. He shakes his head and says, "It's not your fault. You are doing everything you can, we all are." He again glances down at Byron's hands feeling the energy and the tension in the air.

"Good." Move on with their lives. Get through this time and then he can rest. "I feel like I just want to sleep. For like a year after this."

The laughter and the admission get a small shrug. "I understand. It sucks for them, but regular murder is a relief compared to the screwed up shit we're trying to deal with." Maybe missing the point that Byron just cared about them not being in his building. "It's not like you wished them dead. You just don't need anything more on your plate. I get it."

The anger fueled adrenaline rush, or its dwindling aftermath, is what keeps Byron going right now. He'll ramble on in this feverish spew of getting everything off his chest. "And right at this very moment, I'm considering having one of my memories wiped or giving up two of my bones, because I was ignorant enough to donate a portion of Gohl's bones to the Archives in City Hall. Obviously, They knew that we would need them, but didn't tell us that at the time." He's spitting out venom here for those shady Veil things.

In fact, he's revealing more to someone not in his close inner circle, though he's never gone this deep into his worries or his concerns about the matter with any of them as of yet. It's just Easton now, who has caught him in this heated and sickly state enough that maybe Byron doesn't realize who he's talking to right now.

"And everyone likes to say to not give up your memories, that it will change who you are. But there are some things that are just worth forgetting."

"Giving up your bones? That's... fucked up." He looks down at his leg and has an involuntary shudder at the thought of some of his Dreams involving having more of his limbs taken away. He shakes his head and says, "There are some memories I'd love to give up." Easton doesn't hesitate or show any judgement at the thought of wanting to be able to forget some things. "There are sights. Smells. Things that would absolutely change me to forget. But I don't know how any of that shit works. And something tells me I can't give up something I'd like to forget. Somethings that I would love to forget."

He mops at his brow with a hand and shakes his head. Trying to figure out how any of this works in this state is like trying to do calculus drunk. His head is foggy from the fever and he has to try to keep track of all these rules for things that he's not even sure follow rules. He sets his jaw though and shakes off any rising frustration.

"We'll get through it. We have good people willing to sacrifice to do the right thing." Yes, that's borderline cheesy, but he sells the conviction on it, or at least attempts to. "We just need to see it through."

"One bone from Isabella, two bones from me." Byron repeats what the Archivist had said. "Then we can get all of William Gohl's bones that I donated back to better complete the skeleton for burial. Maybe make it so that not everyone needs to sacrifice something important to them. Memories or bones. I'm of very few options myself." He then blinks at something that Easton says, "That's not what was told to me, but then, people like to say how much of a different person I might be once any memory of scrubbed from my brain. That, in itself, would be the sacrifice. Or that's what I'm made to believe." His voice grows quiet, but there's some this almost amused tension to be heard, "I'm sure there's many things that all of us, every single one of us would like to forget."

Slowly, his sickness continues to creep into his mind, most of the earlier confrontation forgotten, or at the very least, it doesn't hold as much weight as it did at the time. He knows that he needs to find a way to apologize to them-- though, that's probably not the best idea in his current state of mind where his fuse has gotten shorter and shorter.

"I have nothing else to sacrifice except for my bones and.. " There's a crease in his brow, his mind straying from his thoughts, "Memories." He picks up some of his speed back once he completes that sentence, "I don't have much time to decide, they are preparing for Gohl's funeral. As they should be." He'll add in, "It's a good thing that his spirit is trapped within that box that they had. I was a little worried that we would have three threats to deal with as we were told that once Gohl is removed from Addington, he'll... connect, I believe, to the Three who did the removing."

"Gross. Do you know which bones? Because that's kind of fucking important." Easton isn't sure how it would work but all he can imagine is something like Bennie's power pulling the bones out and it's a gruesome mental image to say the least. When Byron seems confused Easton shrugs and says, "I wasn't there. I don't know. I know what I'm giving up. I'm not much help with others." After all it is an extremely personal thing and how well does he know any of these people?

At the talk of what he has to give up Easton offers, "I thought about giving up .." He glances back over his shoulder before saying, "Bennie. Not like her, but being with her." He's quick to clarify that he didn't actually consider human sacrificing his girlfriend for this thing. "A good thing seems like a damn good sacrifice. But thankfully I had other options."

"Can I just say how glad I am I don't need to face down any of the possible exorcists? We have enough problems without having to fight one another." That's foreshadowing btw, obviously. There's no way with this many angry folks around it's not going to come to blows or worse between all of them.

Byron is swaying in place now that he isn't moving about or threatening his tenants. "It can be any two bones. They don't care. They'll just put it in a Collection..." That doesn't sound ominous at all. His idea of how to surgically removes bones differ from Easton's, Thank God. But not that it's never come to mind. However, once Easton brings up that he thought of severing his relationship with Bennie as his sacrifice, this gets him to pause and blink. He could... do that too with his own relationship. But it's not as if Lilith weren't already upset at him for the memory wipe thing.

"That... That would be quite the sacrifice." But now Easton's put thoughts into his head and he has more options to play around with. None of them good.

As for the Exorcists, Byron nods slowly, "Erin looked fine when we met her last night. I hadn't run into Hyacinth Addington yet or the other one. Itzhak, I believe his name is." He'll go on to murmur, "These were some of the most powerful of us in their respective field, so let's hope that Gohl's trapped spirit remains trapped." With all of this rambling out of the way, Thorne really looks like he could lie down, "I have a few things that I need to get done, especially in light of what happened earlier," With the Harrolds. "I hope you get well soon." Did he notice that Easton was ill? Had he heard it mentioned? Those very words play in his mind, having first heard them spoken to him at the Archives. Get Well Soon

"Thank you for working with us in making these sacrifices. Maybe," He'll start to murmur again, "I'll do the right thing and do what needs to be done." Then he'll start towards the elevator in a slow daze.