2020-09-01 - Change of Subject

It's a warm autumn evening, and the wind coming off the ocean makes it downright pleasant. Alexander has spent a few days doing his research until he narrows down when the guards he's looking for are on shift. One was taken care of quietly when he was going to his car, just a little /tweak/ that the guy may never think about again. He's hoping the second, Kramer, goes as as easily, because Alexander is already feeling guilty as hell about all of this. He's dressed in an oversized green coat that's too warm for the weather; but it provides some comfort as he finds a place to stand on the railing of the road that goes out to the casino. He doesn't try to get into the property - he doesn't need to. Instead, he appears to just look out at the gray waters, but his eyes close as he starts to reach out for the guard's mind.

Kramer is a former D.C. cop, who left early in his career for greener (as in money) pastures. He seemed to believe that he could make far more in private security than he ever did as an enforcer of the law. His expertise was computers and surveillance technology, which is what landed him in this far cushier job in the security monitoring office than being out on patrol like so many of the others. A man in his early thirties, he's been with this particular company for two years now and was recently assigned to the casino.

Like on most days, his eyes are on the wall of monitors displaying everything that's going on in the casino at any given time. There's obviously far more cameras out there than there are monitors here, but the cameras switch between locations automatically, though this can be controlled manually as well. Today, it looks like another quiet day at the casino. Quiet enough. This was a casino where drinks were flowing and tempers can run high, so there's always something. Not only that, some of these guests drink so much that they hallucinate about seeing things like ghost fish, for example. This town... It's almost on par to the madness he'd experienced back in D.C. almost.

Out in the hall is Byron Thorne, having been stopped for the umpteenth time with questions on his demise, though most likely it was just people being glad to know that he was alive! Even if they may suspect him to be a certain Englishman. Currently, he's on his phone as he makes his way to the security office, though catches the words of one passerby who tells him that they can't believe anyone would do that to a generous and handsome man such as himself. Something about that brief conversation triggers something in his mind, something which happened /all/ day it seems. It almost calls forth some sort of memory, but then it's gone. Still, he's left disturbed as he pulls out his key to enter the room.

Alexander stirs as someone calls out that they really wished they could take history with him again, and makes a grimace and awkward bob of his head. For the investigator, all these people liking him for something that he absolutely, positively is NOT is even worse than the people being creeped out by what he sort of was. He shrugs the jacket higher on his shoulders, trying to huddle into it as he concentrates. He's not looking for other minds; he's reaching out farther than he has since the funeral, and he's trying to stay focused and not stray. When he feels Kramer's mind, he hums to himself and gently tries to insert himself into the man's mind. He only needs a few seconds changed, really. Just a few. He tries to tell himself that it's not so bad, what he's doing. It's to protect a friend. And it's less than a minute of mental footage, really.

He finds, and he pushes.

Kramer's hawk-like gaze flickers between monitors, searching for suspicious activity through the various locations presented to him. His second, Connell observes his own set of monitors, the both of them handling all of the cameras for the establishment. Strangely, it's at the exact moment that one of the monitors shows a view of the underground parking garage, that Kramer starts to feel light headed. Maybe just the sight of the place reminded him of the massacre that happened there where he watched a man get executed before his eyes. It's not the first time, so he's unsure of why it affected him so. The screen switches, showing him a view of another section of the garage just as Thorne enters.

"So that's your final estimate then?" Whatever conversation he's having has the businessman annoyed. "I'll consider the offer and see where I go from there. " At the boss' presence, Kramer turns to look over his shoulder at the suited man, waiting for Byron to get off the phone, before reporting, "It's been nice and quiet all morning, though we all know that these things," Shennanigans, "Don't usually happen during brunch."

Both of these security guards lack the glow within them and while Byron's presence isn't too surprising for a man like Kramer, who has far more knowledge about how things work in these parts. Greener pastures and all, Connell is the one who looks surprised to see the man alive. He's also new, so that may be why. Either way, he can't help but look with shifty eyes towards Byron every so often.

On entrance, Byron feels... something in the air, though barely, but Kramer's report distracts him enough from that, along with Connell's oggling. "Good. How many incidents have we had in the past week?" Thorne, himself, has been very busy with a lot of things, so he can't be here monitoring everything. Nor was he the only person who handled security. There are certain others who have an investment in this place, who stop by here from time to time as well.

Even after this is asked, he reaches for a folder where any and all incidents are documented, scanning them quickly. The choice incidents which Kramer states all check out on the report, including one such where there was a huge fracas over the rumors of his death out at the roulette table for who knows what reason. Just reading the details has him freezing in place with the report held tightly in hand.

He can taste his own blood from the gag stuffed within his mouth as parts of body is being pushed through... a saw blade. He could feel the terror and pain of the blade cutting into his flesh, severing one of his limbs and he fought to struggle against it, but he was bound. He could smell death in that room and her perfume.

This was what was nagging him all day. This memory clawing to break out. To be REMEMBERED. It makes his blood run cold, this flash from the past. If he's freaked the fuck out, he does his best to keep it bottled up, though this sense of paranoia starts to plague his mind.

"Mister Thorne, everything alright?" Asks Kramer who's already on his feet, seeing that Byron was starting to look pale. The wide-eyed Connell lingers near him.

"I'm fine. Just feeling a little under the weather." He lies. To this Kramer jokes, trying to reassure the tall dark-haired man, "I wouldn't let what some random townie says get to you. He was just pissed that he lost so much money at your casino, that's all." He leaves out what the rest of the report stated: That man actually praised Lilith Winslow for doing the gruesome deed.

"I'll keep that in mind." Byron murmurs humorlessly .

Alexander is beginning to withdraw from Kramer's mind, relieved that his violation, small as it is, doesn't seem to have been detected. He means to pull back quick and clean, but there's a pulse of something sharp and cold that has a familiar feel to it, and he freezes. Byron was there. He takes a quick breath, his expression going grim. Had he seen? Felt?

Wait, no. More to the point: Byron was there, and Byron was afraid. Alexander couldn't penetrate the shadows and fog that protected the man's mind, not without likely alerting him to his presence, so he didn't know why. But in light of recent events, his mind couldn't help but go to unpleasant places. He pushes himself off the railing, and starts to walk towards the casino at speed. No doubt getting picked up by the security cameras as he goes, fairly distinctive with his homeless-man's coat. He keeps a touch of a connection, just enough to give him an idea of Byron's emotional state, in case he needs to start running.

While he fought to keep things together, Byron KNEW. But what did he know? Or what does he think he knows?

It was a mere glimpse, a passing, yet painful moment and it was gone. She did that to him, right? There's a part of him that wants to grab his phone and check in on Lilith and then there's the other part that wants to stay as far away from her as he possibly could.

Since Kramer has no idea what Thorne's 'plan' was with this faked death, it's difficult for him to touch on the subject without revealing too much of what his own mind is conjuring up about the incident. If Byron Thorne faked his death for... money? To get out of a terrible engagement? To set Lilith Winslow up? He wouldn't be showing himself around an establishment that he was connected to, right? He'd be out in the Bahamas somewhere, laying low. So it was confusing to the man.

In fact, Kramer notices the intensity within Thorne's eyes and just the tension in his body language that clearly tells him just how shaken the businessman seemed. Nope. It was not a good time to go poking around moneyed things that he did not fully understand nor did Thorne feel he could be entrusted with.

"Was there anything else?"

Byron could see that glimpse of confusion in the men's eyes. They saw a deadman standing in front of them, didn't they? Rather than emphasize to them, the way that he's done ever since the rumors came to light, that he was in fact, not dead... there's something in him that can't even convince himself of that right now. "No. Just let me know if..." It's around this time that there is some sort of commotion going on in the background, in one of those monitors, Byron catches it first because the others are more focused on him than their jobs. "What's..." Just the start of the question and the way that his brow creases has the other two returning to look at just what the casino's co-owner is now looking at.

"Shit.." Kramer mutters, heading back to his seat to bring up the image onto the main screen.

Alexander Clayton

What was he doing here and why the commotion? Byron reaches for the walkie on the desk, speaking into, "What's going on? You know what, nevermind. I'm heading down there."

Commotion? How dare anyone suggest that Alexander might cause a commotion. Why, he's just a private citizen, trying to enter a public commercial establishment! He can't help it that he pretty much looks like he's there to rob the joint, or that the way he glares suspiciously at the security guards makes THEM instantly suspicious, and the merest suggestion that it might be a good idea for him to shed the big, easy-to-conceal-stolen-goods-under coat is met with a glare. "I'm not doing anything wrong. I just want to go inside."

"And why is that, sir?" the guard says, doing his best to be helpful and professional all at once.

Alexander shuffles his feet. "Just let me in. I want to talk to Thorne."

"Mr. Thorne is..." not dead. The guard just saw him. Why does he want to insist that he's dead? A flicker of confusion and uncertainty on the guard's face, before he settles on, after a look at Alexander's...everything, "very busy. If you have feedback about the casino, please submit it through our web page, or I can get you a feedback form."

Alexander stares blankly. "No. He knows me. I just want to talk to him." A long pause. "Please."

The guard is about to come up with another polite but firm excuse why that wasn't going to happen when his walkie hisses. He grabs it, and then hears Byron's voice. See, not dead after all. Still, something nags at the poor guy, and his voice is a little bit bewildered as he speaks an affirmative into the walkie, then tells Alexander, "Please wait a few moments. Mr. Thorne is on his way."

Not everyone had the strong urge to throw Alexander out, one of the security guards was a local and he warmly recognizes Alexander for who he really is. In fact, he moves in to stand closely to his favorite teacher (This guy's about Byron's age, so Clayton must've taught when he was just out of high school!). "I don't know what crawled up Fischer's ass, but don't worry, Mister A, Mister Thorne just said he was coming down." Even he was confused by the fact that Byron Thorne was not dead. Turning to Alexander, he asks, "Knew Mister Thorne for very long? Like, could you tell if he was an imposter?"

---

Byron's trek from security office to casino entrance was a troubled one. He kept picking up pieces of his life in little glimpses which his mind is working to piece together, but he knows the gist of it. The elevator ride down was an uncomfortable event, being stuck with several people who believed you to be dead and hearing them whisper behind your back, but greet you with smiles when your eyes meet.

The doors slide open and he immediately strides out, lifting his chin to scan the lobby area, before moving to meet with the guards and the detective. "Mister Clayton, is there anything that I can help you with today?" He says with with such professionalism, though he gives the other man a look, as if asking: Is there anything wrong?

Alexander sidles away as the other guard approaches. He doesn't start screaming that he's not Mr. A, and he's NOT a teacher, but his hands start trembling so he shoves them in his pockets to hide it. "It's fine. I don't mind," he tells the other man. And in a way, it's true - or, at least, he prefers being seen as suspicious and creepy, because he understands why that happens, than to have people want to share affection with him when the memories that they have that create it aren't ones that he shares. Or has any context for whatsoever.

He takes a deep, steadying breath. And tells the guard, quietly, "I'd know if Byron wasn't Byron. I've known him since he was five." That is technically true, and pitched to be as reassuring as he can manage. He even tries a smile, although it's a weak and skittish thing. When Byron strides out, he moves in that direction immediately, almost like he'd like to hide behind his nice suit away from the guards. He doesn't quite fall to that depth, though. He just stops within conversational range. "I was hoping we might talk. If you have time?" Perhaps amusingly, Alexander returns that look with one of his own that seems to ask the exact same question.

"Since Thorne was five? Wow, I guess you really would know." Billy Ferguson says to Clayton. "People keep going on and on about it and you don't know what to tell them sometimes, right?" His posture then straightens, seeing Thorne step out of the elevator which the guard was watching, "Anyway, it's good to see your, Mister A. Without you for inspiration, who knows where I'd be now." With Byron drawing near, Ferguson nods to the suited man, "Mister Thorne." Before stepping off to the side and returning back to his position.

"Yeah, I have time right now." Whatever Byron had scheduled for the rest of the day, his mind was troubled. "Fischer, I'll take it from here." Now, to any onlooker, it's hard to say whether the homeless man and Bryan Thorne were working together and something nefarious was underfoot, but it's not something anyone's willing to bring up right now.

Navigating the crowds of guests in the lobby, Byron leads Alexander to his office, "Funny that you should show up here just at this moment." He says in quiet conversation during the trek, "Just a few minutes ago, I had this flash of something, you know, in my mind. And I can't shake it."

"Just remember that it's not true," Alexander tells Billy, solemnly. "When people ask." He looks like he might want to say more, his expression softening into a bewildered sort of empathy when the man thanks him for something that he had nothing to do with, but which clearly meant something to him. Or means something to him. Or would have meant something if it had ever happened. Alexander rubs at his forehead, feeling the beginnings of an ache there. Or a panic attack. One or the other.

He shoots Byron a look of pure gratitude, and follows along when the casino owner says he'll take it from here, keeping his head down to avoid too many people recognizing him. "I was nearby, and I remembered," he says, "I was told that you were one of the people who found the pyre on the beach. I thought I might ask what you noticed." It's a plausible enough excuse, especially since he had intended to reach out to Byron about the murders. And, for once, his face reflects nothing but concern as he asks, "What sort of flash? Are you okay?"

Byron had heard some of the chatter between Clayton and Ferguson, so despite how confused his mind is right now, one of the questions that he has to ask is, "A student of yours?" Yes, he's making light of the matter, but it's something that he finds somewhat amusing.

Being reminded of the burned corpse, Thorne blinks as if realizing something. Is that where I got it from? "I was. So Bennie contacted you, huh? I mean, I figured she would. She had a picture to show Isabella too." It feels like a long winding journey and Byron cuts off most chatter when they hit a crowded section, but soon enough they find their way to his office. It's larger than his home office and only slightly more convenient, though others would say otherwise due to the half mile trek to even reach the floating casino. It has floor to ceiling windows, though most of them have drawn curtains to keep out the nosy, though from the sections that do hang open, there's a lovely view of the bay.

"Want a bottle of water from the fridge?" He asks, but now that he's pieced a few things together, he decides to relay the information, "A few minutes ago, I had a flash of something, like a memory. I was bound and gagged. Alive. And someone..." He doesn't want to come out and say her name, "Someone was pushing me through a... saw blade. Now that you brought the murder up, it reminds me of something I'd sensed when I did a read on the emptied out gas can that was used to light the corpse ablaze."

"Don't." Alexander's voice is strained. "Please. I don't...I'm not a teacher. Right?" His conviction wavers for just a second, like the world tilting underneath him, and there's only darkness underneath. "I'm not. I'm not a teacher. Would never pass the background check. That's right. I know that. I know that." It's mumbled to himself more than to Byron, and it actually takes him a moment to retune to the conversation. Even though it's about a serial killer. That he actually gets to help catch. Sort of.

He takes a breath. "Yeah. She texted us. I went over there to take the statement." A long pause before he adds, "She took down the missing flyer for Easton." Sadness, there. And guilt, too, that he'd been of no use in finding the man. Still, there's a bit where he takes in the scenery, starting to roam the office in that restless, casing-the-joint way that he has. "Um. Water would be nice. Thank you." He stops to look out at the bay for a moment, then turns back to Byron. "Someone? Who? Was it a place you've been before? Did you read the murder?"

"You went over there to take the statement?" Byron's brow quirks at the way which Alexander words this. Swinging the fridge door open, he takes out two bottles of water, handing one over to the detective in passing, "You working for the cops now too? Just like Machinae?" Opening up his own bottle, rather than take a seat in the big chair, he's feeling restless due to the flash of memory. He then nods slowly when Easton is mentioned. "Did she... feel anything to make her give up the search? Or does she just not want to get her hopes up?" Tilting his head back to quench his thirst with cooling water, he recaps the bottle temporarily, "That's why Tobin left town. He could no longer feel his mother's presence in town, which is what kept him here all these years. So with his mother truly gone, he went to follow his heart."

As for the murder... "I saw an image of the guy and he was pushing a body through the blade of a band saw. He felt incredibly justified for his actions, like this is what needed to be done. Very disturbed mind. But the room itself was... a workshop. When I brought it up to Lilith," Here, he pauses. He remembers the scent of her perfume mixed with his blood. "...she wondered if it possibly could be the room used for shop class at the high school. I mean, that's a possibility too, I suppose." His eyes look to Alexander, "What did you find?"

"No," Alexander says, blunt. Curt, even. Then regrets it immediately, and his grimace as Byron hands over the water is apologetic. "I'm not...working in any capacity for the police. Back with the casino--the other casino thing. The murders. Javier said he'd ask if I could be hired on. I imagine he was told emphatically no." A shrug. "It doesn't matter." It really does, but he keeps his head down, working on the water bottle with far more attention than the simple mechanism deserves. "And I didn't ask. If she's healing, I don't want to reopen the wound. And there isn't really any reason to...hope. I've seen people gone for days. Maybe a couple of weeks, like Lilith. But I don't think I've ever heard of someone coming back after months. I hope, I hope it's Easton who does. But," he frowns, "better not to raise expectations the world won't meet."

A brief nod about Tobin, and a quiet, "Good. He's a good man. He deserves to have a life. Away from here." He takes a sip of his water, then quiets to listen. A nod at Byron's characterization of the mind. "I think that he believes he's sacrificing people to gods because if he doesn't, the gods will destroy the world." Just a small nugget of information as he otherwise drinks and watches. He doesn't miss the pause, but doesn't reach out with his mind as he might with another Mentalist. He knows Byron's more likely to shut him out than let him in. "You've been in the shop class more recently than I. Did it seem like there? I doubt this guy's a teacher, but we could probably get into the shop class if needed."

At the question, he takes a deep breath, and lets it out. "Some interesting things. The guy probably comes from Spokane. A psychiatrist there was murdered and there are significant parallels with the current MO. He's a dark-haired Caucasian man with glasses and a nervous, academic air to him. He's involved with an online game called Battle for Babylon. I think he might be one of the developers, or somehow...adding content to the game? There are secret quests that involve murdering NPCs and sacrificing them to the Babylonian gods. Each one has paralleled the murders to some extent. The most recent quest to be released was to Gibil, which is who the burned victim was sacrificed to. Machinae is looking into trying to trace his IP and find out more about his involvement there." His lips tug downward. "An APB has been put out for him. I think it might be a bit premature. I hope it doesn't scare him away."

There's no more talk of Alexander joining the police force or of Easton. Or even Mrs. G. Byron's focused on this murder, though it has very little to do with him or his business. "Probably? I mean, wouldn't his name be listed on the game's website under development? Or anything for that matter? Or do they only go by their online handles? Which is weird for a company, but hey, some enjoy the fame that they get from their online persona. I mean, it's why we know that one guy as Ninja, right? Who the hell knows what his real name is."

Byron slowly starts to shake his head, trying to remember the room as a whole, "I only caught a glimpse of it, from what I could perceive of him having the corpses of his victims severed." This is followed by a slow nod, "Yeah, sounds about right. When I did my read, I was able to get a good idea of what he looked like. I mean, why not blanket the town and see if anyone can pick up any stray, troubling thoughts. I mean, besides the obvious reason as to why that would be a bad idea." Dark Men Attention. He then ponders, "How long before a murder do these new quests come out? Or does it happen simultaneously? Or after the fact?"

"Depends on what position he holds. I mean, I don't have any authority to get ahold of their company rolls, and not everyone's a forward-facing position, you know?" Alexander sighs. "And I don't want to inquire too unsubtly. Right now, a lot of the evidence I have is conjecture and from our abilities. Which /aren't/ admissible in a court of law. Ravn said a librarian saw him asking about Sumerian and Babylonian folklore - but that's circumstantial. We need a direct link between a specific person and the murders. Right now, we don't have that."

He starts to pace, thinking out loud as he talks. "He cuts off the heads. With the previous two murders, he replaced the heads with a sheep's head and an octopus, but Bennie said she couldn't tell if he did in this case. Fire." A shrug. "And it's Gray Harbor. A lot of people are harboring murderous feelings on any given day, here." His is the voice of experience in that, since before he learned how to control his powers, a lot of those murderous thoughts ended out hanging around in his own brainmeats. "It's hard to tell. In this case, before the last murder, the quest-givers were saying that it wasn't yet time. And then the murder happened, and now the quest exists. But I wasn't on the game for the previous murders, and they're hidden quests. I can't necessarily tell when they were activated; another thing I'm hoping Machinae can. She's good with computers. And games."

"So the only thing linking some guy borrowing a book from the library, this game and these murders are that they are connected to Babylonian folklore?" Byron rubs at his chin with his free hand, looking thoughtful, "The description that was APB'd? Is that from library footage or from someone who saw the guy's face through a read, the way I did?" When he says 'someone', he probably means Alexander, but could be any other mentalist. "If need be, I can ID the guy. Also, did he actually borrow the book? Is his name in the library database?" Byron often lets the cops or detectives handle this sort of thing, but he's full of ideas today. "If there's anyone who wants to know what the killer looks like, I can project the image to them." Thorne is obviously talking anyone with glimmer.

Alexander pauses. "I...don't know if he actually checked out books. I've been following the game angle. He's posting on the game's forum, I think. Announcing when he commits the murders, but in game terms." He grimaces. "But again, I can't prove he's announcing the murders. And I'm not sure about the APB...I shared some of my information with a detective, but she mostly seemed, um, irritated," he admits, with a hint of resignation. "So I imagine she's talking to someone else. Maybe Ravn. I know he was looking into it, and I urged him to take any information to the police. I could reach out to him - if he's got a relationship built with her, then she might be willing to get the library records on his say-so." He offers Byron a brilliant smile. "That's a very good idea. Thank you."

"The Dane who works at TIBS? Does he want to join the police force as well?" Byron says with a laugh and a shake of his head, "I don't know anyone but the cops would be 'working on it' or anything. Then again, knowing just how many at the precinct are fucking off and doing their own corrupt shit, I'm not surprised that they have civilians trying to do their job for them." He then adds quickly, knowing that, well, Alexander is this sort of civilian, "No offense, of course. But are you, as a private investigator, comfortable with these junior detectives running around doing the work of the police?" A pause, before he quickly murmurs, "Don't answer that."

"Before I see any footage of anyone, I want to show exactly the face that I saw during that read, just people know that my thoughts haven't been colored by what was caught on any surveillance camera." With that, it looks as if Byron is prepared to show Alexander the face of the murderer. While the businessman doesn't ask the other man his permission or ask him to open his mind, the look in his dark eyes are already saying just that when their gaze meet.

There's a hesitation from Alexander, then a shake of his head. "I think he's just curious. He's very smart. It's okay to be curious." His head droops at the last comment about the 'junior detectives', and he reminds Byron, quietly, "I don't have a license. Technically, I'm no more qualified than anyone else off the street. I don't have any right to tell people what they should be doing. Which is fine. It's fine." He rubs at his face. "I think there's a danger to having too many people poking at it, yes. Someone could stumble over the murderer and get seriously hurt. But, at the same time? There's a value to having people interested, too. You always need someone to put another set of eyes on things, have suggestions. Like the library card."

He smiles at the offer. "You don't have to. I read the face from first local murder victim. Thank you for offering, though. It's just not...evidence I can do anything with, at the moment. I've walked around as I can, but even in a small town, there's a lot of people. And a lot of tourists at this time of year."

Whether Byron agrees with Alexander on these amateur detectives or not, he'll just offer a slow nod. Though he has reasons to be distrustful of amateur sleuths, especially if the whole town wants to get in on every lick of crime going on. "Isn't this the type of thing that police have briefings for? Complete with their white board and pictures of suspects, victims, crime scenes? But yes, there's a potential for anyone trying to get involved to get hurt. Or to ruin a case by accident."

Those keen eyes of his keep watch on Alexander after Byron had offered to show the detective an image of the man. "So you do know what he looks like then outside of some random description? Good." He twists the cap off from his bottle and takes another sip, before stating, "I'd shown the image to Bennie after she showed me the symbols drawn on the beach just before it was washed away. Sure, it's not evidence, but once you find the guy, that should make him so much easier to track down. Maybe catch him in the act, hopefully before he actually kills his next victim. If you haven't yet, I could take a look at the company's website, the one making that video game. See if anyone stands out. Again, it might not give us an address or anything, but a name is a good start."

"They do," Alexander says, with a flicker of amusement. "But I'm not...usually invited." A shrug. "But I can't exactly throw stones in my glass house, Byron." He runs his free hand through his hair, then brightens at the offer. "I...yes. That would be very helpful. The game is Battle for Babylon. And if you do see anyone useful...you might have better luck talking to the company than any of the rest of us would. As a potential investor, I mean. They might be willing to open up about where they get their ideas and inspirations, who suggests certain things." He waves a hand. "That sort of stuff. And, yes. I would like to catch him before he murders someone else."

Then he stops, and his head tilts to one side. "Why do you care?" he asks, blunt as always. "You usually don't get involved in this sort of stuff, or even want to hear about it."

Stepping forward to reach for the remote on his desk in order to open up the curtains and expose a larger portion of window to give them a better view, Byron's attention is focused on that view now. He's most likely making a mental list on what to do next, though just thinking about the whole mood which this murder had set in his mind and how that image of a gruesome murder bled into a memory of his own, that has him thinking as well.

"It's a serial killer in a small town. Who could be his next victim in our quaint little town?" Slowly, he turns to look upon Alexander, "And I know what he looks like, so if there's any chance to catch a glimpse of this guy," He shrugs, "The sooner, the better. Now, this doesn't make me an amateur detective in any way." Returning to the view, he just randomly says, "I think all of these people talking about my murder is starting to get to me. It's been brought up constantly today and each time.." There's this slow shake of his head, "It's nothing. I'll get over it. The /town/ will get over it."

Alexander smiles, just the smallest bit. "Darn. I had a little Junior Detective sticker that I was totally going to give you when you embraced the side of justice." And since Alexander doesn't usually say things that aren't true, there probably IS a sticker somewhere in his office that he's contemplated giving to Byron at some point. As the casino owner opens the curtains, Alexander sidles closer to him, just inside Alexander's personal bubble - which is still larger than most people's. But for him, it's close. And his voice is soft and concerned as he says, "It's hard. Having people tell you that something is true that you know isn't, but you're outnumbered and everyone but you agrees." He takes a deep breath. "And after reading that murder, and the saw-- and the House, too. And all the dead versions of yourself. It's no wonder that it's getting to you. Is there anything I can do to help?"

Perhaps at one point, a younger Byron Thorne might have wanted to be a junior detective... in the police force, but that was a long time ago. Yet, he smiles about the idea anyway, no matter how childish such a sticker may sound to an adult.

The more that Byron thinks about the flash of memory that he received just earlier today, the more that he is troubled by it. He honestly, doesn't want to say, but it will keep gnawing on his mind. Not that getting it off his chest will help any. "Some time right before you showed up at the casino, I had a glimpse of something. My murder. It's probably due to the imagery I saw during that read, yes, but I saw myself going through the band saw..." He takes a deep inhale through the nostrils, his lips even purse because he does not want to say this next part, "Lilith was there." He doesn't come out and say that she did it, but it's implied. "It's like.. remembering how I died. I remember dying."

Alexander just...waits. Watching Byron with dark eyes, waiting for him to decide whether he'll talk about what's bothering him or not. With the younger man, he knows that the odds are honestly against any confessions, but in the end, Byron does choose to talk about it, and other than a rise of his eyebrows, Alexander just listens. The implication isn't lost on him, that much is clear in the way his lips press together. "The combination of the read, and these memories other people have...it could be enough to trigger you to construct a vision of what it would look like, feel like, if the rumors were true. At least, that would be the easiest explanation if it wasn't Gray Harbor. But let me ask you - do you think this is something in your mind, or is this something that this fucking memory trickery is trying to impose on you? If the latter...I can nullify a room. See if you have the thoughts while there."

"Do /you/ believe that you taught high school due to this weird memory anomaly?" Byron asks, his gaze remaining on Alexander for a few seconds after the question is posed before he returns to absently gaze out the window to watch the beautiful summer day. Hearing Clayton muttering to himself as if convincing himself that he was not a high school just earlier is what brings about this inquiry.

"The House did bury the seeds within my mind that I may not be..." Alive? He's not sure what to add in here, "Well, that I may have actually died before. Or several Byron Thorne's had died in order for me to live, I have no idea. And it all sounds crazy. And even out on the salt plains, at first, I thought I was Bryan Thorne. So there was some connection with these rumors and what was experienced there. Once I regained my name and my memory though..." He's trying hard to remember those flashes of things that went through his mind once he recovered his name. "You know, that might have been what I did to the Eye in that Dream. I tried to shut it down, keep it from tricking us further and then it seemingly lost its power." He then admits, "I don't always have them. I don't think. But they come and go fleetingly. The memory of being witness to my own murder."

"I, I, I," Alexander stutters at the question. "No...?" He opens his mouth, then closes it again, and a little shiver goes down his spine. "When I was a kid, things kept happening to me. I knew they happened, but everyone said they didn't. And everyone agreed. So it had to be me that was wrong, right? They had to be right, and it didn't matter that I remembered something else. I was remembering it wrong." He rubs at his temple. "So I let other people tell me what was real, because they seemed to know, and I was always wrong. But that ended with Zachary." He shudders. "I've tried to make it end with Zachary. I remember things right. Even if no one else does. And no, I don't remember teaching middle school at all. I know I didn't. Everyone is wrong." His voice, strong for a moment, goes back to a low, hesitant tone as he adds, "But I wish, I wish they'd stop talking about it. It makes it hard."

He shakes himself out of it, rubs hastily at his eyes, and concentrates back on Byron. "Gray Harbor does things to fuck with your mind. And if you lost your name, your identity, there may have been space to put other things there. You're one of the most well-protected minds I know, but everyone has weaknesses. And you've been through a lot, you know? You've let Lilith in, I'd guess, more deeply than you've ever let anyone in, and there may be some uncertainty about that inside you. Something that sort of vision could latch onto. It doesn't mean it's real. It doesn't mean you died, that you've ever died, and it doesn't mean that Lilith would ever kill you. She couldn't bring herself to kill you even while controlled by the ring." His smile is brief and crooked. "But that doesn't mean it's all in your head, either. Something might be pushing at you. That's the kind of shit that goes on here. I could swing by your place, null your bedroom or something, and see if that helps at all?"

Byron understands where Alexander is coming from listening to the man go on about how no one believed him in his life. Everyone knows of Crazy Clayton after all. "Zachary's gone." Not that he knows too much about that incident, though he met a Dream version of the guy once. "Is he still haunting you?"

The businessman used to pride himself on keeping others from invading his mind, but that pride has begun to falter, especially with how easily he feels himself being manipulated by these forces. The mention of Lilith and how deeply he'd let her in has his gaze lowering, that thoughtful look returning to him. Lilith Winslow always stirred up varying powerful emotions in him, love or hate. Rather than say anything in response, he takes another drink from his bottle. "We don't know what's real in this place. Some times. But you're right and I'm not trying to allow whatever this is to manipulate me. I never know when I'll be triggered by it, even if the feeling that something was trying to crawl out from the depths to be remembered can sometimes be felt throughout the day."

He then blinks at this idea, "I... I don't know if I want to be stuck in my bedroom from the whole day, but I suppose in my line of work, it's easy to set up shop anywhere. I'll consider it. Talk to Lilith about it. Thanks. See if the nullification kills these thoughts. It's too bad you can't just walk around with it following you at all times."

"Zachary?" Alexander smiles, ducking his head and shrugging. "Always. Although I suppose it's as much me haunting myself. I can't ever make up for the things I did, and I'll always be the person who is capable of doing those things." He winces. "Isabella says I'm too inclined to be submissive to violent sociopaths, and she's not wrong. Even now. But I'm trying. It's all I can do." Guilt flashes across his face for a moment. "I'm not always good at it."

He clears his throat, hastily. "None of which is the point. I know my demons are inside my head. Yours might be more real than that. It's worth trying, anyway." He looks up again, meets Byron's eyes. "Have you actually talked to Lilith? About the vision you've had? You were both together in this eye journey, and the other half of the altered memory is her, right? If she's having the same thoughts, it's probably freaking her out pretty hard. And I'll be happy to null whatever room you're most comfortable in." He grimaces. "I'd suggest trying to put it on something you could carry with you, but apparently when Yule and Isabella tried to make something like that, it exploded. I don't want you to explode."

Byron's head tilts to the side, this curious look in his eyes, "And how many violent sociopaths have you come across in your lifetime?" If anything, he offers up a thin, yet amused smile, "To be honest, they are a dime a dozen in some places. While they may not all be violent, the cities are full of sociopaths and psychopaths. It's how some people get ahead in business. It's a dog eat dog world." He's obviously not talking about himself when he says this!

"And yes, I talked to Lilith. She had an episode the night that Bennie and I found the burning corpse. She believed that she killed me and her mind went wild when I lost contact with her after the cops confiscated my phone during questioning for a few hours. She was a mess when we got to my apartment. I was afraid that she might hurt herself with guilt." Byron's staring straight out into the bay again after saying this, taking another drink of water. "I was thinking about what you said the other day about... having two memories and how to remind ourselves that the other memory, the one with her murdering me, or in my case, witnessing my own death, how to remind ourselves that that none of it is real." Wearing a thin smile, he shakes his head, "It's easier said than done."

Alexander returns the thin smile, staring at Byron straight on for a moment. "I've been obsessed with crime since I was five years old. I've met a few." A slight inclination of his head at the elaboration. "Most true sociopaths don't thrive as well as media likes to pretend; they tend to have meteoric rises, but just as spectacular of a fall, since they tend to be impulsive and incapable of bonding with anyone past moments of convenience." He shrugs. "Or so I like to think. But a sociopath's mind is compelling. Beautiful, in its way. Mostly, though, it's just that it's easy to follow someone who feels like they know what they're doing."

He falls silent to listen. He winces at the description; he's been in that kind of ragged, desperate state, after the Valentine's Day dream, and knows very well that harming oneself is a real possibility. "We have to fix what's going on. You two don't deserve to have to fight off those kind of memories at every turn." He breathes out. "I think I should try to null your apartment, or whatever other place you want. See if that at least gives you some respite. Maybe without it pushing at you, the two of you can sit down and develop some mnemonics or something to reassure yourself of the reality of the situation?"

"You have an odd sense of what's beautiful, Clayton." Byron muses, just this hint of a smile on his lips, "But then again, beauty is very subjective." Thinking on the other man's offer, he ponders on when he's most likely triggered, "I've yet to experience any episodes or any hint of an episode at my own place, but..." He shakes his head slowly, "That's where Lilith had her breakdown. She's been avoiding leaving the house as of late, not wanting to hear anything to do with those rum--" They weren't rumors. "False claims. I've been mostly affected here." His eyes narrow a moment, before adding, "And once at the scene of beach pyre corpse. I envisioned myself burning in the place of that body."

Turning slowly, his eyes glancing at Alexander, he states, "What if you tried to set up a nullifying room in a large open space. Do you think that those who believe these 'stories' will continue to do so? Or will whatever is causing them to believe these things, will that go away? Like say, if you used the lobby of the casino, for example."

"Yes. I suppose I do," Alexander says, after a moment. His smile has no particular humor to it; it's more sad than anything. "Certainty can be a very beautiful thing." He considers the rest of it with a grave, thoughtful expression. "I don't know. I've never tried nullifying a large room. Actually," he admits, "I've only done it a couple of times at all. I don't like the way those places feel. All dead and silent. Silence is nice, sometimes? Just not that kind. But if you want me to try the lobby, then I will." He licks his lips. "Now? Or could I come by in a day or so? I'd almost prefer to have both you and Lilith there, see if you feel any different in the null space than otherwise."

"I would've thought that for some readers, the silence would be a Godsend." Byron says wearing a small grin, "Picking up other people's straying thoughts or emotions was not something that I normally experience, so I can't say that I was ever affected by it enough to want or crave this magical way to shut it all out. But then again, I guess, people grow used to it and maybe even find comfort and connection with the minds around them."

Thinking briefly on this, the businessman shakes his head, "It doesn't need to be now. And I'll try to convince Lilith to come out here to test and see whether it works. Let me know when your schedule is open. Recently, I've been doing more of my work from my home office again, which isn't a hassle at all. But that's to avoid possibly getting triggered by who knows what." With that out of the way, he asks, "Is there anything that I else that I can help you with? I'm really curious about whatever it is you found. Two memories?" He might have more to say, but decides against it.

"It's like the whole world is dead," Alexander says, simply. "The world is dead and I'm alone in it. When there are people around, it's even worse. It's like they're walking corpses, all flesh and no soul." He grimaces. "I just don't like it, is all. I don't like when I drown in other people's emotions, either, but at least that's life." He steadies himself, and offers a brief, tentative smile. "I'll work around your availability. It isn't as if I have much in the way of a schedule," he admits with a self-depreciating chuckle. "I am intrigued about your and Lilith's condition, though. I don't think I've ever seen anything quite like it. I wish I had someone more experienced to consult with. It's...I think that if you and she focus on the true memory, then eventually the other will lose its strength. But we should also find whatever caused this, and stop it."

The offer catches the investigator by surprise. He blinks a couple of times, then shakes his head. "I don't...think so? At the moment. You might distribute that description to your security people. I think the murderer is taking targets of convenience, and a casino is a good place to cut someone out of the herd who won't be missed." A pause. "You don't...play video games, do you?"

"I guess that would be disturbing. Not even picking up hints of a person's electrical synapse." As if that was a normal thing for people to sense... Byron even tries to imagine what it's like in a world that silent. Not that he's never been in a nullified room. He's had that experience thanks to Hyacinth, but imagine shutting everything down in a space as large as the lobby. That would be an amazing sensation... though perhaps not unlike some of the discomforting situations they may find themselves in Dreams.

"Video games? Why do you think I wouldn't play? I practically grew up with them. I have a PS4 myself." He then goes to bring up, "I may not current on the biggest thing out now, but I enjoy a bit of digital adventure once in a while."

"It is," Alexander says. "Disturbing." And he does look a little surprised that Byron plays. He says, after a moment's thought, "I don't know. Just seemed like you'd find video games...childish, or something like that. You have a lot of other things to do. A lot on your mind." There's something that flickers across his face, then, at that, as he looks around the spacious office once more. But whatever it is, he doesn't speak of it. Instead, he clears his throat, and says, "Ms. Machinae has gotten me to play a multiplayer game of Civilization. It's fun. I'm Greece." A flash of a smile. "Alexander. But if you decided you wanted to play, you could. If you want. That's all."

"Video games are childish. Who's to say that I'm all grown up? Besides just having turned thirty." Byron says with a wide grin. "Like I said, I don't play often, but it's been a pastime. Growing up, we used to go to Tobin's place for gaming. He had everything." As far as young Byron knew anyway. "You might find it surprising that a lot of the young elite in L.A. and around the world, really, who I went to college with games some time as well. It's a time killer."

"Civilization, eh? I might have that on the PC in my office. Sure, I could try my hand at it. The last time I ever played that game was years ago, so this updated version will be new to me."