2022-03-15 - A Single Boot

A boot. The box contains a single man's boot, size 6. The intern who delivers the box to Dr Ava Brennon hitches a shoulder. "It's all they found. Five missing people and all they find is a boot? Wild."

There's paperwork. Names; Denise Chatham, Jimmy Red Deer, Marty Evans, Mike Rowlins, Paddy O'Leary. One of them must be the owner of the boot. It looks like something chewed on it -- a large dog, maybe. There are pictures of the five people -- a smiling real estate agent on the front of a brochure, mug shots of the four men who were all Fish & Wildlife Protective Services officers. A transcript of a 911 call -- a motorist reports a large animal on the road, F&W is deployed to the location.

And no witnesses. No one knows where they all went. The officers' two vehicles were still on the road in the morning, lights on, parked next to the road tree that Denise Chatham's SUV was wrapped around. No trace of the driver, no trace of the officers. A couple of other recent tracks -- a smaller car, a truck -- but no way to tell whether someone fled from the scene, or were just pulled over for a routine inquiry by the officers before they disappeared.

"There's a gentleman here to ask about the incident," the intern adds, brightly. "A Mr Hawthorne?"

From the sounds of it, Ava should know the name. The reason why she should is not clear. But Hawthorne is an old Gray Harbor name, possibly familiar from times past -- something, something, real estate?

It's Gray Harbor. Ava Brennon has the shine, the gift, the art, the song, whatever one's preferred term is. A lot of other people do, too. And given that knowing what's going on is often one's best defence against the dark arts (take note, any magically inclined English boys in the vicinity), there's nothing all that unusual about somebody turning up to ask questions -- even if that somebody really has no business doing so. Janitor, art collector, playboy, gas station worker, baker, maid, or lawyer -- shiny people ask questions (unless they don't in which case they tend to keep their head very much down and clam up at the first hint of anything official, and those don't go asking to see forensic evidence). The intern assigned to Dr Brennon certainly seems to think there's nothing unusual about it, and she doesn't shine.

A boot.

"There wasn't a foot attached to it?" It might be a morbid question, but usually the forensics that come to her involve more body part related stuff. But hey, forensics is forensics, so she'll do what she can. "It's just the boot?" There's a gesture to where the boot can be set down, along with the file regarding the evidence of what they have so far. Ava sweeps her hair back into a loose bun and pins it back before grabbing a pair of gloves.

"Oh? Connor Hawthorne?" Her brows knit a little. "Do you know if he knew someone involved?" Either way, he's a shiny and the intern most certainly is not, so it stands to reason that the questions might be a little out of the ordinary for the intern. "We'll be alright down here. You can go ahead and take an early lunch if you'd like." It's offered sweetly, but also in that tone that's it's clear that it's not just an offer, but a request. "He and I actually have a couple of private things to discuss as well, so--" Vaguely true, but Ava will let her sweet intern jump to her own conclusions about that if it means having the lab free of prying ears regarding possible Veil situations.

The lightning-wizard apartment building owner waits very patiently. That's one of his super powers. Though he is not so patient with his phone. It flickers and dies in his hand. He presses the buttons a few times and when it remains a big black brick he sighs and puts it into his pocket. He had to walk over here this morning because his car battery died.

He gives all the computers in the room where he's waiting to be sent up an uneasy look, then steps back to give them wide berth. Then he slides his hands in his pockets, a childless man looking every inch the rumpled Dad. Sure, he has no business asking, but given Grey Harbor he felt confident enough to do it, and had indeed made vague noises about knowing people involved. Which he very well might, by face, or in passing, maybe one was a resident once...he's lived in this town all his life, and except for a single semester of school at Washington State University up in Seattle many many years ago, he has never left it. He can probably claim some sort of 'in-passing' connection with just about everyone if he really needs to.

"Just the boot, doctor." The intern looks mildly intrigued but then, she's seen and heard worse. Even without the shine, the ability to see the weird, Gray Harbor has an impressive track record of bizarre incidents. "I think they identified largely due to the size. It's a small six, and apparently Mr Rowlins had very small feet."

She smiles pertly and adds, "I don't know if Mr Hawthorne was related to any of the missing people. Maybe he knew Mrs Chatham, the real estate agent? I'll bring you a sandwich." And off she is, because staying around until your boss has to spell it out is a bad career move. She opens the door in passing and beams at Conner, "Go right in, Mr Hawthorne, the doctor is not presently elbows deep in someone."

Well, it's something. Never know in a morgue.

"That is a small boot for a man, but it turned out to be pretty useful for us in this case, didn't it?" Ava adds. With the gloves on, she takes a moment to grab a wood tong and stick it into the shoe in order to lift it up, studying the bite marks. From a tray nearby is a strange looking ruler with a clip at either end. She rotates a dial to get a measurement and squints as the size of one of the bites. "Mm," she murmurs to herself.

"That would be great, thank you. You know what I like." Sandwich wise, that is. The intern leaves and Conner enters. Ava sets down the boot and ruler in their proper places, offering a faint smile towards the man. Nothing too bright considering the reason that brings him down to the morgue. "Do you prefer Mr. Hawthorne or Conner in this situation?" she wonders. "Can I ask if you've been given police permission to be asking about the case, or if this is a more personal driven curiosity due to the nature of the disappearance?"

Conner blinks owlishly at the questions. Like she's left him behind in about three minutes flat.

"Conner is fine," he says, gently, sliding his hands out of his pockets.

"No police permission, but I'm not here to ask about the case," he says, equally soft spoken. He gives Ava a quick, warm smile. "I wanted to see if I could help. Give me a pair of gloves so I don't muck anything up, let me handle the boot a second, I'll tell you what I see and then either one of two things will happen. One, we can figure out how to drop leads to the police based on what I see and I'm otherwise out of your hair...or two, just as likely, we'll know it's nothing we want members of the police force who aren't like us to go after, and we'll see about...trying to solve the problem, I guess."

He raises his hands a little. "I'm not in the habit of making trouble, Dr. Brennan."

"Oh." There's a quick blink.

"Well that changes things. Ava's expression brightens, a hand waving. "That makes things a lot easier. A lot less eggshelly." His warm smile is easily returns this time around, cheeks dimpling before she turns to grab a pair of gloves for him. "So, postcognition, then? The gloves don't get in the way?" she wonders. "Also, please call me Ava if you're going to insist on Conner. It's only right. You might not be in the habit of making trouble, but trouble has a habit of finding folks like us, now doesn't it? I remember you from the night with the Mothman."

She holds the gloves towards him, grinning. "So, if trouble finds us, and we're in it together, it might as well be on a first name basis. Right?"

When Ava relaxes, so too does the rumpled fellow before her, hands lowering, smile warming. "They don't," he assures. "When I started maybe, but not so much anymore. Though you might wanna put your cellphone...over there. Somewhere. While I do it. Lately I've been a bit hard on electronics."

She mentions the mothman as he pulls on the gloves with careful precision, and a look of concern crosses over his face. "I hope he made it home okay," he says softly. "Whatever passes for home. Were you lost in all that talk about quantum constructs? I got lost in all the talk about quantum constructs. Now there's a problem I surely don't know how to solve. Not unless we're going to...storm dude's tower on the other side which. That. Seems. Like maybe not the best plan. It sounded like Itzhak knew what was up though."

He clears his throat, realizing that he's rambling, or like he typically maybe doesn't string so many words together at once, adding a quick: "Right, yes, of course. Thank you, ah, Ava."

There's a pause as he mentions her cellphone, but then Ava remembers; Electricity. "Right." Her phone is set over there. Then a moment later she offers him an impish sort of look and pushes some of her equipment across the room as well. "No offense. "I kind of just blew up my own clinic the other day by poking at things I shouldn't have been. I can't have any more stuff ruined or my poor bank account is going to end up drained."

There's a little hobble back towards the table with the boot. He might notice now that she's up and around that there's a little bandage around her ankle. There was mention of a Dr. Brennon's clinic exploding the other day. "I didn't grasp all of it, but I think it breaks down to evil Santa looking guy that I roasted is doing some experimentations, creating 1. clones of himself. 2. monsters. and 3. human experiments for fun and slave labor out of people parts. The Mothman probably made it home, but from what Kailey says, I don't think he'd ever realize it. There's no real mind to him. It's just an empty space. It's just momentary urges and immediate survival for the creature." Which makes her face fall.

"That man needs to be taken down. I just don't know that we're the ones who should be doing it. That man's tower could be filled with creature's like that, we have no idea what we could be walking into."

"None taken," Conner says, dark eyes sparkling a little as she pushes the equipment aside. Though his eyes widen at blowing up her clinic. "Are--you're hurt," he observes, as he realizes she's hobbling. "Did you--I mean is the reason the clinic got blown up under control?"

He pauses, then, and tilts his head about the problem on the other side. "Maybe," he says. "I usually feel like 'if not us, who,' but 'us' is pretty broad. Maybe not you and me specifically. Maybe others more familiar with the problem. But then sometimes the Veil pulls who it pulls and then there isn't much choice."

But now that the room has been secured he steps over to the boot and lays one hand on the rim, the point where he thinks there will probably be even less trace evidence to accidentally foul up than anywhere else on the thing. He doesn't close his eyes or anything. He just tilts his head upward, maybe like he's listening to something, or just clearing his head. There's even the impression that he's still paying pretty good attention to her and anything she might say while he does it. Like the gloves, distractions are less of an issue for him these days.

He even muses, in a sort of distracted fashion, "Wonder what would happened if we'd tried to implant some memories in the guy, little seed of a personality..." But then there's maybe something to pay attention to, because he trails off.

"Oh, it's just a little sprain and a massive blow to my ego. Both will heal in time," Ava offers with a small laugh. "Under control, however. Depends. I mean. The thing that crossed The Veil to leave me a post it note with a little message left right after. But, I don't think that's the end of it. I'm sure you know how that feeling goes."

Her lips press for a moment. "Maybe not you and me specifically," she repeats, but then adds, "but probably you and me, specifically. Along with the others who were there that night. I've found that that's often the way those sort of things go. Maybe a couple of new faces. Or a couple of replacement faces. But mostly the same group. Care to make a wager on it? Could make it interesting." But then he's picking up the boot.

Ava goes quiet, even after hearing the Mothman idea. He can't see her face, but there is a spark of something on her face as he says that. Now there's an idea.

What does a shoe have to say? On the whole, not a lot. But a curious eye can still deduct a number of things, from looking at a shoe. It's a size six man's shoe, the kind that goes with a Fish & Wildlife Protective Services uniform; brown leather, sturdy, worn. It's small for a man, lending credit to the theory that it belonged to Mike Rowlins. There's a note in the margin on the clipboard reading 'Rowlins: Small feet' in blue Bic pen.

The medical records of the five missing people are included. They may contain useful information or they may not; it will likely take at least a cup of coffee or two's worth of time to go over them to tell. Maybe Denise Chatham's pollen allergy caused her to be eaten by giant birch pollen clouds. It's not very likely.

The police record from the scene, along with a few blurry photos of a stretch of Kirkpatrick Road, mentions the tracks of a couple of other vehicles, none of which have been identified. A post-it note (yellow) has been tacked on a page: It reads 'put out APB?' which is a silly question when there are no bullet points to describe. If those cars belonged to people who saw anything, those people have not come forth as witnesses. Maybe they were pulled over, asked a few questions, and sent on their way by the wildlife officers before the latter vanished too.

The teeth marks on the shoe are decidedly canine in origin. The leather is scratched in the way of a shoe that has been gnawed on by a bored dog or enterprising puppy; not to consume it, not to crack it open, but because it's nice to chew on. It seems a reasonably safe assumption that Rowlins was not wearing the shoe at the time; few people would sit still and not react while some mutt chewed on their footwear.

Conner's hand on the shoe detects things that the naked eye cannot: A foot, small in size, in a white tennis sock. It self-identifies as part of Mike Rowlins (the foot, not the sock), confirming what was already suspected. The shoe speaks of mud and forest floor and the gravel among river banks, of the bottom of a car capable of travelling off road, the deck of a house on the outskirts somewhere, possibly one of those A-frames. Normal impressions; this is the shoe of a F&W officer, after all.

Impressions linger on it; nice leather, good taste, but not actually food. Quickly bored, the fox dropped it again and wandered on to seek food elsewhere. And before that, falling off a foot belonging to a body dragged across the forest floor. No one stopped to pick it up; maybe no one noticed it falling off Mike Rowlins' foot, least of all Mike Rowlins himself. There is no sensation of strong emotion; no fear, no silent terror, no anger. Mike Rowlins was already dead or at the very least unconscious when the shoe fell off his foot.

Conner drops his gaze and lets out a soft, unhappy sigh. "Rowlins is probably dead," he says, lifting his hand from the shoe. "But I don't know if what got him was our kind of thing or not. He wasn't conscious when the shoe fell off his foot. The bite marks are just some fox gnawing on it. But he died in the forest, and someone dragged the body. I saw...an off-road vehicle, probably his F&W SUV. An A-frame house with a deck. Maybe near the river. If Rowlins owned property it could very well be his. But maybe his body, and the bodies of the others, are out around there, too. I'll tell you this much though. Normal animals, big or not, don't usually drag their food away. They eat it then and there. So it's either a perfectly human murderer who put in the 911 to lure F&W out there for weird reasons, or...it's our kind of thing, and we should maybe try to find this A-frame. I don't think that's the world's most common house style around here, though. And...Denise was in real estate, maybe..."

He shakes his head, trailing off with a furrowed brow.

He steps back, starts to strip off the gloves, frowning. "Did they impound Denise's car, or the F&W vehicles?"

That unhappy sigh brings the hopeful look on Ava's face crumbling down into a frown. "That's not what I was hoping to hear. It's what I expected, but not what I was hoping for." She takes the shoe and settles it back in place before setting a bag over it to avoid contamination. Then it gets slid into an empty drawer. Her own gloves are peeled off and tossed into a bin nearby before she scoops up the paperwork and spreads it out in front of them.

"That information should be in this section," Ava murmurs as she flips through the tabs. "Here," she murmurs, offering Conner the bit about vehicles on site at the time. "If they were, that part will tell you. "Do you think Denise's office would have a copy of all the houses that were up for sale? It might be on that list? Seems like it'd be easy enough to find out, if so." She hobbles away from Conner to let him flip through the paperwork, moving over to her laptop so that she can lookup the real estate webpage. If the listings are up, maybe the house is on there.

"If not just try Googling the county name plus A-frame houses. Someone will have taken a photo, or it would have been up for sale at one point. Zillow tends to have them whether they are actively for sale or not...Maybe...county name + A-frame + deck or +river," Conner says, as he goes through the reports, reading them very carefully. Maybe some detail he finds in there will spark a new idea or direction to try. Still absently: "If that doesn't work maybe a call to the county clerk of court; they might be able to run a records search. Could be one county over too..."

He does suddenly look up and shake his head. Wincing in apology. "Sorry, you didn't need me to tell you...any. Of that," he adds, sheepishly. "Just thinking out loud."

By the time Conner has gotten to the count clerk of court part, Ava is glancing back towards him with smirk of amusement written across her face, waiting for him to realize that she's just watching him instead of typing. When he finally does look up, she laughs. "No no, that's alright. It sounds like you're more of a sleuth at these things than I am. Were you a private eye in your last life, or something? Or this is just fun for you?" she wonders. "You get bored running an apartment complex, so you need something to do?"

Ava turns back around to go back to looking for the apartment, adding in the other searches in other tabs just to be sure. After all, the internet sucks here so this could take awhile. "There may be a way to put those skills to good use if you ever get too bored, you know. When we're done with this search. Have you ever gone poking into the Historical Society?"

"For years I was just a recluse who read a lot," Conner admits, and he's bright red, fixing his gaze right down at the paperwork. "But when an ancient being very kindly tells you to get off your couch and get out there...you kind of listen. Other than tons of random knowledge about random things, it's just kind of the way I think, I guess. I don't know if I'd make much of a PI though. I'm a pretty lousy photographer. And. You know. They have to talk to--to lots of strangers and stuff, and I don't know that's--that's really um. My strong suit."

A pause, thoughtfully. "Unless they're dead. Or an insect. Or a spirit of childhood trapped into a carousel animal or something. Then I do pretty good."

His headshake is self-deprecating.

Ava squints. "Well-- at least they were nice about it?" Ava says in a tone that's half question and half bewilderment. "It's nice that it took such an interest in your life, though. Did you ever figure out why? Did you ask it? Hey, ancient being, why are you so obsessed with me?" He can hear the mirth in her tone and the smile on her face. "Part of a PI team, then. Have a partner be the 'face' of the team. You do the sleuthing? I don't know, I'm just amusing myself."

"Does our carousel have a spirit of childhood trapped in it?" Ava asks flatly, glancing over her shoulder. "Does it need to freed or something? Or was that a figure of speech?"

"Oh, she was doing readings. Tarot readings. For everyone. Down at the park," Conner says, with a shake of his head. "She was nice to me; I saw her give a few other folks some serious what for. But she probably figured if she wasn't she'd just scare me back into my books. They call her Baba Yaga, though I'm not convinced. I didn't see hide nor hair of a house with chicken legs. But she told me: Come out. Come into your power, whatever it might be. You've hidden long enough. Now is the time to act. To become."

He shivers; even months later it has an effect. It's not a shiver of fear so much as the one that people give when something has hit them in a profound way. "Wasn't much more to say to that than 'yes ma'am' and to do as she--as she said, you know?"

But his lips twitch, just a little bit. "You offering to be the face of the team? You seem good with people. As for the carousel, no, not at all. On the other side the animals are all alive. They help kids, when asked. They do sometimes appreciate being freed from the poles for a little while though."

Hands fall away from the computer as Ava spins away from the computer. "Baba Ya--sss." Ankle. Forgot about that. Stupid not being able to heal herself. "There weren't any missing children after her visit, I hope?" Ava says with a slight frown. "That's not a folklore I would like to think is based in any sort of reality. Though, the chicken house is kind of amusing to picture. Even if the witch inhabiting it is terrifying beyond believe. But yeah. Yes ma'am is exactly what you say, then you run."

"From where I stand, you seem good with people, too. Maybe we're just good at foolish each other," Ava points out with a laugh. "If you ever start a PI business, though, let me know. I'll revisit the idea in my off hours."

"It's nice to know the kids have something like that looking out for them. Tell them thank you for me. Healing, plants, fire, those are my only gifts. I'm not able to touch on the others, I'm afraid. But they should still know I appreciate them. Not that they care what I think, but it might still be nice to hear it from more than one person, you know?"

As it happens, the F&W officers' two SUVs are in the GHPD's custody presently; they have to be, until it has been established that whatever happened to the four officers had nothing to do with the cars (or that it did). Denise Chatham's SUV is -- well, to say it's in custody would imply that it can be driven. It might be more accurate to say that it is occupying a couple of large boxes -- except for the bits that are still stuck in the tree.

There's a preliminary report filed by the technicians at the site, though. Nothing unusual found in either of the three vehicles. Chatham's glove compartment had trace amounts of cocaine; nothing substantial enough to indicate regular use. The two officers' cars turned up nothing more criminal than a chocolate bar that was slightly past its open before date.

It's not difficult to establish the addresses of either of the men nor of the woman. Rowlins did indeed occupy a small A-frame on the outskirts of Gray Harbor, not far from the Branch and Bole plant shop. The shoe was found about 300 metres off the incident site -- on Kirkpatrick Road through Humptulips, on the other side of Hoquiam and the bay.

A real estate agent crashes her car against a road tree. She calls 911 herself, and reports seeing a large animal, maybe some kind of giant ape. Fish & Wildlife is deployed to the site. Neither the woman nor any of the four officers are seen or heard from again. It's as if they've been plucked right off the planet, somehow.

There are a couple of photos, depicting foot or paw prints, from the gravel at the side of Kirkpatrick Road. Those are a little odd; to the eyes of a normal person, surely this is just some passing bear. To the eyes of someone who expects to find something abnormal, it might be -- yes, possibly some kind of large ape. Clawed. Five-toed. Not quite squat enough for bear.

Ava's compliment about being good with people produces a quick, sheepish, shy grin. "Healing and fire and plants are all very good gifts, though it's a shame you can't use it the former on your own behalf. You should go ask August if he still has those Veil seeds growing out behind his greenhouse, they might be a trip for you to study. Though animals grow out of them sometimes, they're super weird. Wonder if the fig wolf has moved on or if he's still there. And no, no children went missing after her visit that I know of. I think she just tolerates being called that. I called her ma'am, but she didn't scare me."

He is still going through the reports as he murmurs all this, noting: "Since a lot of this stuff feeds on fear I find approaching most things with a sense of curiosity and wonder is better first. Some, like those guys at the mill, you can't really--I mean sometimes you have to fight, you know? But sometimes...you get what you give, and if what you give is courtesy..." he shrugs his shoulder. "And there are beautiful things out there too..."

And then something finally gets his attention. He hisses and says:

"This...isn't one of them. Look here."

He turns the photo towards her. "See the prints? That is your classic Nightshade Bear, also known as a Devil Cat, also known as an Ozark Black Howler, though wow is it ever farther north than we'd expect, right? Holy cow, how'd it get here? These things are supposed to be real nasty. Bear sized, glowing red eyes, tons of fur, horns, huge...it's going to sound like...cross between a wolf, elk, and hyena, so...not a fun sound to hear. Or sometimes a screaming woman. Sort of a hellhound's less-pleasant cousin."

He rubs over his chin thoughtfully. "They haven't been encountered enough for people to talk known weaknesses. Some sources link them to Cu-Sith, a fae creature, which means Cold Iron is the best defense. Or...salt and holy water, I guess if it's really a hell-based creature. Though really. Why get that close?"

He tips a finger at her, lifting his eyebrows. "Fire'll stop just about anything, comes to that."

"Um. I don't know August. But if you can get me some of those seeds, I will owe you big time, because they sound amazing, and I'm going to need to build a greenhouse in my backyard just so I can grow them, now. Assuming there are still some and they can be gotten. Plants that grow animals. That's my dream come true. You don't even know." Ava's entire face could light up the room at the very thought of it. It's a dream come true.

The hiss has her glancing back with wide eyes, expression shifting immediately. "What?" Ava begins to walk over so that she can get a better look at the photo. "Nightshade bear? That sounds a lot cooler than it is," she grumbles. "Doesn't seem particularly nice. It took out that many people that quickly?" She nibbles on her bottom lip as se considers. "No, no getting that close. You keep your distance from that sort of thing. Big claws, sharp teeth, horns. Large size and probably fast, means that a charge is probably going to hurt, too. You take it out before it can get to you. That's the only way to survive."

At his last comment, she glances up, smiling just a little. "I have fire."

"The figs? Yeah, I've got two yet, but be real careful, okay? Wasps launched out of one and then a giant angry wolf launched out of the other. He didn't hurt anybody, but August was on a black thumb streak...may still be...killed a few of the figs and the wolf was real upset. But they also made pretty trees. August grew them in very controlled, protected conditions. He's at the Branch and Bole, you can probably just ask to see what he did and if the results don't freak you out I'll give you one. We had that big storm and I couldn't figure out what my life even was for a bit so I haven't been back."

He puts the photos back in the file and says thoughtfully: "We should take a lot of us," he says. "A lot, a lot. If we're going to stop it eating anymore folks. And you should heal up before then, or um. Aidan, I think? Also does that? Maybe he can help patch you up fast."

He stands, figuring there's not much more to offer or do, but he doesn't do anything in a hurry. Still plenty of time to talk or plan or think of some other angle before he ambles.

"You should see what the faeries and I have done with Oak Street. It's quite lovely. I bet the seeds would make a wonderful addition. I bet the faeries would actually adore that." Ava lifts her hands. "My thumbs are pretty green," she assures with a goofy smile, clearly meaning the druidic, green shine around herself. It's rather intense and hard to miss, though she does a pretty good job of trying to keep it under wraps unless she's make ridiculous puns about it like just now.

"No?" she questions, seeing if the jokes lands. "Come on, that was good. Green thumbs!"

"A lot of us. A lot of fire power. Agreed. That's the smart call. But no, I'm not taking the easy way out on my ankle. I earned this sprain and I'm going to suffer it until it feels better unless there's some sort of emergency where it needs to go as a matter of something that absolutely requires mobility. I'm sure it'll take a couple of days to get everything sorted right? But I promise that if I have to, I'll ask Aidan. He lives right next door." As Conner hovers, she glances around the room and then back towards him. A slow smile spreads again. "Did you want to go get coffee or something? Talk more? Come on, you can introduce me to your carousel friends."