Fiction World of Darkness: Attrition - Something Wicked That Way Went - Pt. 1 - Sniffing Out Clues (complete)

[Sam Spaid]

August 11

Sam was surprised by the knock on the door of her office. She was filling out billing slips for a couple of clients on an otherwise slow day to get ahead. With no pending cases Sam had even considered taking tomorrow off spend time with her son. Looking up she called, "Come in, the door's open." Sweeping the papers into a pile she laid them into a drawer as the door opened.

"Good afternoon Miss Spaid," Mr. Smythe said as he walked into the room, his former drawl reduced to only a hint of an accent. Sam guessed he really was from the South, but played it up further when it suited.

Sam's eyes narrowed. "Mr. Smythe, how can I help you?" She managed to keep the edge out of her voice, disguising it with a pleasantly bland concern. In the two weeks since she'd located Mr. Smythe's son for him she'd caught somebody tailing her twice, and been told by one of her contacts that a man fitting the description of the man's son had been asking about her with some of the less routine channels. Whomever these men were they had been doing their homework. She smirked, "Perhaps I can help you locate your lost accent this time around?"

Smythe chuckled, a sound like dry reeds shifting against each other. He sat down, his thin frame folding into the chair in a way that made Sam think of a preying mantis; she shivered despite the warmth. "Miss Spaid I'm going to stop playing games, because I know that you've spent some of your time locating myself and my son, and that you are aware of our inquiries about you. We needed they help of an appropriately skilled detective, and I believe you, fit that bill."

Sam's expression soured, "You'd have been better off trying to lie to me Mr. Smythe, I don't like people snooping around my life."

Smythe spread his hands in a placating gesture, "I am sorry for the ... duplicitous nature of our initial encounter. I had heard that no detective in Los Angles could find things better, or faster, than you could. You proved truth to the rumor, most impressively given how little information there was to go on."

"I know my city," Sam replied

"And I expect that there is more to it. My ... sources have indicated to me that this is rather par for the course for you. Some might call your record and your skills, supernatural in scope." Smythe seemed to be hinting at something strongly, and Sam was worried that she knew exactly what it was. "Regardless of your methodology Miss Spaid, I have a job for you, if you will take it, and I think if you hear me out you will."

Sam scowled, "Then you'd better get on with it before I decide to kick you out and file a restraining order."

Smythe quirked an eyebrow, "I'll keep it short then. I need your help tracking down a monster."

[Sam Spaid]

Sam laughed. She laughed to cover up the sudden wellspring of terror that gushed forth from within her.

Monsters.

Sam was well aware that there were things that went flitting among men clothed in disguise and shadow and disbelief. Things that hunted humans, or herded humans, or protected human from others who sought them harm. Things that were very decidedly not human. Sam had met some of them. Worked with some of them. Taught one of them her trade for months before finding out the truth, because she was a detective and she couldn't help but scratch at the itch of a mystery posed.

Damnit. Monsters.

For his part Mr. Smythe merely waited. Watching her. Studying her. His patient expression was one that spoke of having seen this reaction time and time again. He waited, and watched, and was ready for her to speak. He was not ready for what she said however.

Sam finally clamped down on the fear. Whomever this man was she would hear him out, winnow the truth from the falsehoods, divine the actual situation from they story. If there was a monster out there Sam wanted to know. She wanted to know who it was. Adrian? And if they were a danger to the people of her city, or not. "Tell me about it, start with the facts, supposition can come later."

Smythe was taken aback, "You ... don't doubt me?"

"Doubt you? No. I've seen all manner of monsters in this city, I was a policewoman before I was a P.I. I know about the dark things that are out there."

"My clients appear to have been correct in their suspicions about you. I had my doubts but..."

Sam cut him off, "Your clients? And what suspicions?"

Smythe smiled, a not entirely pleasant expression on his narrow face, "Yes, I said I was not from around here, and I am not. A ... group of concerned citizens has asked me and my ... associates, to come here and deal with what they believe is a ..." Smythe trailed off, hesitating.

"Spit it out man. A Vampire? One of the Fae? What?"

"A werewolf." Smythe shook his head, "I had not expected you to be already aware of the full depth of the shadows that surround mankind."

"I am. Now what of these suspicions about me?" Sam all but demanded. She was already thinking that these men were misinformed, or inexperienced; the werewolves she had known had made it clear that mankind was not their prey, but their wards.

"They have heard rumors. Talk of your ability to locate seemingly anything, and quickly. There are stories of you picking up clues from crime scenes that the best police detectives and forensic specialists were unable to find. There are those who believe that you are possessed of psychic gifts."

Sam frowned, "Is that so." She didn't sound happy, but she hadn't denied it outright with her initial reply. "Why is it that a capable woman must have some secret to her success? Were I a man I would be lauded for my skill and expertise."

"Were you a man the suspicions would still remain. You found my boy in a handful of hours in a seedy motel with only a photo to go on. He had not been anywhere else in the city but that place since we arrived. I call that supernatural, even if it is not psychic in origin."

"Shit."

[Sam Spaid]

Smythe laughed, "My apologies. Your secret will remain confidential, of course, I am hoping you will work for me again, not to make you an enemy." He spread his hands, "We humans have to stick together against the night, yes?"

Sam scowled and shook her head in irritation, "Get on with it. What makes you think there's a werewolf is out there?"

Smythe leaned back in his chair, the old wood creaking a little as he did, his thin frame barely even occupied the old armchair, let alone filled it. "Right down to business, alright then. For the past six or seven months my clients have observed a combination of factors which have made them suspicious that something is at work in and around the campus at UCLA. There have been a number of disappearances of the unsavory type of people who prey on, or service, the college. The drug dealers, the pimps, the foul rapists who use or distribute drugs to render women unaware and pliant. Recently these have gone from disappearances to deaths. Likewise there have been ... indications ... of bloodshed in those areas and the surrounding neighborhoods."

"Sounds like somebody is doing the world a favor. Taking care of scum like that, I'd thank whomever was doing it." Sam sounded harsh, but it was true, she'd been a cop, she was a woman, and a mother, she had little tolerance for those who preyed on innocents. A hatred of drug pushers, pimps, and the like that had deepened while on the job. "Unless things have gone into the student body I'm not sure I care if there's a monster at work or not."

"There is not evidence that that has happened yet, but these men, however foul are not fools and they have started to get the picture, and fewer now ply their trade where the risk runs so high. Correspondingly the number of those missing, or, as I said, killed, has decreased. Such a creature will soon have little option but to move on or to alter its habitual game." Smythe reached into the pocket of his light jacket and withdrew a small bundle of photos. He tossed them onto the desk and the scattered about. "Here," he said pointing to a photo, "Are markings my client has documented which they, and I, believe are some kind of territorial claim by the creature."

"Any kind of animal could have made these, a stray dog, even a coyote," Sam retorted looking at the marks.

"My client has access to a veterinarian and a trained wildlife specialist, both believe otherwise." He pointed to another photo showing a sidewalk stained with a familiar shade of rusty reddish-brown, "There was no body found but traffic cameras showed a man waiting in this spot, The recordings were full of static for perhaps a minute, maybe slightly longer, and then the image cleared and the man was nowhere to be seen, a puddle of blood, resulting in this stain, was all that remained."

"That ..." Sam started to protest but the words failed in her mouth even without the glance from Smythe that said as clearly as words, Really? She shook her head, "One person, and some markings ... it could be a vampire, they ..."

"There are others who have said that they have heard things, seen things, that there is a man who has scared some of them off, scared them out of that territory, as though it were his to claim. And there is this," he pushed the stack apart splaying new photos, some of them clearly police crime scene photos. "Last night, Holmby Park, a man dashed out into the evening traffic on Cornstock Avenue. He was struck by a truck and killed."

"And?" Sam asked, just plain irritated, "What? Was it some kind of were-truck? Or was there Werewolf driving a Chevy with intent?"

Smythe laughed again, and not for the first time Sam got the impression that under the veneer he was a vicious man. "No, but he was a known dealer. A man who sold GHB to college students. You are aware of what GHB is yes?" She nodded, an angry grimace of distaste on her face. "He fits the profile to a tee, and a truck registered in his name was found further up Cornstalk Ave near to the University."

"I see."

"There is an autopsy planned, though my client and myself expect there to be no surprises about the cause of death they are hoping to see a further connection, one that links this to a small handful of similar incidents."

"Which is?"

"Fear. Adrenaline, levels far above the norm, levels which can only be caused by extreme fright and a flight instinct. The client had called me in for my expertise as a specialist, a hunter, as it were, of hunters, but I cannot both ask questions and maintain a low profile. I was given your name and your unique skills were mentioned. I hope that you will help me to find the beast, that is all, just locate it and identify it and I will do the rest. You will be paid twice your normal fee, both due to the need for discretion and secrecy, and because this animal is clearly dangerous."

Sam considered the photos, the evidence, the story. Sam thought about what little she had been told before, that werewolves were protectors of the balance between humans and spirits and that more often than not it meant that they were the champions of mankind, who could not defend itself against the denizens of the spirit world. "And if I find it is not a werewolf?"

"We will deal with whatever it proves to be. If it proves to be a human, we will either bring them to the attention of the police, or ensure that the situation is resolved appropriately if they are to be trusted."

"In other words if you think that they won't hurt the students you'll do nothing?"

"Correct. A man, or woman, has the right to stand up for themselves and their friends and family."

"Fine, but my up front is quadrupled for this job. Two grand before I lift a finger, and if you want full secrecy you 'll need to pay cash. Otherwise it'll be on the books."

[Sam Spaid]

Smythe nodded easily, "Well enough, and as expected. The autopsy of the most recent death will be carried out on Monday. My clients can get us a copy of the report. In the meantime carry out whatever investigations you can and I shall return on Tuesday with the report and to discuss your findings to that point."

Sam rolled her eyes, "I know how to do my job Mr. Smythe, but if you want to waste my time and your money with an office visit so be it, Tuesday at 10 a.m. In the meantime, since you seem to have done a great deal of prior legwork, do you have a file I can review containing the prior incident information?"

Smythe flipped one of the photos over, the back was covered in writing in a neat hand, "What is there is what is known, as I said there were no bodies, and while the police looked into some of the instances, there is little to be done without a body." Sam nodded and started to read the text on the back of the photos. "If that is all I will leave you to it, and see you again on Tuesday," he said unfolding from the chair.

Sam nodded absently, "Yes, that'll be fine." She barely heard the door click shut as she scanned the photos and notes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

August 12th

Sam stepped out of her car and looked around at the area of Holmby Park and Cornstock Ave. The street itself was lined with trees, and surprisingly they weren't palms. On the park side they were a few deep before the park open up into a large open grass field. There was some kind of large mansion across the park from her that she could see through the trees. This land was probably part of somebody's estate in the past, the house was likely a historic building now used for some other purpose. Sam liked it, there were many places in L.A. where one could set off the street and get away from the city to one degree or another, and she enjoyed most of them in some fashion. The immediate area was mostly housing, and the park was fairly quiet.

Sam longed to go into the park and walk around, or even just sit in the shade, but she had work to do, and if she was going to shirk that she would at least want to go and spend time with her son. She sighed a little, feeling the bad parent as she usually did, having the boy looked after by sitters and nannies and her father while she worked. It was irrational, but she still felt the guilt whenever she was working and couldn't spend time with him. He'd grown up so much in the past few years and in a few more he would start to drift away from her as he became more independent. Shaking her head she turned toward the street again and pulled out the photos Smythe had given her. The pusher had been killed in the street which meant that it took a little more effort to locate the spot, but it was only a few days before and there were dark streaks of black rubber still ground into the asphalt to hint to the location, and with the photos she was able to pin it down further.

Sam found a convenient bench nearby, barely a dozen paces from where the man must have burst out of the trees and into the road where he was hit by the truck and killed. She swallowed hard, this wad not going to be pleasant at all but she needed to see if Smythe was right, and toxicology reports were all good and fine, but they weren’t the kinds of iron clad evidence that would convince her that a werewolf was responsible. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, relaxing and exhaling through he barely parted lips. To any onlookers she appeared to be basking in the sunlight, which did feel rather nice, but what she was doing was something far more difficult.

Postcognition

Spending a WP 5/6

[jameson] 1:49 pm: Wits 3 + Occult 2 + 1 for Psychic powers specialty - 1 for within 1 week = 5 dice.

jameson *rolls* 5d10: 5+8+2+4+4: 23

[jameson] 1:49 pm: 1 sux

[jameson] 1:49 pm: just enough for Sam to see who caused the pusher to run into the street

[Sam Spaid]

It was dark, as dark as it can get in L.A., Sam couldn't tell what time of night it was, but that didn't really matter. John-Henry was running scared. His breath came in raw, ragged, gasps, his throat and lungs must have been burning. He was, in Sam's estimation as she watched from some spectral vantage, a pudgy little fucker who probably hadn't run that hard in years. She could smell the acrid stench of urine on him, mixed with sweat and smoke, the front of his pants were soaked with it. His face was red from exertion, otherwise it would have been white from terror, his expression confirmed that; this man was gripped by a primal fear so absolute that rational thought had completely fled, overwhelmed by the reptilian hind-brain that controlled the fight or flight response. In John-Henry's case there was not even a glimmer of fight left, his was a terror filled flight as pure as any.

Despite the flush in his face, the clear agony as he hauled in oxygen that burned on its way down, and on the return trip out, John-Henry was covering ground in uneven strides, his dumpy body lacking any manner of grace, but propelling itself regardless with the nimbleness of fear. Fear of certain death at his heels. Sam watched him as he came towards her. She realized she was still sitting on the very same park bench; or perhaps she was the park bench, the view, the angle of it, was skewed low. Not fixed, but as though there were only so much height she could achieve. John-Henry was racing toward her position, his eyes wide as saucers, the whites clearly visible all the way around the irises of his eyes. He cast a glance back and nearly collided with the bench. His head snapped forward, impelled by a sound that Sam would have sworn no living creature could make outside of a studio. The snarl tore through the night air, an angry sound that conveyed blood lust feral power, and cruelty.

Somehow John-Henry managed another burst of speed and a propulsive leap that skewed him away from a collision with the park bench. Sam's view point did not waver as the man disappeared from view. There was a sudden high pitched scream of terror, an undignified sound that merged with the sound of tires squealing desperately on pavement, and then a thud, wet, heavy, hollow, and final. Behind her view John-Henry was already dead, but his body was still traveling in a slow arc that would propel him another twelve feet up the road. From her vantage Sam saw the man's murderer skid to a stop at the edge of the pool of a nearby streetlamp. Even in the vision it was a thing of horror that made her bile rise. It was unlike any creature nature had seen. Standing on four legs, with a head that seemed all jaws and teeth was a massive wolf that would have made a Saint Bernard look like a Beagle. Dark coarse fur blended into the darkness like it was a creature born of nightmare shadow and soon to return. Above the tooth-laden muzzle, were two silver eyes that stared past her to the carnage behind her. A glimmer of satisfaction tinted those eyes and t hen the beast, the creature from blackest night, turned and disappeared into the darkness and shadow beneath the trees like a phantom.

[Sam Spaid]

Gorge and bile erupted in Sam's throat as she surged to her feet, the vision shattering like a fallen glass. She staggered two paces away from the sidewalk and vomited into the grass, falling to her knees and hands. "Holy shit, what the fuck was that?" she asked aloud, her body still shaking, and her mind wanting to flee from the memory of that monster. She pushed away from the mess, crawling because her legs were too unsteady to rise on, let alone walk. Sam crawled to the shade under a nearby tree and put it to her back sitting there in the cool shadow of a far more gentle life form. Smythe may have been an ass, but he was right about one thing, there was a werewolf at work killing people in the UCLA area, and even if they were the scum of humankind, even if they were criminals who deserved what they got, that didn't change the fact that there was an out of control monster hunting human prey.

Sam's hands were still shaking, her heart still beat like a machine gun in her chest, the fear that that thing had inspired, even through the vision, even from only a momentary glimpse, was nearly overwhelming. She fished her cell phone from her pocket, the simple act took three tries and still ended with the phone on the grass between her legs. "Screw it, he can wait," Sam said, and leaned her head back onto the tree trunk. Closing her eyes she took deep breaths in through her nose and out through her mouth. Gotta clam down. Slowly, incrementally, Sam controlled her breathing, forced herself to calm down, to push the fear back. That thing was nowhere near here, and in broad daylight, she was a safe as could be. After ten minutes she opened her eyes and took up her phone, what little tremor there was in her hand was due more to a sudden fatigue as her system processed out the adrenaline that had flooded her system as a result of her fear. She took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and then dialed Smythe.

[Sam Spaid]

August 16

"You understand that this will take time. Even if I were willing to risk seeking the creature out directly, and I am most certainly not, it would do no good while it was in human shape. It would be like trying to track down," Sam hesitated, What would it be like? She thought for a moment. "I dunno, but I'm pretty sure it wouldn't work, and like I said, I'm not inclined to go looking for a killer werewolf in such a direct way. I'll keep my eyes out, but," she shrugged, "This thing is dangerous."

"Yes, I understand that but," Smythe began only to have Sam cut him off.

"But nothing, you haven't see what I have seen. That thing," she shuddered, "I looked back, I went to the other spots you suspected were its doing, I saw what it did to those men." Sam swallowed, looking pale, fragile. "I'm scared. That thing ..." she broke off, shaking her head, it was too much to even think about.

Smythe sighed, but nodded as well, "As you will then, I understand the danger, and will not press you to do more than you are wont to do. My clients, and my own men are looking for clues as well. Continue to do so for us and you will be paid, we cannot afford to lose a resource with your kind of practical experience."

Sam nodded, "I'll let you know if I see or hear anything. If I get a lead I will follow it, at least as far as I feel safe."

"I would ask little more."

"Even if you did I wouldn't agree Smythe."

He laughed, and once again Sam found herself wishing he wouldn't, his laugh was something unpleasant to hear. "Unless you have something else for me Smythe, I do have other clients you know."

"Of course, good-day Ms. Spaid," he replied standing from the chair and moving to the door. Sam had the impression of a snake again, and shook her head. She didn't like that man, but he paid his bills, and sometimes that was enough.