World of Darkness World of Darkness: Attrition - Connect the Dots

[William Rose]

Antoine stared at the newspapers. Half a dozen were spread out on the table with articles circled in red as though he might forget what he was looking for. He wouldn't. His right arm curled a dumbbell slowly, part of his recovery was working on recapturing his physicals, his strength and stamina had both suffered from his prolonged hospital stay. He'd been lucky to get away with only that. Lucky that his girlfriend was a highly motivated go-getter of a werewolf who hunted down and destroyed the spirit of pestilence that had infected him.

Six children hadn't been quite so lucky.

Even once the spirit's influence was ended their withered little bodies simply couldn't endure. Antoine was well aware because he'd spent the better part of six straight weeks cooped up in the antiseptic prison that others called a hospital.

Up. Down. Set of 10 reps. Ten sets at a time. Then the other arm, or maybe squats or lunges or crunches. Over and over. When he wasn't studying and trying to catch up or spending time with Amber he was exercising.

Also he was pouring over newspapers, books, the internet; basically anything he could find on things that went bump in the night, how to combat them, and most importantly, what seemingly innocuous news was really the wool being pulled over the eyes of the mortal sheep. A sheep no longer he now started to see the dots and slowly he started to draw lines. Lines that started to form the shape of something that was stalking the streets and making a messy end to people.

[William Rose]

Laura Etta. Twenty-three years old. That's too damn young. Found outside her apartment building three months ago with her throat torn open. Police say they aren't certain what the motive was but feel it may have been a botched mugging. Yeah, because muggers take the time to tear out people's throats when they don't hand over their cash...

Lou Spicolo. Fifty-eight years old. A retired cop on disability. A waste, even that is still too young for a man who did good during his years. Apparent suicide. The wheelchair bound man apparently tumbled down the basement stairs of the home he shared with his wife and, unable to handle the pain, open his wrist. Somehow I doubt a retired cop would throw it in so easily, especially one with a family...

James O'Mally. Thirty-two. Freak accident. Apparently his jugular was punctured when his car hit a tree. Police say he wasn't speeding and it is unknown if alcohol was involved. Safety glass is called that for a reason, no way this happened in the accident...

More than a dozen others over the past three months with similarly thin explanations. I have to think the cops are investigating this, but I also fear that they are too overwhelmed to look beneath the convenient explanations. Antoine looked over the list of dates he's written on a yellow pad. Each one three days after the last, every single one at night. Occam's Razor; the simplest explanation is the mostly likely one. The simplest is that I'm nuts and jumping to inane conclusions. But then once you factor in the supernatural nothing is simple. Probably a messy but marginally clever vampire is taking the easy way to dining out. Still... More information was needed. Autopsy reports were something that he might be able to get, Maybe Ariel can help with that ...

[William Rose]

Antoine scowled, Supposition and a gut feeling aren't enough to go on. Something more, something a little less guess and a little more fact. He set the dumbbell down and went to the tiny kitchen to get a drink. Ignoring for the moment that he had a girlfriend who might very well not want him to drink out of the carton Antoine bypassed a glass and chugged milk directly from the half gallon container. As he did he looked over the fridge and the assortment of things stuck to it. A fridge haiku that Amber has left him, a couple of coupons for Powerade, a reminder for his next doctor's appointment with a little map showing the location of the man's office. A map ... I wonder ...