[perc + empathy!]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 2, 9, 9) ( success x 2 )
Nathan Marszalek[perc + awareness!]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (1, 3, 6, 6, 10) ( success x 3 )
dririmancyMay 19th still.
Nathan Marszalek (soon to be Nathan Amherst again) tosses an email off to his father about the dog attacks. Theodore's sole input on the dog attacks is 'sad.' But, go figure, no other dogs are currently being prosecuted for criminal activity, so it's outside his area of expertise. He will and can tell Nathan what normally happens to animals involved in attacks on humans and what the owners could be liable for, but there's no specific interest.
Holiday weekend makes things difficult but that's when Jay Rodriguez can meet. Saturday morning, very early, or Sunday in the afternoon.
Ms. Rodriguez had called him two hours after he sent her that reply e-mail to tell him so. Over the phone she sounded calm and direct, but there's a copper wire taut blood on the tongue sharpness underneath the calm, careful restraint of concern verging on -- fear, perhaps.
May 20th.
He finds a dead bluejay on the seat of his motorcycle. It is missing its eyes. Perhaps they've been eaten by bugs already.
It is also missing the top half of its beak.
And when he sees it, something in him crawls to tell him uncanny, uncanny, uncanny, wasps dragging their stingers up the insides of his skin.
dririmancyooc: Why did I say 'holiday weekend'? My brain is stuck last weekend. (grin) I meant to say 'School week.'
Nathan MarszalekHe's not completely awake when he stumbles out of the house on the morning of the 20th. Stayed up too late the night before maybe. Doesn't matter. He's got everything he needs for the day and the house is locked up behind him and the sun's shining and birds are singing and nothing's exploded.
When he gets to his motorcycle parked on the street he stops and looks down at the seat and frowns.
"Jesus," he says even though there's no one around to hear him.
Should he call somebody? He has to touch it to get on his motorcycle. He doesn't want to touch it. He has a very bad feeling about touching it.
Nathan looks around the empty street and scowls the deepest of scowls and that's when he sighs. He slings off his messenger bag and dumps it in the saddlebag and picks up the dead bird knowing full well this is a bad idea.
dririmancyIt certainly is, Nathan Marszalek.
Maybe this is a convenient time for his sister to grumpily come out of the house to remind him about something, see what he's doing, and "Ewwwwww! Germs!"
The dead bird is stiff and cold and it stays very dead and very stiff in his hand. He can feel how brittle were its bones between his fingertips.
Do its eye sockets look at him accusingly? Does its gaping mouth, obscene without the top portion of its beak, seem to be trying to tell him something? Imagination is a poor friend sometimes.
Nathan Marszalek[perc + investigation!]
Nathan MarszalekDice: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 4, 4, 4, 8, 10) ( success x 2 )
Nathan Marszalek[+ alertness]
Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (3, 5, 5, 10) ( success x 1 )
Nathan MarszalekIf he starts communing with dead birds he's going to have to check himself into the inpatient psychiatric ward because that is a thing that has not yet happened in the twenty-seven years he has been hearing voices belonging to the departed.
His little sister is still asleep because it's seven o'clock in the morning and she has no earthly reason to be awake so there's no one around to see him walk back through the gate and up the sidewalk and pause on the porch while debating whether he wants to bring the thing into the house.
During his debate he stands there with the dead bird all brittle and stiff and cold in the palm of his hand. His hand isn't shaking. His hand never shakes until after the weirdness has ended. Those empty eyes didn't tell him anything yet but he feels an unease in the pit of him that has nothing to do with nausea.
He doesn't ask the thing What happened to you? because it isn't going to answer him. But he wants to know. This is too weird to be a coincidence.
dririmancyHe can't tell how it died by looking at it more closely. Its neck doesn't look broken; it just looks empty. Empty, and destroyed. There aren't any parasites that he can see, nothing around the eyes or the mouth and the feathers are smooth to the touch.
He's hesitating on the porch.
There are some skid marks on the street. New ones, like somebody was driving quickly and suddenly, somebody was just booking it last night. They're down by the corner. Does he remember hearing it? He probably does, light sleeper that he is.
His mailbox's flag is flipped in whatever position means: you've got mail. Nobody else's is. Something's poking out. Not another dead bird, but something.
Nathan MarszalekAh, shit.
Nate stands still for a few seconds and when he looks back because looking back has ended so well for so many people over the years but when he looks back he sees the flag on his mailbox is up. He'd missed it on his way out just now but he also was in a fog.
He hasn't flipped the flag up in a few days. It shouldn't be up.
In the tranquil morning he becomes aware of the heaviness of his own breathing. Wills himself to calm down as he sets the dead bird on the porch rail and goes back down the sidewalk.
dririmancyThe mailbox sits there.
Waits for him. Red flag, up like a sign. A warning.
Mild creak when he opens the door. He doesn't get any other preternatural inkling, any welling, pooling gathered up sink of strangeness, from what he sees when he opens his mail.
A few glossy pieces of junkmail spill out, hit the ground. Coupons. Coupons for a Korean Spa & Nail Joint, repeat ad infinitum. A couple posters inviting him to RAVE OUT. He spies that somebody's penned by hand U HAV BEEN CHOSE, but apparently that's a clever marketing gimick. Now that he's seen them, he can see that similar junkmail has been tucked under the windshield wipers of some of the other cars on his street.
Nathan MarszalekIt doesn't set him at ease that this is all junk mail stuffed into his mailbox but it doesn't make him feel like something bad is about to happen like he had when he picked the dead bird off his motorcycle seat. He has been chose.
Great, says the scoffing breath he lets go.
He claps the mailbox closed and carries the mail up to the house. Careful to keep it all in the hand that hasn't been touching the dead bird. A glance at the street as he goes tells him someone was busy last night.
dririmancyThe dead bird has not moved. If anything, it looks sadder than before, more bedraggled because its feathers were once such a bright blue, such a heart-ache blue of a thing. Weren't bluejays symbols of hope?
Two houses down, somebody comes running out, late for work or class or something, talking loudly on the phone.
It's a quiet morning.
Nathan MarszalekJust as he's about to set the mail down on one of the deck chairs and pick up the dead bird again a house down the street bangs open and he startles. It isn't as if he's not used to other people being up this early but the street was quiet and he was off in his own little world and he just stands staring at the loud-talker for a couple seconds before coming back to himself.
Right. Dead bird.
He unlocks the door and hurries inside to find a box to bury the thing in. The backyard is spacious and he has a few tools in the shed. It won't take long to bury.
Before he leaves again he washes his hands. Splashes water on his face. Today sucks already and it hasn't even started yet.
Oh well.
dririmancyMay 25th. Sunday.
They're meeting at the Woodbury Branch Library. Woodbury is small, but it has a sense of being an edifice -- a monument. Brick. Square. Renaissance Italian-style with large window arches and old-fashioned panes. There is a sense of age. Solidity. This place will withstand. This place will not crumble. This place is not open for very long, but Highland Park is right there and it is a nice day. Kites are being flown, this impossible cherry pink with a yellow tail dive-bombing into the trees, and the late afternoon sunlight is hazy and gold and if it were a candy it would be one of those old-fashioned butterscotch lozenges you suck on your tongue because if you try to chew on them they stick in your teeth.
He already knows what Jay looks like because he has checked her out on facebook. If he has a staff page with a picture anywhere, or a picture of himself on his blog, or if he himself can be seen by strangers on facebook, then Jay knows what he looks like too.
But he's going to see her first. A pudgy plain Jane of a woman, soft, soft, soft, soft curves, childishly round cheeks, more freckles than a grown woman (or a child of ten, for that matter) ever wants to be in possession of, a pair of wire glasses sitting smartly on the bridge of her nose, hair a deep slick burgundy (it's a good color) pushed back behind her ears and straight as a razor, sitting at one of the library desks near a conference room, dressed in a polka-dotted A-line skirt and a yellow teeshirt with a literary quote. She has that look people get when they're waiting and they've been waiting for long enough to become uncomfortable with how they are waiting and is sipping a coffee from the nearest coffee shop.
Nathan MarszalekThe contact list of the staff of the Denver Post is comprised of names and titles and email addresses. No photographs.
But Nathan has nothing to hide. His Facebook page does not reveal what people write on his wall but she can trawl his photos and get an idea of who he is. What he does with his time.
Jay Rodriguez if she chose to look him up knows that he graduated from Central High School in Omaha in 2005. Some pictures of him working for the school newspaper or playing soccer or milling around during homecoming show up courtesy of other people tagging him. He went to prom. A lot of the outdoor shots are of a dry and dusty place. It was a normal enough life. It was a long time ago.
He had to keep his hair very short while he was in the Marines and between 2005 and 2011 a lot of people took a lot of photographs of him. Every photograph where he isn't wearing BDUs he's still got a buzz cut. Half the shots where he isn't in uniform he looks startled by the camera's presence and the rest of them he looks like he's enjoying the company of whoever he happens to be with.
Not a lot of shots exist of him after he was discharged. The most recent one was from last summer. Some Colorado Press Association reception where he had to wear a tuxedo. His hair is a mess and he's thinner than he was in the service.
There are no pictures of him from this year. Not on this date. After this weekend he will resurface but as of right now Jay has no prior warning that he has a scar on his face. Scars don't photograph all that well anyway.
When he comes within sight he clears his throat and offers her an apologetic smile. He didn't mean to keep her waiting but running late seems to be part of his genetic makeup.
"Miz Rodriguez?" he asks like he can't tell who she is from a distance. He's wearing tan Dockers and a burgundy polo shirt. The pants are belted but the shirt is not tucked in. He's only 27. "Hi. Nathan Marszalek."
Handshake.
dririmancy[Self Control not to startle at the scar.]
Dice: 2 d10 TN6 (1, 6) ( success x 1 )
dririmancy[Should be one more die there anyway.]
Dice: 1 d10 TN6 (2) ( fail )
dririmancyJay isn't that much older than Nathan and she has a youthful smile and a youthful face. This makes her conscious of how she behaves, the need to put on an air of authority. Her school is an elementary school not a wretched hive of scum and villainy (or as it might otherwise be known, junior high or high school), but a certain authority is still necessary. And she does have it, once one gets past her face. Once she has gathered herself together to regard Nathan directly (with barely a flinch) and hold out a hand. Handshake. Hers is brisk and firm and the kind of handshake used to put parents in their place or to shut them up or to reassure them that they are not the ones in charge here.
"Hi. Thank you for coming. Just Jay will do. Please sit."
Nathan Marszalek[perc + empathy! REALLY TRYING TO PAY ATTENTION THIS TIME.]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (2, 2, 3, 4, 7) ( success x 2 ) [WP]
dririmancyHe can see her eyes flicker like she wants to look over his shoulder. Paranoid? Perhaps. He can also tell that she's worried, maybe see it when he notices her nails as they shake hands - thumb nail bitten down but not as if she does it all the time. Something taut about the shape of her smile. She wants to tell him things but it's going to be hard to get what she wants out anyway.
Joy.
Nathan MarszalekScar on his face. Scars on his arms. Lord only knows what happened to him. They're not here to talk about him. Ignore the flinch. Smile again. Handshake brisk and firm the sort of handshake twenty-somethings use when they're surrounded by people who think they're still kids. Alright. They can do this.
Please sit.
"Sure," he says. No smart aleck comments yet. Like he's trying to put her at ease she who sounded tense even in the email and especially on the phone. Pulls back the chair across from her and settles down like his back is stiff.
Once he is settled:
"I think this'll run smoothest if you explain things to me like I don't know anything about the attacks. Just tell me what happened from your own perspective and if I've got any questions I'll save 'em for the end. I'm not recording or writing anything down, so."
If he glances over his shoulder when she does that's going to make her jumpy. So he knits his hands together and lays his forearms across the table and tries to look nonchalant. Blond doe-eyed thing that he is he looks easy enough to talk to.
dririmancy"But it is on the record, right?"
Nathan MarszalekAn earnestly thoughtful expression. He'd been assuming she wanted whatever she told him to stay confidential. That this would just be a tip-off or a lead. Confidentiality in journalism leads to the splitting of hairs sometimes.
It interests him and he likes what he does most of the time. He could talk at great length about journalism and reporting and the press. That's why he's going to school to become a journalism professor. But Jay is jumpy and paranoid and has been through something.
So he says, "If you wanna be named as a source in anything that gets published later, sure."
dririmancy"I don't wanna be named as a -- " jumpy, indeed. Her eyes go wide with alarm, and she corrects herself immediately: "I don't want to be named as a source. I just don't know how this works. I just wanted somebody who might - "
Jay glances at the door again. Then she clasps her hands on the table they're seated at and leans forward. Her shoulders are hunched inward and it isn't a casual slouch, although she wishes it to be. There is so much tension in her neck.
"I just wanted somebody who might do something, or know people who might do something, to know." Fidget.
Nathan Marszalek"It's okay."
This at the end of all that and he's unlatching his hands and sitting back like to give her some space. Reassuring even as she's starting to get more jumpy.
"Hey, Jay. This sort of thing happens all the time. Anything you tell me is gonna stay confidential. Alright? Nobody'll know it came from you and I'll do whatever I can once I know what's going on, but..."
They're circling back around now.
"... you know, in order for me to do anything, you gotta start from the beginning."
dririmancy"Okay," Jay says. "Okay. That police officer didn't just 'happen' on the scene. The one who was hurt. Those dogs weren't his, but I know him. I know he's into dogs. He's, I mean I heard, I found out that he's doing things with these dogs, that he's running a sort of - he fights them I think. I never heard him say so but he used to come to our school and do - he'd do talks for the kids about safety and about the K-9 unit. He nice but not... He's... Young," as if they both aren't. But Brent McDermott was apparently more worthy of 'young.' "The thing of it, Mister Marszalek, is that I heard," she is suddenly brisk, "through my sources that this friend of his has been trying to get children to come 'play with the dogs.'"
Nathan MarszalekHe keeps his hands knit atop his knees now. Leaned back from the table she can see what he's doing. All he's doing is sitting and listening. Without a notepad and pen he doesn't quite know what to do with his hands. If she were a friend needing an ear he'd just slouch and call it a day. Hazy boundaries here. That's why many publications won't take off-the-record comments.
"Who's his friend? Do you know?"
dririmancy"I don't. My sources aren't always very able to express themselves clearly, or believably," she says, still brisk. He might consider that her sources are probably children, given her job and the subject matter. "But I think that he might be somebody else on the force."
Her eyes shift to the door again. The police make every right thinking American paranoid, don't they? This is a police state. Or it will be soon, if they have their way. And here in Denver, aren't they as corrupt as anywhere?
When her eyes shift back, she's looking hard at Nate, as if she can read what he thinks of whatever she's telling him.
[Perception + Empathy.]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (1, 6, 6, 7, 9) ( success x 4 )
Nathan MarszalekNate holds up under the scrutiny. He doesn't look like a man capable of lying but his face doesn't betray much as it is. Not unless he's trying. Nothing there to betray. His eyes are warm and kind and his brow is relaxed even if the muscles around his mouth are a bit tense from feeling sympathy for her.
He's seeing a lot of loose threads and doesn't quite know where to start in tugging them loose but that doesn't mean he thinks she's crazy. Just means he's withholding judgment until he reaches his own conclusion.
"The boy who was attacked that night, that was one of your students?"
dririmancy"No," Jay says. Then, almost immediately, "That's disingenuous of me. A cousin of one of the children who attend my school, yes. The world can sometimes seem very small."
Nathan MarszalekVery small. Very strange. Nathan nods at her observation and looks like he would smile if they weren't discussing the fate of a five-year-old boy. Dog-fighting and potential pedophiles.
"The attack took place at night, didn't it? Any idea what he was doing there?"
dririmancy[Conscience.]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (2, 4, 5, 6, 7) ( success x 2 )
dririmancyJay hesitates for a long moment, a snag-nail sort of moment. There is something she would like to tell him, but in the end she cannot bring herself to. Some moral codes go too deep, are so deeply ingrained. The wood is nothing without the grain.
"No, I'm afraid not. I do know that there have been other complaints about -- about fights in that area. I have a cousin myself," she says, rather wryly. "College dorm. Animals getting out of control. A couple other kids getting attacked, apocryphal stuff. All I know for a certainty, or feel I know for a certainty, is that there's more ... story there. And it's dangerous."
This doesn't explain why she's so afraid. But perhaps she just has a nervous disposition.
Nathan MarszalekMore than once Nathan has tried to give himself a clear exit by claiming he's a crime reporter and not an investigative journalist. It isn't his job to go digging. He just coughs up what the cops are already announcing and then steps back. He hasn't got the disposition of someone who would go chasing down every lead he came across but he does feel a certain tugging in the pit of him when he hears a call like this.
Life doesn't lend itself to mottos there being so many of them but Nathan likes to think that doing what he can where he can is a simple enough way to live. All he has to really do here is make a couple phone calls and bug the guy who wrote the original article to cough up any leads he was sitting on.
And ignore the dead bird on his motorcycle.
"Well, I appreciate you reaching out to me." He unlaces his hands and plants them on his thighs but doesn't stand yet. "Just so we're on the same page: this is the DU dorms, we're talking? Where the animals've been attacking people."
dririmancyJay doesn't seem like she expects Nathan to go in swinging.
Jay just seems like she wants people to be aware.
To know.
Isn't that the point of a newspaper? Of journalism? Freedom of speech and the press? Share news more important than which youtube video was really fucking cute the other day and topped however many trillion views.
"Yes," she says. "I just... I think the police are protecting Officer McDermott's partner," frank, her hands have been clasped this whole time, tightly. "It makes me feel better knowing someone knows. You did a ...really good job on that terrorist report."
Nathan Marszalek"Oh." Shit. He's briefly startled that anybody even read that and then silent a moment afterwards as he reminds himself that the general population has no idea what he knew when or what he didn't disclose. A brief flash of a smile anyway. "Thank you."
Walk it off rookie.
"Well hopefully we'll get to the bottom of this and the dog attacks'll stop, huh?" Like it's that simple. "If you think of anything else, you've got my email and my number and everything. Feel free to use them."
Nathan Marszalek[perc + empathy!]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (5, 5, 7, 8, 9) ( success x 3 )
dririmancyJay Rodriguez thanks Nathan for his time and offers him a ten dollar gift card to StarBucks. She's not a teacher so she doesn't get as many gift cards as they do around this time of year, but she doesn't get completely left out in the snow. They part ways, and Jay doesn't seem any easier for their conversation.
Something is gnawing at her. Something is chewing her ragged, is picking sinew and muscle from her bones peeling it away and this is a metaphor.
Something else. Can't speak it. Don't speak it. Troubling.
The reporter will do what reporters do.
Find a way to report. It'll be fine.
No it won't.
--
The next day, when he goes to leave work, he'll find a hopscotch scrawled in chalk near his motorcycle or the jeep. There will be words in the hopscotch squares:
one | punches | hard | two drink | deeply | mad maze | cuming.
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