Turn 8, part one of three
Clay held up the necklaces in the light, something about the way they caught the light gave Clay a good feeling. Giving them to his wife and children did not seem that strange an idea, despite the oddness of the letter. Even if Mr. Tyrel was a little mad they would be beautiful gifts.
Standing up from the table Clay refolded the letter and slipped it into his pocket, sliding two of the three necklaces in along with it. The third he kept in his hand as he walked into the kitchen.
The little blue and white kitchen was filled with the scent of sausage and eggs, a heady aroma that gave Clay painful reminder that he'd eaten precious little since the incident. He hadn't felt like it then, but by God if those sausages weren't the most beautiful things in the world, well, after his wife and daughters of course- but they were far less edible. Clay walked up behind his wife gently, grazing her shoulder with his thumb to let her know he was there as he looped the necklace around her neck.
"What's this?" Helen asked as she caught the little leaf pendant with her free hand, examining it with a knowing smile as she kept breakfast from burning with her off hand.
"I ordered these for you and the girls some time ago, although I've quite forgotten the occasion," Clay lied with a laugh. [Clay Lie roll 17-10-10 (Target distracted, Target Trusts you) -Margin 3- Vs Helen Discern Truth 42-10 (Target Knows you) -Margin -27-]
Helen leaned her head forwards to let Clay do the clasp, her shoulders shaking slightly under the power of a suppressed chuckle. Clay hated lying to his wife, but saying 'Oh, here, a stranger who says humanity might be falling apart sent these to give to you and the kids' might have been pushing things. Though, to be honest, Clay felt a little odd about it himself. He somehow felt more trust in the necklaces themselves than he did in Hector Tyrel's good nature.
As soon as Clay finished getting the clasp around Helen's neck she playfully elbowed him backwards, making room to spoon a hearty helping of sausage and eggs onto a plate and hand it off to him before setting out a similar, if smaller, helping for herself.
"Go on," Helen said, shooing Clay back to the table.
"I can hear you drooling, eat, then talk." Clay took the proffered plate of food without hesitation, walking back to the table with Helen in tow. As they sat together, Clay offered a quick grace. Nothing extravagant, just a bowed head and a word of thanks. He was alive, Helen was alive, his girls were alive. All might not be right with the world, but nothing was wrong with the part of the world he cared about.
Only when Clayton had blunted the ravening edge of his hunger did he surface for long enough mention the letters. He wouldn’t mention anything about that last one, he wasn't sure he wanted Helen to see that one just yet.
"The letters," he began after he washed down his latest bite of breakfast,
"I was talking about the letters." Helen smiled at his hunger induced absentmindedness but said nothing, waiting for him to finish his train of thought.
"The first was a letter from the mayor, or his secretary rather. They apparently blame me so much that they're going to give me an award for it," Clay said, shaking his head in rueful disbelief before continuing.
"Then there was a letter from Professor Fen, he's holding a meet of sorts on Saturday and is inviting the whole family. I think it would be good for the girls to go out to the country for a few hours. The fresh air could probably do us some good, too. What do you think?" Helen's lips pursed slightly, an expression that could either be amused or exasperated.
"Professor Fen, Abigail's husband?" Clay winced when he made the connection. Abigail Fen was a matriarch in every sense of the word, and she had the tendency to offer free advice about anything that happened to be in front of her. Up to and including what a proper family should have.
"Thought so," Helen said as she correctly interpreted Clay's expression.
"You're going to cloister yourself up with the other professors while the old bird points out how we have two very lovely daughters, and that what we really need is a couple of sons to balance out our lives. Clay," she added in an almost pleading tone,
"the woman is worse than my mother." Clay hid his smile in his coffee cup, Helen would do it, but she certainly wouldn't pass up the opportunity to let him know how tolerant she was for doing it.
"I know for a fact that you and the other wives decide as much about the college's strategy and what to say to the board while you're with the children as we do while we're conferring. Probably more," Clay amended with a snort. Some of the professors occasionally seemed to forget that they were suggesting ideas, not giving a lecture.
"True, Helen said with a secretive smile.
"Of course I'll come, despite the old bird. Jennifer and Fiona could use an evening out of town, and we could certainly do worse ourselves- even with Abigail's advice." Clay nodded once and drained the last of his coffee.
"Thank you, remind me and I'll write a reply back to him when I get back," he said as he gathered his empty plate and cup to wash.
Helen twisted in her chair to look at him with a raised eyebrow.
"Of course, but where are you going?" "If I hurry I can meet the girls while they're having lunch, I can give them their gifts," Clay replied from the kitchen.
Helen sighed knowingly and laid her own dishes together.
"You just want to see them don't you? It would hardly be that much of a wait to give them your gifts when they get back." Clay agreed inwardly, it probably would be equally easy to wait until later to give them the pendants, but this was as good an excuse as any to see his daughters.
"True, but I've also given some thought to checking up on some of the students in the hospital. Just to make sure that they're alright and to let them know that their classes have been canceled until further notice. With everything going on they don't need that worry weighing them down." "Alright," Helen said as she walked into the kitchen and set her own dishes with Clay's.
"I suppose it was a lost cause to get you to stay home and help around the house," she said with a quirked smile,
"but while you're out would you mind picking up some bread? Nothing fancy, just a solid loaf from that little bakery on Derby." "Of course," Clayton replied immediately. The bakery on Derby wasn't the cheapest, or the closest, but they had a reputation for not trying to pass off a stale or airy loaf as good bread. Besides, Derby was just a couple of blocks from the hospital, he could drop by after he'd visited the students.
"I can pick it up on my way back, anything else you need?" Helen smiled but shook her head.
"No, that's all for today," she said to Clay's back as he walked out of the kitchen and collected his greatcoat.
"Clay," she added a moment later when he'd managed to drape the heavy coat over his shoulders.
"Just... be careful." Clay physically winced at the note of raw concern in her voice. She'd kept her emotions in check for the benefit of him and the children, catching a glimpse of what she was actually feeling under the armor she'd built was... painful.
"Helen," Clay said softly, walking back to her and putting his hands around her shoulders comfortingly.
"I'm going to see our daughters, see a student, and get some bread. I'll be fine." Helen closed her eyes, relaxing for the first time in many hours.
"Last time you were just working late, and a building nearly burned down on top of you." "Most people manage to go their entire lives without something like this happening to them," Clay murmured, his head bowing forwards to support and be supported by Helen's in equal measure.
"With any luck, the rest of my life will be spent without anything remotely close to interesting happening ever again- and even if I'm unlucky enough to have something like this happen to me again, I don't think it's going to happen again so soon." Clay smiled as he finished and kissed Helen, he knew his reasoning wouldn't stop her worrying- not anymore than her calm rationale had truly stopped his guilt, but perhaps he could banish her fears to the dark for a while longer.
"I'll be fine, I promise." Helen hugged Clay tightly for a moment, then disengaged far enough to look him in the eye.
"You better be," Helen said, her eyes and tone fierce enough to make it a command.
"Now go. You'll miss the girl's break if you don't leave soon." Clayton nodded fondly, pausing to favor Helen with one last kiss before straightening and settling the greatcoat back across his shoulders.
"I'll be back in a little while," he said as he fished through his pocket to make sure he had his wallet.
"Don't you worry." "Tell the girls I love them," Helen said,
"and try not to forget the bread." "I will," Clay said with smile.
"I love you." "I love you too, now stop stalling before I make you polish the silverware," she replied, her tone equal parts tenderness and banter.
"Yes, ma'am," Clay said as he walked to the door, turning the collar of his greatcoat up against the spring chill that waited for him outside.
The day was brisk, not enough to put frost on the windows, but more than enough to make Clay grateful of the thick coat he wore. The scent of fire on the wind, old now, taunted Clay as he set foot on the sidewalk. He hoped it would be better the further he got from the college- but a part of him doubted that the smell would be banished so easily by time or distance. Clay snorted into the wind and started walking, now was not the time for thinking.
Not that Clay could ever stop thinking.
Clay kept his hands in his pockets as he walked, exchanging the occasional nod and greeting with the sparse pedestrian traffic that the hill district offered at this hour. People and vehicles, a luxury that Clay often wished that his Professor’s salary could afford him, became more frequent as he approached the Miskatonic river. Business never really stopped there, and it didn't always retreat indoors either. The docks were not a place for the sensible citizen to go after dark, at least not without good reason.
The little grammar school on the end of East Main was close enough to the river to make the wind damp as well as chill. Clay picked up his pace a little as a fresh gust of wind off the river cut through his heavy coat, sending cold shivers down his spine and already making him miss the warmth of home.
The wind slackened to almost nothing as Clay's quick walk put him in the shadow of the three-story brick school. It was an old building, and one that had grown in a decidedly lopsided fashion from the one-room schoolhouse that it had started life as. The peculiar looking L-shaped school was a quilt of brickwork, but the plants that grew up the sides of her mismatched walls lent the old building a look that was more warm and organic than slipshod.
Clay dusted his feet absently when he reached the steps of the school, catching his breath and straightening his windblown coat before he stepped inside.
The school was warm and mercifully free of the smell and damp that blew in off the river. The faint sounds of conversation and movement gave the building a sense of hidden life, though Clay felt sure that the life would be far less hidden when lunch was not in session. Clay checked his watch, frowning in concentration when he realized that he had only about seven minutes left before the lunch was over and his daughters headed back to their classes. Clayton had only a few memories of the large room that served as both lunchroom and performance stage for the school, but between those memories and the constant murmur of young voices, Clay was able to set a fairly brisk pace through the school.
Forced to stop only once at an intersection to regain his sense of direction, Clay was able to get to the heart of the susurrus with five minutes left to find his girls and give them their necklaces.
Clay scanned the rows of tables in the cafeteria, discarding the oldest tables on the far half of the room immediately, picking carefully instead through the nearer tables where the seating tended to settle more on gender and less on age. Fiona was easy to spot, taller than most and with her mother’s straight brown hair pulled back in a ponytail that most of her teachers had dubbed “unladylike”.
It took a bit of doing but Clayton was able to catch her eye after a moment, mouthing “Jennifer” and beckoning her to come over.
As Clay had hoped, Fiona had been keeping an older sister’s eye on Jennifer. She found her little sister’s table immediately and managing to disentangle the curly headed (A legacy of Clay’s family) moppet from the rest of the children- though all it took to get Jennifer away was for Fiona to point at Clay and whisper something to her. The teacher with the unenviable task of watching over Jennifer’s table started to say something to make Jennifer sit down, but Fiona said something else to the teacher and pointed again at Clay. The teacher turned a slightly reproachful glare on Clayton for upsetting the routine, but in the end he, albeit stiffly, waved Fiona on towards Clay.
”Daddy!” Jennifer yelled as soon as she was in range, hurling herself into Clay’s knees with the force of a small, dress wearing, cannonball.
Clay grunted as she wrapped her arms around his legs. Despite having earned ingrained bracing reflexes from Fiona’s similar greetings at that age, Clay could never quite get used to how much force Jennifer could put into her tackles.
”Hey, I missed you too,” Clay said as Jennifer continued in her attempt to crush his legs.
”Is everything all right?” Jennifer didn’t bother to look up or say anything, responding simply by nodding vigorously into Clay’s knees.
”She had subtractions today,” Fiona said as she completed her slightly more sedate journey to where Clay was being slowly crushed by Jennifer.
Clay winced sympathetically, Jennifer had a mental block when it came to subtraction, she could do addition of large sums well above her grade, but subtraction… it just threw her for a loop. Clay’s wince became less sympathetic and more physical as Jennifer hugged his knees tighter in response to the dread word.
”Mercy,” Clay said as he smoothed Jennifer’s curls affectionately,
”what have they been feeding you girls here?” ”Rocks,” came Jennifer’s prompt and somewhat muffled reply.
Clay chuckled and managed to remove Jennifer from his knees enough so that he could kneel and hug her back.
”Well, that would explain a lot.” ”Her bread was hard today-“ Fiona started to say.
”It was a rock,” Jennifer said defiantly.
Fiona rolled her eyes but didn’t contradict her little sister.
”She’s just had a rough morning.” ”So I hear,” Clay said, wrestling Jennifer back far enough to kiss her on the forehead and give Fiona a hug too.
”I’m always grumpy when people make me subtract numbers and then feed me rocks, so don’t you worry, I understand completely.” Jennifer nodded earnestly and hugged herself back into Clay’s shoulder in reply. Fiona smiled at the joke and her little sister’s antics, but she was a smart girl, and old enough to wonder why her father had come to visit them at school.
”I’m sorry to interrupt your lunch," Clay began as he dug the parcel containing the necklaces out of his pocket,
”but I was running some errands for your mother, and I thought that I might just give these to you while I was in town.” He unfolded the wax paper package as he finished, pulling the necklaces out where they could see.
Fiona’s eyes went wide at the sight of the amulets. She’d always loved playing with shiny things (much to the dismay of her mother’s jewelry drawer), and Clay knew she probably wouldn’t take hers off for a week. Jennifer was also excited, but she was at an age where a root shaped like a foot would have caused equal fascination.
”It’s beautiful,” Fiona whispered, taking hers out of the paper as if it were made of glass.
”Thank you, daddy.” Clay couldn’t help but smile as Fiona marveled at the amulet. Whoever Hector Tyrel was, he’d made Clay’s daughters happy. That put him a step ahead of the average stranger. When Jennifer unwrapped herself from Clay’s neck, she took her necklace without quite the same reverence as Fiona, struggling to put it on until Clay took pity and did the clasp up for her.
The bell that signaled the end of lunch rang out just as Clay finished locking the catch on Jennifer’s necklace.
”Alright,” Clay said as he smoothed Jennifer’s curls back over her neck,
”you girls be good. I’ll see you when you get home, I love you both, and your mother told me to tell you she loves you.” ”Love you too, daddy,” the girls said in almost perfect unison, leaning in for one last hug before Clay sent them scampering back off to their classes.
Clay sighed as he straightened, watching his two girls melt into the masses of retreating children. Despite the sun being higher in the sky, the day was going to feel all the colder when he went outside again. Still, he’d done what he came here to do, he’d seen his girls, gotten the hugs he’d missed getting this morning, and given them their gifts.
Clay nodded once to himself and turned back they way he’d come, retracing his steps unhurriedly as students and teachers steadily returned to their classrooms behind him. One thing off his list, two to go.
The damp wind greeted Clay as soon as he stepped outside, tossing the edges of his coat in frustrated eddies that promised to be a great deal more cutting when he walked out from the shadow of the school. It was going to be a long walk across the east bridge today, but at least after that he’d have the narrower streets of downtown to keep the wind off him.
Clay headed towards the river, ducking his head against the wind. The smell was irritating, but Clay knew he’d grow used to it shortly. The odor of fish, boats, sweat, and innumerable cargoes never really left the docks, but the chilly spring had done a good job of keeping it mild.
Greetings became less frequent when Clay reached the docks proper. Here it was people doing their jobs, nothing more. It was still a little too cold for street vendors to be out in force, and the ones that remained felt no need to hawk their wares. With the exception of a friendly wave and bellowed greeting from a brawny dockworker-slash-student of Clay’s, the walk was uneventful.
The city was oldest along the river; the farther away you got, the newer the buildings were. The university district and the hill district behind him were older than the downtown half of the city, and remnants of the earlier era before Arkham made name for itself could be seen in buildings like the grammar school. Old perhaps, but they had a dignity that the newer sections that frequently grew out of them could do little to diminish.
Even around noon, not a time considered to be picturesque by most, Clay had to stop midway along the bridge to admire the way the city split away on both sides of him. He didn’t stop to admire long, no amount of beauty could make the wind less cold, but it had certainly been too long since he’d taken in the sights of his own city.
Clay admired for only a few more seconds. Then he forced himself to start walking towards the downtown hospital. He thought about what he was going to say as he walked, he wanted to make sure Briar was all right, -he felt oddly responsible for the boy after having saved his life- but it was certainly an awkward situation to walk into. The boy’s friends and family would undoubtedly be there with him, and Clay wasn’t exactly sure how to introduce himself into that situation. It would be worse if the boy’s injuries were severe, and downright disastrous if the injuries were fatal.
Ah, good morning to you. I’m the man who gave your son enough time so you could watch him die in terrible agony. Can I see him now? Clay snorted darkly, leaving the bridge and turning west without even thinking about it. He had to go check on them, he felt obligated to do that. He’d just have to sort the rest out when he got that far. Clay never really like that kind of planning, but sometimes it was the only kind of planning that made sense.
When Clay surfaced from his thoughts, he found himself standing outside the Saint Jude hospital. He couldn’t remember much of the intervening distance, but that happened fairly often when he was musing. The hospital itself was four stories tall, largely brown and grey, and built like a bulldog. It was one of the last buildings built before the depression, made to replace the ludicrously inefficient hospital that had grown up like the grammar school. The old hospital had been torn down and turned into houses after this one was built, largely because it was (in an irony that the Arkham Chronicle had not let go unnoticed) a health hazard. Saint Jude had been built during an election year, and, true to form, the mayor had spared no expense in its construction.
Clay realized he was stalling for time when he started trying to catalogue the political ripples the hospital’s construction had generated. He needed to go in there; he needed to see this through. He was a professor, they were, at least some of them, his students. He owed them that much.
Resigned, but determined, Clay marched into the aptly, perhaps too aptly, named hospital.
Clay’s march faltered slightly when he saw just how busy the hospital was. The disaster had given the hospital more patients than it had been forced to deal with in a long time. Families, doctors, nurses, the patients who needed treatment beyond a housecall, and, of course, the press, all mingled in the commons area up front. The hospital had the same sense of teeming life as the school, but where the school had felt warm, quiet, and comforting, the background noise of the Hospital felt like someone fighting back a scream.
Clay could almost feel the ambient tension of the room condensing into a tangible point in the middle of his spine, putting a cold knot in his stomach and making him tense in expectation of a blow that wasn’t coming.
Shifting under the uncomfortable sensation, Clay struggled to get the attention of one of the nurses coordinating the groups of patrons and guests. Eventually, of the nurses, busy at that moment with an older woman, noticed Clay and made a gesture for him to wait a moment. Clay did as he was bid, waiting as out of the way as he could while the nurse finished with the woman. The nurse said something that looked consoling, then patted the women gently on the shoulder and ushered her back to her seat. The nurse wrote something on the clipboard she was carrying, and then bustled over to where Clay stood. She was older than Clay, but not by more than a decade or two. She didn’t look like she’d ever been considered pretty, and her lined face had the look of someone who hadn’t laughed in a very long time.
”Patient, press, or visitor?” the woman asked after a perfunctory smile, undoubtedly more for politeness’ sake rather than any desire of hers to smile.
Clay was slightly taken aback by the woman’s businesslike manner, not that it should have been surprising in a time like this, but it was still enough to put him off balance.
”Er, visitor.” The woman made a quick mark on the board she was carrying.
”Name of the patient you would like to visit?” ”Briar, he was injured during the fire at the college,” Clay said, regaining his verbal balance.
A flicker of recognition crossed the woman’s face as Clay said Briar’s name.
”Oh,” she said, the faintest traces of pity leaking into her professional tone.
”Would you be the boy’s father?” Clay briefly wondered exactly how old he looked, -his oldest child was eight, Briar had looked about nineteen or twenty- but he suppressed that moment of vanity quickly.
”No, my name is Clayton Brooks. I’m…” Clay took a deep breath.
”I’m the one who got to him first, after he fell. I’d just like to see if he’s all right.” A quick blink was the extent of the woman’s surprise, then she scrawled something else on the board.
”I read about you in the paper, I hear we have you to thank for all of this work.” Clay didn’t exactly know how to respond to that. He opened his mouth, and then closed it again. He supposed what she’d said had some merit; hospitals didn’t take care of people if they were dead, but-
”I like to have work,” the woman said, finishing whatever she was writing and then tearing it off the set of papers on her clipboard.
”Work means people ain’t dead. I’d prefer to be busy and give the undertaker a day off, rather than the other way around.” The woman handed the piece of paper to Clay.
”Take this and go to that hallway,” she said, pointing across the room to a set a double doors,
”a nurse will be by soon. Give her that note, she’ll take you to him.” ”Thank you,” Clay said, taking the note and carefully folding it over.
The nurse pursed her lips but nodded.
”The boy, Briar, he’s doing fine, but he’s been asleep for a long time. My prayers are with you,” the nurse added, managing to be sincere as she said it while maintaining her professional tone. Having finished her business with Clay, the nurse bustled over to greet and file an older man that had come in behind him.
Clay picked his way carefully to the door the Nurse had indicated. The trouble wasn’t that the lobby was disorganized, far from it, the trouble was that Arkham hadn’t had this many simultaneous severe injuries since, well since before this hospital had been built.
The doors that Clay had been heading for swung open the instant he reached them, allowing a harried looking young woman to slip through. Her black hair was coming out of her nurse’s cap in wisps, and she had the wide-eyed and slightly manic smile of someone who had been kept near to panic and exhaustion for many hours.
”Hello, sir, my name is Nicole,” she said, something in her voice indicating that this was something she’d said a thousand times since she’d started work today.
”Do you have a visitor’s slip?” ”Yes,” Clay said as he handed her the folded piece of paper,
”here.’ ”Thank you, Mr…” Nicole scanned the paper, her brow furrowing in uncertainty.
”Mr. Books?” ”Brooks,” Clay corrected automatically.
Nicole smiled tightly, and waved Clayton forwards.
”Right this way sir, follow me.” Nicole led Clay up two flights of stairs, zigzagging through the wards to avoid staff and patients. She made small talk about how the doctors were doing everything in their power to help the patients as she led Clay through the hospital, but Clay only gave her half on ear. Hearing about problems he couldn’t fix was pointless, and even if things were going better than expected, –as he gleaned from half heard snatches of Nicoles one sided conversation- there were still too many horror stories of burned students and shattered lives for Clay to bring himself to join in.
Nicole eventually stopped in front of a small room on the third floor, number 314.
”You can stay for as long as his doctor will allow you, just stay out of the way and try not to touch him,” she said as she opened the door for Clay and motioned him inside.
”Can you find your way out?” Clay smiled and nodded, his assurance setting the nurse off back down to the lobby as fast as she could manage at a walk. With no real options besides walk away, or stand perpetually in the hallway with the door half open, Clay took a deep breath and entered Briar’s room.
He’d been expecting family, or at least some sign that a family had been here- though the nurse asking if Clay was Briar’s father did seem to indicate that the kid’s real parents hadn’t yet made an appearance. Instead, all the room contained was Briar and a chair holding a pile of discarded clothes. Briar was partially tied into his bed by way of a harness linked to a series of immobilizing braces on one arm and one leg, as well as a series of braces that ran along the kid’s ribs. He looked asleep, and only the agonizingly slow rise and fall of the boy’s chest gave evidence to any sort of life at all.
A shift in the mound of discarded clothing immediately drew Clay’s eyes off Briar, bringing them to focus on the clothing laden chair. The pile of clothing twisted again, tugging the overcoat that overlaid the rest of its bulk into a more comfortable position as it turned in the chair. It twisted once more, then lay still, emitting a quiet snore as it did so.
Clay walked as quietly as he could to the foot of Briar’s bed, stopping there to attempt to inspect the young man who at compressed himself into such an unnatural –though apparently comfortable enough to sleep in- position. Dim recollection flickered into vibrant memory as the boy shifted again, knocking part of the overcoat off to expose most of his face. He hadn’t been drooling or snoring then, but this was the same kid that Clayton had told to run to the hospital.
Judging by the state of disarray the student was in, Clay had his doubts about whether the student had ever managed to leave.
Clay was still struggling to put a name to the boy’s face, -he could only remember him from one of his classes- when the young man’s eyes flicked open.
”I haven’t got any airplanes!” the boy protested groggily, one arm flopping about in what –had he been more awake- might have been an angry gesticulation. He continued to stare somewhat angrily at Clay for a moment, then one of the rusty cogs in his mind clicked over. He blinked and rubbed his eyes, looking at Briar, then at Clay.
”Am I awake?” ”Yes,” Clay said, lacking anything more insightful to say.
”Did I just yell at you about airplanes? ”Yes.” The boy grunted once, stretching his arms and legs out from where he’d crammed them in the chair.
”Sorry. Sir,” he added somewhat belatedly.
Silence reigned for a few minutes after that, Clay looking at Briar’s heavily braced form, and the younger man looking at nothing in particular as he finished the process of waking up.
”How are you feeling?” Clay asked as soon as the younger man -Robert! That’s what the boy’s name was, liked to sit in the back, member of the team- regained enough consciousness to receive questions.
”Fine, sir,” Robert replied, slowly shifting forwards in the chair so he could stand up.
”I… All I have are bruises.” Clay paused a moment before asking his next question, unsure of whether he really wanted an answer.
”And Briar?” ”He’s,” Robert started to say, then stopped and shook his head.
”I don’t know. He woke up not too long ago, and the docs say he’s not slipping, but he went from talking to being dead asleep.” Robert frowned, staring at his silent and bedridden friend in concern, and, Clay noted, with a distinct undercurrent of anger.
”He hasn’t so much as fluttered awake since. It hasn’t been long, but… I’ve just got a bad feeling,” Robert said quietly, raising his eyes from the hospital bed to stare Clay in the eye.
”The paper, it said the fire was an accident. Was it?” ”I don’t know,” Clay replied honestly. By the time he’d seen the fire it had already been well underway, and Clay didn’t have much idea how to tell whether a fire was accident or arson besides.
”Why?” ”I just..” Robert said, balling his hands into heavy fists, only to let them fall tiredly to the armrests of his chair as her failed to complete the sentence.
”You want someone to blame,” Clay supplied for him,
”someone real. Someone who can be locked up and put away for what they did.” Robert grimaced but nodded, staring at his hands in silence.
Clay hesitated for moment, but then extended a hand to rest on the boy’s shoulder.
”The hand of fate is not so easy. There’s no one to blame for it, not honestly. People try, but they only end up shifting their pain onto others. You’ve got to let it go boy, otherwise that anger at nothing is going to eat you alive.” ”We came to Arkham from different directions completely,” Robert said without preamble.
”We were both here to study at the university, and neither of us had family to speak of. We became like brothers, always watching out for the other, always making sure that the other could pull their load.” Robert paused a moment, and then snorted bitterly.
”Now I don’t know whether he’s going to wake up tomorrow, or sleep until he dies of old age… And there isn’t a damn thing I can do to help him. How am I supposed to let that go?” (Free dialogue engaged as necessary)
Location: St. Jude Hospital, 3rd floor, room 314
Status Effects: None
Health: 40/40
Sanity: 60/60
Head: Nil
Body,Greatcoat
- Medium Slot: Empty x2
- Small Slot: Empty x4
- V.Small Slot: Empty x4
Blazer
-Small slot: Empty
-Small slot:
Silver Pocket Watch-V.Small slot: Empty x2
Open Collared Shirt (1 V.Small)
-V.Small slot: Empty
Legs,Black slacks
-Small Slot:
Wallet-Small Slot: Empty
Feet,Black Shoes
L. Hand, Infinite Slot: Empty
R. Hand, Infinite Slot: Empty
Special Slot: Wedding Band
Carried Weight: 5/35
Injuries: None
Attribute Bonuses: +5 Cha, +10 Int, +15 Wis, +10 Will
Attribute Penalties: -15 Str, -10 End
Your are in Briar's recovery room. Briar is asleep on the hospital bed, he is restrained and medicated. There are a few chairs in the room, one of them is occupied by Robert Denver (Student, Subordinate by Hierarchy, Neutral).
The room itself is small and bare, windows look out to the south.
There is one exit immediately behind you.
Loose Items,
Unsearched, but it doesn't look like there is anything worth taking.
Closed Containers,
Unsearched, but it doesn't look there is anything you should be taking.