DUSKHUNTER: Chapter Two... "The Laura Celeste"

[Gallahan]

"Well," Vincent, the publisher and editor, said. "Which story are you going to cover?" --It was more of a statement than a true question. I don't know quite why I relish stressing Vicnet out so much. Maybe it's because I see his tantrums as more of 'performance art' than frustrated rage. Have you ever seen an Italian get angry, truly angry? However, I do reluctantly admit that while I enjoy Vincent's fits, I would rather him not have a heart attack.

"Vincent, how about I cover two stories."

His face, already purple from anger, brightened and his eyebrows raised in shocked, yet skeptical surprise, "What? But, Carl, you can't be in two places at once. How in the world can I rely on your accuracy when you say such outlandish things!" The anger was coming back.

I motioned to some messages on the police scanner I keep on the bookshelf behind my perpetually disheveled desk. "Do you hear that?"

"Hear what!?"

"While you've been trying to force me to choose a single story, I thought it prudent to listen to some of the message traffic on the emergency band."

"And....?" Vincent was quickly losing his patience.

"And," I replied in a calm, soothing tone, "I'm going to cover the yacht and the high speed chase." I continued before Vincent could interject. "Apparently the yacht beached itself on along the banks of the Appomattox on land recently acquired by Fort Lee."

"Well," Vincent said, "What are you waiting for then?"

Quickly stealing a sip from coffee that had gone cold an hour ago, I slipped on my sport jacket, slung my rather large, digital recorder/camera/video camera combo over my shoulder so that it hung by my side, set my Australian hunting hat (you know, the kind with one flap folded upwards) on my head, and bid Vincent and the newsroom goodday.

As I left, I glimpsed Vincent turning to the rest of the staff. I heard him say, "See, now that's hotshot reporting techniques! Berkley, I need to go over an article. Far too many typos! Where's your Associated Press Handbook...!?"

*******

Sometimes when I see my reitred police car Crown Victoria, I wish I'd gotten an ice cream truck. At least there would be room for much more gear. But, there's just something about this early 90's model Crown Vic. It can take a beating. I turn on the police scanner mounted on the dash and hear a lot of current traffic as I quickly round out of the parking lot and pass a plethora of train tracks. The paper is right across the street from a maze of train tracks and industrial plants. The wind is blowing the wrong way and everything smells of sulfur; thick plumes of whitish smoke gush into the sky from short, fat stacks nearby. I speed not only to get to the story faster, but to free myself from the smell.

Apparently, after the yacht beached itself, there was a high speed chase on Fort Lee. Just as I concluded my conversation with Vincent, I heard that *another* chase was on and headed in the direction of the yacht. My gut instincts tell me they're connected. So, the best strategy would be to start at the yacht and hope the chase will end there. I bet it will.

I make my way through the heart of Hopewell, passing homes decorated for Halloween. I imagine that yesterday evening there were thousands of little monsters asking for candy. Sometimes I long for the family that I never seemed time to have...

Turning down River Road, I pass the large Federal Reformatory which houses mainly white-collar criminals, though there are tales of a wing which secretly houses psychopaths. And there are stories of hidden levels that extend into the ground and connect-up to other hidden tunnels from Fort Lee. After an excursion down a dirt road to an abandoned park along the steeply forested banks of the Appomattox River, I see the impressive scene.

Alas, there was the yacht, a ten million dollar (I estimate) pleasure vessel, lavishly decked-out (no pun intended) with state-of-the-art fixtures and technology, and the name "Laura Celeste" scrolled in metallic gold lettering of regal font across the bow on each side. Technically, it was indeed "beached." However, it seemed designed to slide onto gently sloping banks, as it was perfectly upright. Oddly, though, some water vegetation (like sort of a wet kind of Spanish Moss), hung from the port side deck railing and bow of the vessel.

Apparently, I had beaten any local police and military police to the scene. Hopewell is notorious for its sluggish response to the highly unusual. If there's a shooting or domestic crime, they are on the scene quickly; have a large meteor take out someone's garage on the edge of town (last month) and it takes them forever to get there. This usually works to my advantage.

I must work quickly. Parking my Crown Vic behind a thick arrangement of bushes and trees, I set off in a circuitous route to the yacht, trying to determine if anyone is aboard. I hear some noises, but it could be the elaborate radar mounted (and slowly spinning) from over the bridge. A rope ladder extends down from the main deck (more wet vegetation there, too), and there are fresh tire tracks leading away from the vessel. My suspicions about the chase on Fort Lee originating from someone from this yacht seem somewhat confirmed. A vehicle did leave this scene, at least.

Feeling the .45 caliber pistol that once belonged to my grandfather pressing gently against me from inside the leather shoulder holster gives me some comfort. I prefer not to use firearms, but as a former marine, I realize their value. In this day and age, it's a necessity. There is a spooky feeling in the woods that canopy this riverbank, and in the distance, a high-pitched, monotoned claxon shrieks from the prison, probably telling them that it's time for recess in the yard. A breeze sends gentle scatters of brightly colored autumn leaves across the troubling scene... Now, I have to decide the best course of action....

IT IS TIME TO VOTE.

[Gallahan]

NOTE: In addition to voting, it really adds to the story if you share your thoughts about the situations, the reasons you voted for certain choices, and anything on your mind about where this might be going and important facts from other chapters. Of course, this isn't required, but does help generate breadth and depth of story, and some of your musings might affect the outcome.

Already Carl Kolchan's primary weapon and vehicle have been chosen via discussion, suggestion and voting.

Let's see where the story leads!

[Gallahan]

That rope ladder is just too inviting and time is short, gotta grab those clues while there's still an opening. Kolchan can always make up an excuse for rushing in if the cops arrive first. If anyone else arrives he'll be ready and waiting. If someone/thing is already aboard, well, that's what we're here for. Semper Fi!

I like how you add to Kolchan's personality. He is DRAWN to investigation and finds it hard to resist the ladder, which might as well have been an invitation. We'll see what happens to this marine. I've heard that once you are a marine, you are always a marine. That is why Kolchan might be referred to being a marine in the present tense. And, as a bit of background information, he sometimes hangs-out at the local VFW (Veterans of Foreign Wars) or American Legion hall to enjoy drinks with other former service members. And, this isn't just pure leisure, as he sometimes gets valuable information from these veterans who have seen, heard and experienced strange things during their careers.

Kolchan even saluted an active duty military member whom he encountered on a sidewalk in downtown Hopewell once. The man obviously had a prosthetic leg and Carl could not help rendering the man that honor. Further, he found the man (and his wife and newborn baby) in the check-out line at Randolph Market (a local grocer known for its high quality beef) behind him. Carl discreetly whispered to the clerk that he would cover their bill, and slipped the clerk an additional $40, which he estimated should easily cover the bill. He told the clerk to keep the rest. Quickly, Carl exited Randolph Market and zipped into the night in his Crown Vic. Carl doesn't give money to beggars. He gives it to people taking an active hand in defending the country.

[Gallahan]

Great CREATURE FROM THE BLACK LAGOON connection.... <insert evil laugh here>...

[Gallahan]

Well, we have a clear first and second place option. There are two third place options. Fantastic! And thanks for the posts. The more you post, the more springboarding I can do from your thoughts. Your ideas generate ideas in me, which helps to flesh out our main character, the intrepid Carl Kolchan, former marine (veteran of DESERT STORM) turned regional newspaper reporter who now happens to uncover the supernatural around unexpected corners. He does wonder, sometimes, why there is a surge in supernatural encounters...

Could this have something to do with the ending of the Mayan calendar in 2012? Poppycock! (or some other more colorful expletive) is his first reaction. But, there is NO DENYING that strange... *weird* things are happening. Creatures. Sightings. Deaths. All of those have been happening in increasing numbers. He just doesn't know what to make of it. What Carl DOES know is that most of the public is blind to it. They have their sports, barbeque picnics, movies, ipods, laptops, World of Warcraft, roleplaying games, collectible card games, Wiis, soccer games, football games, little league... they have their families. And, when the "average" person isn't working overtime (assuming they even have a job), they are spending their time with the people they care about... friends and family. And then, a troubling thought crosses Carl's mind...

Maybe the fact that he is privy to the reality, the "truth" is a testament to the fact that he leads a solitary life filled with too much time to kill, to investigate and educate himself on all things off the beaten path. Maybe he has the time to pursue the supernatural because he has no real life. He'd lost the love of his life in a tragic accident about a decade ago. She'd wanted to marry him and start a family. He could feel those moments like they were yesterday. And then she was gone. It happened while he was in the desert. He flew home for her funeral. And, within days, he was back to work in "the sandbox," --as they called it. When alone, sometimes the sand would absorbe his grief in the form of salty tears. The desert gratefully, silently took his moisture and soothed him with a warm, gentle breeze. Carl seemed to have left some essential, yet intangible part of his being in the desert.

For whatever reason, he returned to his hometown of Hopewell and applied his writing craft at his paper, which didn't pay much, but then he had a bit of money from the government each month, a "thank you" for his actions which had saved lives but cost him. An insurgent had thrown a grenade into the midst of his group. Carl had told everyone to run as he lunged forward and slide across the sand-swept concret floor to get the grenade. As he threw it back at the insurgent, behind a wall, it exploded about 20 feet from him, sending shrapnel into his legs, shoulder, neck and skull. He woke up three weeks later, having also suffered a severe concussion. He was medically retired from active duty and given full disability. He also had a plate in his head. On cold days, that plate ached, and his leg was sometimes painfully stiff. But, he endured. He completed rehab and on most days he's just fine. In fact, it is this extra income that also affords Carl the extra time needed to investigate the supernatural.

He is driven mainly by curiosity. However, the knowledge that he is making the world safer, one encounter at a time keeps him going. He also knows that one day, he will be reunited with Caroline, the love of his life...

[Xar]

I think that Kolchan's first instinct will be to zip up the ladder, but he will instead decide that he needs to investigate the environs more first. I voted for scoping out from the beach/waterfront and for hiking up the ridge. Maybe do a full circle and hit both.

[Gallahan]

I think that Kolchan's first instinct will be to zip up the ladder, but he will instead decide that he needs to investigate the environs more first. I voted for scoping out from the beach/waterfront and for hiking up the ridge. Maybe do a full circle and hit both.

Ahhhhh... Caution and recon... Hmmmm...

[Xar]

I think that Kolchan's first instinct will be to zip up the ladder, but he will instead decide that he needs to investigate the environs more first. I voted for scoping out from the beach/waterfront and for hiking up the ridge. Maybe do a full circle and hit both.

Ahhhhh... Caution and recon... Hmmmm...

Based on

I voted to go for a higher vantage point, thinking his reporter instincts would tell him to wait and watch. Then, if all is kosher, wade in from the back. That rope ladder is just too inviting.
However I could just as easily see his marine instincts telling him to go for it!

and

finds it hard to resist the ladder, which might as well have been an invitation

I think he acknowledges the temptation, but at this point, he would still have a cooler head about it.

[Lord Z]

Fortune favors the bold. Get up that ladder, K-dog!

Okay seriously, climbing the ladder is probably the worst choice as it makes him most vulnerable. He doesn't have any specific reason, however, to expect trouble. There are no blood or gunshots or monsterous footprints -- yet.

...and yes, I did get a Black Lagoon vibe as well. The original black and white movie was filmed just a few miles from where I live. I really should watch it sometime.

Spanish Moss, by the way, is neither Spanish nor is it a moss. Conspiracy!

[Gallahan]

ACTION TAKEN: Investigate the yacht from the beach, perhaps wading into the water to see if there's an entry deck/dock around the aft.

Look for DUSKHUNTER: Chapter Three...!