Chapter Zero:

Expect Arrival Shortly

~

EVANGELINE VERNON

I came to Willbridge as per suggestion by Professor Hark, not by my own judgement which, if it were the case, would be deemed as severely foolish after what has transpired in the weeks that have gone past. I don’t allow myself the luxury of casting the blame on the professor though, for as I’ve come to assume, he must have been severely unaware of the state of affairs that have been developing in his absence.

As for the task itself, he sent me down here for a simple, overly so, check of the specimen — his life’s work. Ever since I’ve been under his mentorship he spoke very fondly and passionately about it. The limits it was breaking, the scientific advancements it entailed. Naturally, as any scientist with a sense of purpose to the future of mankind, I took interest.

I remember him saying, before I left: Words lack meaning Evie, you have to go see it. The scale of something this important demands presence to be understood, and your mind can only conjure up so much, until it ceases to be real.

So I listened, and I trusted. I’ve known many people that have fallen to ego, gone insane, especially in these fields of science. And I heard it when he spoke, the thin roots of a madman growing inside. But I had a voice in the back of my mind, maybe his, from the many years of his teachings, telling me, convincing me to trust the bigger perspective. The discoveries that changed the world came from outlandish claims, from people who others thought of as crazy. And maybe they were, or maybe the world just needed to see their ideas for themselves.

So I packed my journal, my late mother’s necklace and a pair of thick leather shoes I found for cheap at the market. Inspired and zealous for what the future held.

~

JACK "BIG RED" LYELL

Listen, I know the streets ain’ clean but my boys got no’n to do wit’ it. We do our business and we leave things as were, nothing more. Sure, a couple loose heads tumble down from time to time, but that’s just part of the trade ain’ it.

Anyway, a Thursday night, Friday mornin’ even. We’ve just gloomed some coins from Ol’ Gray’s, and surprisingly we got no cops on our tails. We slow our pace, declarin’ our victory too soon. I saw the smile on their faces, fresh rookies thinkin’ they hit the big checks. I was gonna let ‘em have it this time — luck is luck after all. But turns out, it wasn’t my call to make.

As a leader it was my job to keep the boys in check, so when noticed I was one of ‘em short, I knew we weren’t in clear water yet. I told ‘em to pick up speed, to look around. The guy couldn’t have dissapeared without nothin’. Was either him playin’ tricks on us or some night buttons got a real sense of humour.

We kept on runnin’ through Southside, still nothin’. I kept countin’ heads as they turned the corners, hoping one o’ the times it was gonna be a head extra. But I began accepting the situation, coming to terms with the news I was bringin’ home.

Then all o’ the sudden, after an unassuming turned corner, I found myself alone. All the boys had gone to hell, I thought. I stood around like a lil’ girl lookin’ for her parents, thinking the buttons gon’ jump out a corner to take in their last one. But no, I looked around at the empty streets, no footsteps, no nothin’. Like I blinked into a dream where things don’t make no sense.

The sun made it’s way back up, as I still wandered in the same spot tryin’ to wrap my head around the whole thing. All of ‘em gone. The thought of even tryin’ to explain this to the others wasn’t even worth thinkin’ about.

And then, while lost in thought, a black coat knocked my shoulder as he was walkin’ through. You’ve caught me at the wrong time idiot. Clenched my fist, ready to make it kiss his face. But I turned around, and there wasn’t anyone there. I’m goin’ crazy, is nothing real anymore?

I feel a note in my hand, nice thick paper. You are chosen. Act accordingly. - it reads, with an address to a mansion in the upper hillside.

~

LADY MIRABEL PENROSE

The postman was trudging his way up to the manor, his hat tilted most unprofessionally, as though he’d just woken in it. Through narrow eyes, and my bedroom window, I watched as his dirt infested boots tainted our pristine court. Ethel, do see to the post. The Royals are awaited in their response today. No answer. As if I called into the wind. Ethel! Silence. The ticking of clocks made their way to the forefront. No matter, I will just see to it myself.

Descending down the steps, my attention was stolen by the entrance, as there was a tall black-coated man standing in it. He stood in place demandingly, following me with his gaze, the light behind him coating the hall floor in his silhouette. Lady Penrose. My pleasure. He said in a deep quiet tone, tipping his hat, as if I’m a lady at some bar he was trying to catch. It is. Now explain yourself. What is your purpose for being here?

I have a simple invitation, my lady. Laid forth by an anonymous host. Intriguing. Usually people bold enough to attempt impressing other members of wealth, can’t even entertain the idea of their name not being spread by their pidgeons. I will admit. I am intrigued. But surely you can’t expect for me to give my time to just anyone. He let out a snicker, his audacity shocking but telling. My lady, I assure you. Your time will be respected by attending. And as you may find it curious, the host wishes for the event to be held… here.

I raised my head in offense. I will not be insulted in my own home. You will leave here immediately. By my word or by the hands of the guards. He didn’t respond. And as I looked around, the previous feeling of being alone came back in feeling of worry. Your ladyship, I fear we may have come to a misunderstanding. This is not a request you may decline. And if I may implore you to notice the silence that surrounds us. That is not by chance. View it as a showing of the host’s ability to grant us this conversation - just you and me. He smirks again.

I admit my fear to myself. I don’t have a choice. Whoever this “host” is, I feel his danger in the air. I… accept.

Great choice, my lady. As he’s walking out he turns around and bows. Mockingly spitting respect in my face. Expect arrival shortly. He slams the door gracefully. Leaving me in the silence of clock ticks, and the mail still scattered on the floor.