Chapter 1 - Rapture Beyond Contempt
"I'm blue, baby blue, I'm blue, as blue as a rose" read the sign, painted in bright crimson, hanging above the leftovers. Someone's once mother or father crying in the distance, police officers in shock and first responders vomiting at the sight of it. Rain fell from the heavens, drenching the scene in a mixture of attacking winds and freezing water. Not a star in the night sky could be seen for the clouds. The scent of iron and dirt flooded the air and provided a putridity that wafted far off into the crowd of people standing behind, mixing with the scent of rain and the pounding of the wind, hammering everyone in the face.
Two men stood over the scene, one still taking pictures of the gruesome act of inhumanity. He was gangly, thin and meek, still in his pajamas wild hair and all. He stood six foot one, and weighed a mere one hundred twenty pounds and stood out with his gloved hands and shoes wrapped in plastic, still being drenched and ruining his clothes. He silently did his job, fearing to speak for the fear of knowing more than anyone as to what just happened. The other a hefty officer, muscles rippling around, hefty and not unable to get out of a pinch if needed. Bald from years of stress, pale as a silver moon, nose as a crooked hook with a mustache that covered his mouth, only letting you get a glimpse of what he is saying underneath, though, not a word was muttered under the cloak of that night.
"FBI, Agent Hoffman, what exactly am I looking at here?" I said, bewildered by the scene myself, pools of crimson liquid pooled up in the ditch, vultures constantly needing to be shewed away. The cornrows stretching beyond the eyes possible limits to the edge of the mountains, and the edge of sanity. Evangelized, the word of the scene was to all those who looked forth. Nobody would escape from it's reach. "Oh sweet Jesus Hoffman, don't sneak up on us like that" said the detective, reaching out to catch his balance, not even paying any attention to his footing not that one could see well, even the spotlights rigged up specially for this occasion could shed the full light on everything, shadows stretched far and the shadow of the drenched hill leading up to the gutter. "Well if it isn't Hoffie, how is it going man? How's your wife doing, still getting it while the getting is good?" the man with the beard spoke.
"Same as it ever was Frank, same as it ever was. Hey, Joey, how's things looking here, got an estimated time of death." I said, trying to lighten the mood and extract some precious information out of this pale situation I've seemed to have gotten into. "Yeah, It's about four to five hours ago,, at least from what I can tell looking at what's left. Hey, can you make sense of any of this, any of this ring a bell?" Joey said, throwing his hands up above his unkempt hair, resting his camera on it's neck band in absolute disgust and utter confusion.
"Yeah, that sign, I've seen it before. Looks like it's another baby blue murder. If you're done with the photos, let's wrap this up and take what we can back to the station, and take the flesh to the morgue." I said, hoping to mop this up as quickly as I could.
"Rogger sir." Frank spoke, just as he stepped forward, landing his foot on something stuck in the ground. "Hey, Joe, you see this yet? Looks to be some sort of book wrapped in plastic, think it's evidence."
"On it."
"Hey, wait, wait, wait, this is new if it's form the baby blue killer, get me a scan of whatever is in that as soon as you can, It may aid in my investigation." I said, looking at the grey plastic wrapped leather bound notebook, brown as the dirt and as shiny as the rain soaked skin that remained in the ditch.
The drive through the night left much to be desired, the wind and rain punched my car around the decrepit road pitted and gravely shook my automobile as a great earthquake. Our roads here in Earnsmon Wyoming weren't known for being the most well kept of them all,.
To the left was the endless cornfields and to the right was a field uninhabited, infertile as it was a former mining site, shut down recently leading to decay. Even the machines weren't allowed to leave, so instead they sit and rot under the evanescence of the human mind, blown out tires, blown out circuits. There hasn't been prosperity since 2007, right before the crash. Dead ahead was the great mountain range that had existed before times of antiquity, and behind the vast emptiness of nothing. My destination was ten miles ahead, not too far away by my measurement of time. The long drawl of the road, and the soft ambient music I played were enough to put men to sleep, that is, if they didn't have a strong coffee at their side. In fact, the coffee I had been drinking was so strong it filled my car up with a thick smell that had no chance of leaving the car. The deposits night after night of drinking it stained the leather with the scent.
"JESUS!" I yelled just managing to swerve out of the way of some animal that froze in my headlights. Looked to be some sort of deer, a doe, didn't get much a good look at it before I was needed back at the road to make sure my car won't veer off to the side. I couldn't help but see it's eyes in the rear lights though, they looked menacing, vile and putrid, as if warning me about the path I had found myself in. Probably just needed more coffee than I had.
The station I had been staying at resided in a quiet town, there were few businesses open, and only one was open now, and it was a fast food franchise with yellow arches for a sign. The city lights dim and orange, the roads full of holes, even more so than the country roads due to the insane traffic. The storefronts reached up two stories, porches sat atop, vacant, windows in some were busted out. Dust tinged the air, thick like fog, obscuring line of sight. The yellow lines on the road, looked more and more grey each day passed since I've been positioned here.
Laid out in perfect union, the streets divided everything into blocks, what little there was, and it was always easy to get to where you wanted to, go north from the corn field, right and two streets over directly on the left was the station, go further down you would find the local produce market on the right. Go in reverse, straight out that way was the old suburb where half of the houses were built, and only four remain. From the Station, head down, one street and directly to the right is the church, and behind the station was the local town hall. There was a book store, a coffee shop, and the chain restaurant, and that would be the tour of the town.
"Hey Bill, how is it going?" I asked the old town's farmer, he replied with "Ohh, idoun't know sonny, it's me wife again, she's down in the dumps, 'gain."
"Well, the next time you see her, tell her I send my regards, alright?"
"Okay, 'ave uh good day sir." he responded still looking at the ground with his hands in his pocket, smelling of cigarette smoke and coffee breath. Seeing a brick wall before me with this, and opening the door to the station I let out one last response.
"Take care, won't you?"
"Aye, you too laddie." the man responded, face wrinkled, mostly bald and wearing overalls he walked out of the distance. All that could be heard then was the sound of his car being started and him driving off as the door shut behind me.
"Hey Jill, they come back yet? I stopped on my way for some more coffee a few towns over. Oh, this one is for you, double shot espresso with extra foam, right?" I began to speak before being cut off with: "You didn't have to do that." by a woman behind the counter. She had blue eyes, deep as the see and shined like the glimmering the brightest diamond. Sweet smells of flowers and berries spun in dances around her, and light danced off of her hair, flowing like the great Havasupai Falls over in Arizona over the purest of all sand dunes. Skin soft as satin, lips as two pillows puckered together.
"It's the least I could do for you ma'am."
"By the way, they told me to relay you a message." she slowly fumbled out, in fright, she continued: "They said, they thought it was a dog."
"What, the attacker?"
"No, the body."
"Joey, here's your green tea late, Carl, your straight black, Frank your cappuccino, and Jones here's your Chai." I explained as I handed out the bean and leaf juice, setting each to the right of one another.
"I don't know if I can drink this after seeing, that thing." said Frank, meekly able to spill out a few words before attempting to grab onto the small paper cup. Beady eyes shrunken into his head, bags hanging down, red marks streaking down his bony cheeks.
"You weren't like this back at the scene, is everything alright there?" I asked him, while sitting down in the creaky office chair that sagged under my weight.
"It takes a while to sink in, for most people, you have to remember agent, not all of us have direct experience with such vile occurrences." Said the man sitting in front of me, hair long, eyes tired and nose dripping down his face. Wrinkles marking the face, and a scar running across the side of his face, mouth engaged in a frown, fierce. Sipping on his black coffee.
"I take it you've all seen the evidence? From what I can tell this is the work of my guy."
"Yeah, no shit. Everyone knows about the baby blue killer and how indescribable the things he does to his victims." Jones retorted to my, in hindsight, ridiculous statement that proposed the absolute obvious to the situation.
The room fell silent, and in it's silence the stinging sound of nothing covered the room, save for the faintest of all sounds, the rain on the outside door. The only stimulation in the room, being that, and the sweet smell of tea and coffee spreading out through the air, distributing it's self equally through the room.
"If you find him, what do you even plan to do?" Jones added to break the silence, the words fell out almost apologetically this time. His chubby face and dark green eyes relaxing slightly, focusing more on the tea than me.
"I take him in and bring him in for questioning. Then I move on and chase someone else." I said, looking him dead in his eyes, keeping every part of my face as neutral as I could.
"But you've seen what he does, shit, look at this picture, you've seen this first hand, how can you say for a fact that he won't do the same to you?" he said, holding aloft a picture of that monstrosity, that sickening disturbance absolutely and wholly unnatural to this world. His eyes now staring right back into mine, his breath smelled of the chai and doughnuts, and his voice trembled.
"Heeyyyy, don't worry Jonesey boy, I've known this guy since he was a child, he grew up here, and I can vouch for his strength, shoot, he helped me out many times in the past, isn't that right Hoffie?" Frank cheered out as he took a swig of his cappuccino. "Ahh, this is damn fine coffee Hoffie boy, you have to show me the place you get this from, it's really special."
"Did we get that book scanned yet?" I asked, hoping to see If we had it completed, or if it were still to be done.
"It's in the lab, they're taking care of it, we should have the thing for you
Then a noise interrupted our meeting, a rasping on the meeting room door, and the soft and gentle voice of Jill. "Guys, help, it's Bill."
"Bill, stand still and do not move, someone will be up there to talk to you in a moment, remain calm." Carl said, his words reverberating through the door and echoing through the stairwell as I flew up the stairs as a vulture to roadkill. The Grand Grothe Grotto was at least ten floors tall, not including the roof, and I was still on floor four.
"Stay perfectly calm bill, Hoffman is running up the stairwell to see you right now" the voice kept vibrating through the stairwell, getting fainter and fainter as I climbed further and further, breath increasing and heart pounding out of my chest. "Hey, Hoffie, how far up are you?"
I responded, grabbing my radio, pressing the button with "I'm on seven, how do things look down there Frank?"
"Ahh yeah, things are looking pretty good down here, he's just standing there all still like." he responded, a bit puzzled.
I just had to make it to the top, then I could talk him out of whatever he's thinking of.
"Hey, Bill, It's me, Hoffman, do you want to talk things out buddy?" I said in-between breaths, getting soaked, heart pounding and hands on my knees. He still stood there, as a statue, just standing there.
"Hey, Bill, what's going on with you?" I asked one more time, finally catching my breath and walking forward stepping forward slowly through the two great air conditioner units that had been shut off for the winter. Rain poured down, hitting the ground, and slowly moving across the roof and to the corners to be caught and pour down the drain.
Still Bill just stood there, motionless in the night, illuminated by the faint street lights down below, save an occasional shiver from being in the brink for what must have been hours. The wind appeared to pick up slightly, as it blew through the giant heat sinks the gentle twinging of rain plucking the metal ever so slightly sounded of a strange music, as if a twisted music box had been formed to only play one note. It was sickening in it's beauty, an indescribable urge formed in it's wake.
"It was her, wus'n't et?" a meek Bill forced out of his lips, still faced towards the edge, standing there looking out into the great beyond. "Tell me, don't ya try 'n lie now, it was me wife, wus'n't et?" he followed it up, as the wind began to howl. His arms, they were not by his side, they were, from what looks to be the back, holding on to his chest. Still he stood, motionless, without moving.
"What thing are you talking about? I don't know anything about it? Listen bill, why don't you come with me, we can talk this out at the station." I pleaded with him, reaching out one arm behind him, creeping ever closer as the wind's howl became a scream and the plucking of the metal became a full symphony of strange music not of this world.
"Eau know darn well wha' I be talkin' 'bout, mister Hoffman. He's coming for me, isn't 'e, he's a coming for me, can't you hear him? His beautiful melody, his rapture beyond contempt, his life beyond life." he said, more spiteful, and with more anger and dark intent behind his words.
"What are you talking about Bill? Are you talking about baby blue? We're so close to catching him, and we don't even know what that thing is that we found was yet, could have been a deer. Listen, he left something important Bill, he left a book, we finally have hard evidence." I said as I began to reach out with my hand cuffs I borrowed from Joey. Now but a few inches from him, the howl was no longer a howl, It sounded of trumpets, it sounded of strings and a choir beyond this world. The plucked obscure orchestra sliced through the air, and through the rain like a blade of razor. Rain pelting us both, soaking us both in the cold depths of the night sky, the shivering of bill, even though faint, at such a close position could almost be felt in the ground beneath us. My black suit, my red tie, and my notebook were all getting increasingly more drenched, then something happened.
The lights below went black, and the music stopped. Scents of mold and mildew sprung up out of nowhere, and the screams became wails. A darkness, darker than the depths of the holosovax cave filled the sky, it absorbed light, as if a cambrian era entity had swallowed us up into it's gaping maw. The rain started to thicken, and the vapors of the late winter night had surrounded us. Odd enough, I could still see the back of Bill, as if crystal clear in the middle of the day, his dry overalls and his plaid shirt he wore, his thin gray hairs on the back of his head, so I reached out one more time, but with no need.
He spun around and his eyes, his eyes no longer had white in them, it was if someone had taken his iris and duplicated it one hundred times. His nose bled with a deep crimson flow, it poured a river out, and kept pouring, all the while his mouth, it was smiling so wide that it was cracking at the seams. I could see what he had been holding in his hands, it was a small spherical device with anchient runes coating it, dug deep and with grave inscriptions.
"Isn't he wonderful? His domain is ours, soon you will understand, soon everyone will, but you must stay determined agent, he will stop us, and you must catch him." said a twisted Bill, his hair falling out and mold spores forming on his skin as we spoke, the corners of his eyes now leaking a bright blue fluid. "You see my eyes Hoffman? This color is what you should look out for, It signals him. Look into my artifact, It's a gift from Zantho'oh." The old man stated, and as he did, my eyes were drawn directly to it, and a voice spread through the air, it wispered in a thousand tongues, all converging on the same phrase: "Splinter it into a thousand pieces and spread it to the wind."
"What the hell Hoffman! What was that shit?" Jones yelled at full strength, spit foaming at his mouth, barking his whims out in a fit of absolute unadulterated rage. "My cuffs, where are they?" The officer said, looking at the ceiling, with his hands on his hips, dripping with the rain in his soaked uniform, each drop meandering down his clothes finding their way to the floor where they dripped and dropped in the echoes of the hotel lobby. Shoes tracking in the stains of crimson, trailing behind with the now pulp of a once able bodied, working man used to the fields and hard labor.
"Well, where are they?" He barked out leaning down, looking me dead in my eyes holding out his hands, in some sort of dire need for a useless chunk of metal that I maybe had misplaced somewhere up stairs on the roof, where the vapors and the mist holds tightly in the mouth of the beast and under the instruments of confusion. I handed him what had been in my pocket, the small ball like thing with language of unknown origin, and a material of unknown make or intent. He stared at the device, and asked: "Now was that so hard to do? Thanks for my cuffs back, too bad about the guy outside who will never see his wife again." he said as he turned around and began to walk out the door.
"Listen, I understand, you didn't have enough time to get up there, he had already jumped when you were on floor eight. Look kid, I'm sorry for mistreating you, Thank you for the tea earlier, we'll have that book to you by at least 2 tonight." He said, looking over his shoulder, stopped in his tracks as the flash of the camera went off behind him, taking pictures of the red splat on the concrete. The scent of iron emanating from wherever the red pooled up inside, every shoe print left the stench.
"There was nothing you could have done, kid, go back to your room, get some rest for me. It's gonna be a long night for us." he said, as he walked out the door, still holding that small device.
Making my way to the door, I creaked it open, hoping to not mess with the body, but the cleanup crew notified me that it had not been directly over where the entrance was where he fell. Putrid scents of gore and death still lingered, and the odor of iron was so strong that you could taste it in the air. The wall had been covered in it, and the ground was stained where that heaping mess of flesh still remained. Bones were poking out through the torn skin, and the head was busted open in a stream of pure horror, but the brain was no where, save for some ash in the skull. I drove the mile to the place I was renting in complete silence.
"Honey, I'm home." I shouted into the dark, for a moment forgetting about what had occurred years prior. I knew damn well there would be no answer, no reply save the air conditioner buzzing on or off, or maybe the heat deciding to finally kick in after dipping down below sixty degrees Fahrenheit. Moths flew in the light of the lamps, and dust lain on every surface.
Coffee, the scent lingered as if I had just finished making the cups of Joe right then. I still needed to clean out the grounds and the excess liquids from my meek setup of a Moka pot and a cheap Mr. Coffee espresso machine; usually, if it sits, the mold will take over and infest every nook and cranny of my machines rendering them completely and utterly useless until I can remove it.
Dissembling is simple, for the moka pot I just needed to unscrew the two small curious segments to reveal the tray where the coffee grounds reside, and then it's only a matter of disposal and a quick rinse with as clean a water supply I can achieve. The insignificant machine, the espresso maker that could only make two shots at a time was more simple, remove the basket and the frothing wand and rinse out.
It was twelve o'clock when I glanced, my baggy eyes shown my wear and tear like a crack in the foundation. Intoxicating aromas of familiarity wafted through the still vapors of my cold damp house dazzled in the moonlight of the window outside; the comfort of the great queen sized bed draped in full down and equipped with a warming blanket running on electrical currents gently caused an urge in my body. The long few months of sleepless nights and coffee fueled days hunting absurdly after a hit that may or may not be here paying off in sweet release as the fumes of my breath expanded over my head in a movement not too dissimilar to a jellyfish floating around the deep blue seas. Simple pleasures as comfort now returning as I could rest, and simply wait for my evidence to come to me, I quite preferred the trapping method of hunting more than any other kind.
My memories began to flicker in my mind, times of grandeur and hope, cloaked in the depths of inner turmoil, of rip currents and of waves. Sinking into the thoughts, deeper and deeper as my eyes wandered off and I no longer was able to hold my eyes open any longer, simply taking in the joy of finally having a single lead, a single clue to the crimes. I remembered my past few months here, my past few glorious months, helping and lending my hand to those who needed it the most, of those in this quaint town of my birth, and of the great tales I could tell of it. I recalled her, most of all, those beautiful eyes, deeper than any trench, more blue than the clouds on Neptune. Drifting on a sand dollar, sinking through the waves and over their crests, I drew on and on, lingered further and kept going deeper into the brink.
I awoke a few hours later, screaming out loud unable to remember what might have terrified me so, something so awful that I sit up straight and ponder my own existence. Something else in the room felt off, something was deadly awful, a presence that feels of glass being rubbed on your back and your hairs all being pulled straight up. My mind wondered to thoughts of scents, maybe the smell of home had worn off, maybe the dust had gotten to me. That wasn't quite it, so I thought maybe the temperature was changed, however that was a dead end, the thermostat had remained constant. Exhausting my options, I looked across my room, and on the computer desk lay the book.
It's solid black cover looked to absorb all light, even when I turned my lamp on and set down, the book remained as black as the ever expansive void, though it gave off the feeling of being made out of hardened leather. There was but one figure on it, one that one might miss on the initial inspection of such a book, but it remained there. It was a near black blue symbol that levitated in the material, It was two triangles encompassed by a circle, one with an eye in the center, and one had a picture of a hand with a spiral on the palm. It was no larger than maybe an inch across and wide.
The inside cover there was written a note, It read: "In loving memory of Solomon, UCBMYAPSANAVHVMJDDZLPOJFGIQNXIWUXBX."
The paper smelled of papyrus, and the ink smelled of squid. The first two pages were completely blank, and on the third lay an inscription: "Lay datha, slod un lobot an ur l'tcha al 'duan sol a midao. Ere, mando al solod, un a dolom, un lobosod," what followed was a picture of a beast not of this earth, something that lay beyond the mortal description of such a beast, and it appeared to undulate on the paper, the ink seemed to be wet, and the very thing oozed of malice, and it staired at me, no through me. It was staring directly at my soul, and it laughed a mad man's laugh of a million trumpets, all playing at once.
Page after page, it was the same strange text, the same strange creatures, all moving around on the pages, some contained what looked to be cage like designed and the phrase "rutilat dolm murta alsos" appeared every time, followed by a word, either mudala or sulata, denoting some sort of position they held. As the pages continued, and my curiosity grew stronger, I kept seeing different devices, some cages, some solid boxes, some musical instruments, and further still, some were weapons. One in particular drew my attention, as it was given a title in English, most likely from the country it was discovered, "The Lambs Trident" they called it. The thing was given color, a bright red, solid red, with a floral design right before the blades. The handle tapered from the back to the front, with a flourish at the end, and the prongs on the blade end swooping in a comely curve, caressing whatever target with a piercing comfort, pleasant to the eye as the spike digs into the flesh.
Hearts, eight hearts, of various colors were painted onto the next page, that and a description. The red one yielded the description "halta no veu, dura al mua." The yellow "siken dos almb du alsod. Daga du alsn" followed by an orange one, a green one, a purple one, a cyan one, and of the ones with similar descriptions, a blue one. The final heart on the page, the only label it received was a bright white M and an infinity symbol right below it.
Turning the page, there was something similar, though less ornate, it was a rusted dagger, nothing out of the ordinary, but there it was, something coated in red and blue sheen, caressing each other in bright harmony. The title simply read "Solemn Promise" and had some description that was neigh unreadable without study. At that point, I had noticed something peculiar, there was a different kind of paper seemingly glued in to the back at the last second.
At the top was written something in some other worldly color of blue, it read "UWLRSISJGBV" then followed up with descriptions of my investigations, starting with: "May 23, 2013. Son of Jean Pierre Rousseau, founder of Insgrad Corp. found mutilated in ditch. A truck driver stopped by thinking someone had hit a deer, and was curious. When he found the body, it was sliced clean in half, intestines were missing, and his eyes were gone." The initial case, the thing that started the whole mess, the spark of the investigations, though, as the next five pages show, there was only a pattern to see, no signature, then it came. "August 21st, 2014, headlines, 'Actor Ed Shannon III found dead in his mansion today, rumors are circulating that this is the work of a cereal killer.' The MO is still the same, however, this time, the killer is writing a phrase above the victim. It reads 'I'm blue, baby blue, I'm blue, as blue as a rose.' No evidence has been found anywhere, not even a single drop of sweat. Note: In all my years, I've never seen anyone this crazy, he only targets people with power, and he never leaves any clues. This guy is, excuse me, fucking crazy."
Every single report, this bastard had every single fucking report up to today, September 15, but he didn't just leave a blank page for today, no, he left something for me, something so I could see it. Before I could, I heard a noise outside my window.
There stood a deer, staring into my window, with that same evil look on it's face, as if trying to tell me about my doom. It's face began to shift, the drawing from the book, it took on the face of the drawing in the book. The ribs opened up in a show of force, it's head cracked open and a mouth appeared with teeth sharp as broken glass, the tongue stretched down to the road, and it's undulating stomach wriggled a wriggle of jello, it was laughing, the deer was laughing at me, I couldn't delay any more, I needed to know what was in that last page before my head exploded.
""What is this garbage, this doesn't make any sense, why are my thoughts written word for word on this page? Oh, I know, this is some sort of reverse psychology trick, he wrote this for me to see, so I fall for the bait, huh? Nice try fool, I'm ahead of you. I can stop reading at any moment and you would be none the wiser old baby blue. Baby blue? More like Shitty Dude, ha. Where's the joke at Mr Blue, when are you gonna take over, and say something witty? What a disgrace, what a loser. You have all the time in the world to write down every single report I filed on your murders, and this is what you do to me? Well, you should be ashamed of yourself." Hoffman pondered the possibility of this being one big prank. One that he was not in on, maybe one that had gone further than even he could realize. Something that went even deeper than some of the stuff that the FBI deals with every day. I assure him, though, this is real, everything he is seeing is real. Don't turn around Hoffman, this isn't a joke. He replied "Oh ha, ha, you really want me to keep reading, I can turn around at any time I want, wait, I'm saying exactly what's written on the paper." Yes, I reminded the man, this is exactly what I am talking about, this duality between the two of us, you the hunter, I the prey. I live for this, I strive for it. It's what pumps my blood through my veins. Just don't turn around Hoffman, I'll make it twice as painful if you do, wouldn't want my face to be seen, now, would I? Hoffman stood still, in his chair, not quite grasping the gravity of the situation, he couldn't understand the determination I felt in that moment, the sheer force of will to finish my job and bring forth the begenning of a new age of humanity. Our story was coming to an end, us two, and all he had to do was sit still, but he turned around anyway. He saw my mask, and as I cried, it leaked out a deep blue liquid, right as I plunged the dagger into his hea