Remember how I said I wouldn't start on Forever Autumn 2 until after Christmas?
Yeah, I got bored.
Enjoy!
Prologue
August 17th, 1987.
Wilson David Jenkins considered himself a sensible, down-to-earth man. To him, everything had an explanation – things could always be explained as God or human nature. Aliens and monsters were pulp mumbo-jumbo, and there was no such thing as the Men in Black.
Tonight, as he led the two black-suited men to his barn, he found himself unsure of his convictions.
The night had began normally enough. Wilson had turned in at nine, saying evening prayers before drifting off to sleep. At ten, he had been awakened by a loud noise, almost like an electrical generator. He sat up to find a bright blue light emitting from his barn.
He had ran over, stopping only to grab his shotgun. He had kicked the door open to find a strange vortex just below the roof – it felt like he was standing in front of a massive fan, and he found he had to clutch to a beam to prevent himself from being blown outside. He had watched in shocked awe as an unconscious man, brown haired, tall and somewhat stocky, fell from the vortex and landed in a pile of hay. Then the vortex had vanished.
Wilson's mind had been reeling from what he had seen, but he still prided himself on sensibility. He immediately locked the barn and called the authorities – half-an-hour later, these two feds had been dispatched to his Kansas property.
"So what are you, anyway?" asked Wilson, glancing back at the men as he led them along.
"I am Agent Ritter and my partner is Agent Paulsen," replied one agent – a large, bald, ageing man with a weathered face, "The rest is strictly on need-to-know basis."
The other agent – skinny, blonde and somewhat youthful – put a hand over the right breast of his suit.
"Okay, I get it," grunted Wilson, "Just get this fella off my property, will you?"
"It'll all be over soon, Mr. Jenkins," reassured Paulsen.
Wilson pulled the barn key from his jacket pocket and unlocked the padlock before pushing the door open. The barn inside was dark – Wilson picked up an electric lantern.
"Sorry, fellas, no electric lighting."
He turned on the lantern, shining it over a pile of hay. The strange man lay on top – for the first time, Wilson realised just how ragged he looked. His clothes were mere shreds, and a long beard covered his features.
"How long has the trail been cold again?" asked Paulsen.
"Since '82," replied Ritter, "Come on, let's wake him up."
The two agents walked over the man, leaning over him. Ritter pulled a small LED light from his suit jacket and shone it into the man's face. The light caused him to stir.
"...wh...where am I?"
He looked up and shrieked as he saw the two MiBs. He tried to back off, but was stopped by Ritter grabbing his arm.
"Mr. Pines, please, calm down!" he exclaimed, "You're back on Earth. You're fine."
The man – Mr. Pines, apparently, gazed into Ritter's eyes – Wilson noted that the man's expression looked deeply haunted.
"What year is it?" he asked, licking his lips slightly.
"1987," replied Paulsen, "You're in Kansas."
"Welcome back from Oz, I guess," shrugged Wilson.
Both agents sent him a cold glare.
"What? I was just trying to lighten the mood, fellas."
"I'll need you to answer a question," said Ritter, "Just to confirm your identity. Answer yes or no; did you work with Stanford Pines and Fiddleford McGucket to create a universe portal back in 1982?"
"Y-yes I did," replied Mr. Pines, "Stanford...it feels like a century ago."
"From your perspective, it might just have been," shrugged Paulsen.
"And you're familiar with Bill Cipher?" asked Ritter.
"Bill Cipher?" quizzed Wilson, "He a fed or something? Or some kind of Soviet agent?"
Paulsen glared at him again, and he shut up.
"Bill," growled Mr. Pines, "I remember Bill. If you're working for him..."
"On the contrary," replied Ritter, "We're here to make sure he and his ilk never threaten us again. We're on your side."
"Who are you?" demanded Mr. Pines.
"We, Stanley, are the All-Seeing Eye," replied Ritter, "And I think you can help us."
"Help you?" Stanley repeated, "But...where's...where's Stan..."
His eyes closed and he fell back into unconsciousness.
"Dammit, he's gonna need medical attention," grunted Ritter, grabbing Stanley and supporting him over his shoulder, "I'll get him to the car. Clean up here and we'll get back to base."
"Copy," nodded Paulsen.
Ritter nodded back and walked away.
"Wait, what do you mean clean up?" demanded Wilson, "You mean something like torching evidence? Fed, you ain't touching anything in this barn!"
"Sorry, Mr. Jenkins, I have my orders," replied Paulsen, "I can't leave any trace that we were here."
"So what, is this the thanks I get for finding your guy?" spluttered Wilson, "Dag nabbit, I've paid taxes all my life, I've voted in every election; I am red-blooded American to the core! I am not going to stand here and be spoon-fed your stupid little 'Men in Black' bull..."
"Please be rational, Mr. Jenkins."
Paulsen reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a pistol, pointing it at Wilson's face.
"There's no such thing as the Men in Black."
He pulled the trigger, and the evidence was removed.
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AN: So yeah, just a tad darker. Don't worry, I don't intend to go all grimdark on you.
Next chapter will be up tomorrow. It's actually already done - just needs editing.