Randall Quinn stood in the center of what had just moments ago been his battlefield and sighed. One Hollow purged, two humans saved, and what? He shot a quick glance at Erin, who was attending to the boy and then adjusted his gaze to Isaac, who had set the girl down on the grass and was retrieving his teacher's body. Quinn wiped his katana on the dewy grass before sheathing it and walking over to Erin.
"How is he?" Randall inquired, his tone impassive.
"Not so good, but it could be a lot worse. It's actually quite a surprise to be honest. He'll have massive bruising on both his back where he landed on the tree and on his abdomen where he took the first hit but other than that…" her voice trailed and she shrugged at him.
"Hmm." Randall pursed his lips and put his chin into his hand, mulling over the scenario. Before he could get too invested in his thoughts Isaac tapped him on the shoulder and Randall turned around to see his body slung awkwardly over Isaac's shoulder in an impromptu fireman's carry.
"What do you want me to…" Isaac started as he hefted Randall's body, obviously a bit uncomfortable with the two Quinns.
"Ah. Here pass me it," Randall said, taking his body and setting it down on the grass before re-entering it. The whole of his audience stared at him as he went through this process. He just seemed to match himself over himself and then the matte-black robes of the Death God disappeared and it was just Quinn sitting there on the grass.
Quinn stood up, reaching into the left pocket of his jeans for a pack of cigarettes. He removed one and then after replacing the pack, withdrew a Zippo® from his other pocket. He swung it down forcefully along the edge of his pant leg, the action opening the lighter and igniting it in one fluid motion. He cupped the lighter and brought it to the cigarette pinched between his lips. Flicking the lighter shut he puffed pensively on the cigarette and looked back at the two humans.
"Alright, gather around. I'm not going to say this twice, so listen carefully. Roseanna, go the storage room and grab a memory modifier. Meet the rest of us behind the east side of the Administration Annex," Quinn continued, gesturing to a drab modular building that was next to Park with one hand while dragging on his Marlboro with the other. "Isaac, grab the boy and carry him over there. Erin and Red," he continued, Red increasingly becoming his choice name for A.J, "get the girl. They seem well enough to move them so let's do this. I have to call this in and get a crew here to take care of this damage." He paused for a second as he continued surveying his assets before coming to Iris, her scarlet blanket wrapped around her shivering, barefoot form. "Iris, for God's sake get some shoes, what the fuck were you thinking?" Xavier," he began, addressing the last member of their group, a stocky Spanish transfer student, "run ahead and make sure that side of the annex is vacant." Seemingly done giving orders Quinn tossed the used stub of his cigarette on the ground and gave the command that sent his rag-tag band scurrying every which way: "Move!"
Roseanna ceased fidgeting and ran off to get the memory modifier. Xavier and Iris also took off, Xavier in a new direction toward the far side of the annex and Iris after Roseanna.
Randall took a few small moments to breathe in the cool night air before trudging off after his subordinates. He dug into his pocket and flipped open his cell phone. The campus president was not going to like this call…
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
"Done? I haven't even gotten started yet!" roared Ithaca College president, a man by the name of John Scott Chatwood. He had essentially been ordered by his boss to bend over backward to do everything this man, one Mr. Quinn, said. But they had met briefly and Mr. Chatwood had not come away with the best impression…
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
John Chatwood was been reading to his children, Thomas, age 5, and Collis, age 3. Tonight's story was The Little Engine That Could, by request.
"I think I can, I think I can," John read, his older son paying rapt attention, while the younger Collis had fallen asleep with his head in his father's lap, his thumb in his mouth. All of a sudden the phone rang, drawing Thomas' attention and causing John to take a momentary break in his reading.
"I'll get it!" his wife called, even as her footsteps reverberated throughout their soon-to-be-sold house off the hardwood floors. She reached the phone and gave an automated: "Chatwood residence, may I ask who's calling?"
Whoever happened to be on the other line seemed to give her the wrong impression, which was reflected in her second call to her husband. "John, its for you. Said his name was Mr. Quinn?" Her voiced seemed both a tad shaky and a little bit uncertain.
"Alright, honey, I'm coming." John slid Collis' head gently off his lap and slid off the other side of the bed. "We'll finish this story tomorrow, Tommy," he told Thomas, who yawned his agreement. "I'll ask your mom to come up and tuck you in, okay?"
John walked somewhat brusquely downstairs; he was interested in talking to this Mr. Quinn, who had been told was about the equivalent of his boss. The difference was that his instructions would be periodic and were to be completed with no questions asked.
"The kids are upstairs waiting to be tucked in," he told his wife as he took the phone from her. John waited until his wife was upstairs before uncovering the receiver and beginning their conversation.
"Hello?" John began tentatively.
"Mr. Chatwood," the other voice said. It seemed very distinct to John, perhaps a little on the high side with just a subtle hint of being gravelly. "Go outside."
"Wait, why do I need to go outside? You know, I'd like to meet the man I'm expected to just follow blindly before taking orders from him. Can't we arrange to talk sometime, maybe at coffee shop or something?
"That's what I'm doing, Mr. Chatwood," the voice responded. "You don't even need shoes, just come out on to your porch," it continued, calling his attention to the budding rain before the line went dead.
Chills went down John's spine as he looked toward the front door. He did not see anyone in the windows, either. "Honey?" he called cautiously, making sure his wife was alright, the situation now beginning to startle him a bit.
"Yes?" she called down back to him.
"I'm going to take a quick walk before the rain picks up, okay?"
"Alright, should I wait up for you?"
"No, I might be a little while."
"Okay, be safe!"
John went to the door and gingerly pulled it open before stepping out onto the porch. He looked out down their small drive way and over the left side of the porch, the phone still clasped in hand. He started to hit re-dial when a voice behind him made him jump, quite literally, a foot in the air.
"That's won't be necessary, Mr. Chatwood."
John whirled around to see a sketchy-looking young man in a dark rain poncho sitting in the rocking chair they had on their porch. The chair swayed back and forth gently in time with the wind.
"You're Mr. Quinn?" John began, trying to build back some of his nerve. The man kept rocking and gave him an almost imperceptible nod.
"I would appreciate it if you didn't come to my house like this," John continued, building up some steam. "And I would like you to get out of my chair," he added, this time a little more forcefully. John knew that it would be unwise to start on the wrong foot with a superior, but this man had broken every rule of protocol that John knew.
The other man rose to his feet and gave John his petty victory before reaching into his pockets. John reflexively tensed himself, which caused the other man to laugh. He pulled out a cigarette and a lighter, a cheap Bic®, and laughed at John's reaction.
Even as John felt his face flush he was again caught off guard when Mr. Quinn offered him a cigarette. "Care for a smoke?"
"No. And I would appreciate it if you would not smoke in my residence."
Mr. Quinn ignored him, lighting the cigarette and returning the lighter to the depths of a pocket. He pulled down his hood to reveal someone who might have been a college student. He had close-cropped dark hair and a sharp, angular face. After taking a short drag on his cigarette Mr. Quinn shifted it to his left hand and extended his right to Mr. Chatwood.
"It seems we've gotten off on the wrong foot. I'm Darius Randall Quinn, that's Mr. Quinn to you, Randall if you insist, but never Darius. Understand?"
Letting the cigarette go for a moment, John stared warily at the proffered hand as if it might turn into a snake and bite him. After a few moments in which the rain drummed out a staccato rhythm on the roof, John accepted the handshake. "John Chatwood. Now if you don't mind, Mr. Quinn, could you tell me what exactly it is you do? "Peter," he began, referring to his actual boss, "told me I was to do exactly what you say. Now I understand what Peter does, but why do I have to answer to you as well?"
"The short answer is you don't. I will have periodic assignments for you, but our communication will be irregular, sporadic, and one-way. And, if we're lucky, I won't be needing anything from you during your time as president."
"What do you mean if we're lucky? And what qualifies you to be my boss? What about feedback?"
"What exactly did Peter tell you about me?" Randall interrupted, cutting him off. His cold, steel gray eye bored holes into John's.
"I don't know," John started, turning away from that awful glare. He didn't feel safe turning his back to this man, but those eyes… "Something about me not wanting know and no questions asked, but–"
"Bingo, no questions asked. Just do as I say if you want to protect your livelihood and your family."
John spun around again, demanding to know, "Did you just threaten my fami–," but the porch was empty. The only thing to even suggest that the other man had been there was a smoking cigarette butt left in the middle of the porch. John looked out toward the driveway but saw nothing. He then went inside and checked every room in the house twice before being satisfied that the man was gone. Finally, instead of returning to bed, he fell asleep in the rocking chair on the porch, standing guard over his house.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
"I still don't understand why I'm supposed to acquiesce to all of your demands, I mean, who the hell are you anyway? Who do you think you are? Do you have any idea what time it is? Where am I supposed to find a construction crew that will pour cement in Ithaca at one o'clock in the morning?" When Mr. Chatwood had finally been forced to stop because he ran out of breath he heard the empty buzzing of an ended call, which only prompted a further: "Son of a bitch!"
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Quinn was trying to finish his 'conversation' with the president when Roseanna returned with the memory modifier.
"Are you done yet?" Randall asked in the cell phone, obviously quite bored with the proceedings.
"Done? I haven't even gotten started!" the president's voice came through Quinn's phone quite loudly, prompting him to pull it away from his ear. "I still don't understand why I'm supposed to acquiesce to all of your demands, I mean, who the hell are you anyway-" was all he got out before Randall clapped his phone shut and killed the connection. He looked at his students to see them staring at his phone in his outstretched hand.
"Quit gawking. Roseanna, the device?"
Roseanna came over with what looked like a small flashlight and handed it delicately to Randall. Randall took the proffered device and walked over to the prone bodies of the two unfortunate victims. He carefully unsealed the lid off of the object to reveal what looked very much like an ordinary flashlight.
"That's the memory modifier?" Iris asked skeptically.
"Shut up and listen because I won't say this more than once. You all should be watching or have watched Bleach at this point. As you should know, Bleach is a publication created by real-life Death Gods to create awareness about our work and to act as a teaching medium for new Shinigami," he added, using the Japanese lingo almost second-naturedly. "In the series, the kikanshinki is a silly looking device that has a cuckoo's head on a spring. In reality, this 'flashlight' only has to be shown into the eyes of the target briefly while concentrating on the time frame or person in question in order to work its magic. It isn't convenient to have something so awkward looking as the serialized depiction because it draws attention. The alternative are these tablets," he said, pulling a small packet of what looked like Alka-Seltzer® tablets out of the back of the 'flashlight' where the batteries would be. "If for some reason there is a technical failure, break one of these under the subject's nose and the vapors released should clear out most of the last day or so."
He replaced the capsules and knelt over the girl. She had a bit of spirit energy, perhaps enough to warrant an attack but it was more was likely that she was simply the closest living thing in the area when the Hollow materialized. Randall pried open her eyelids and briefly flashed her pupils with the kikanshinki.
"The kikanshinki," Randall expounded, "then works in conjunction with the target's subconscious to create new memories to fill in the gap. The memories created are independent to the target based on their own personal belief systems, values, imaginations, et cetera."
Moving over to the boy Randall repeated the process, shining the kikanshinki briefly into his vivid green eyes. He didn't seem to have much spirit energy, either. "Alright. Check them for ID."
After a few moments of pocket fishing an ID card was held up to a streetlight.
"We've got Andrea Piotrowska here" Roseanna stated, giving the girl's name.
"The guy doesn't have any ID, but his key goes to Landon," Xavier added.
Randall thought for a moment. "Alright. Isaac and Xavier take the guy back to his room. If his roomie is there just tell him you don't know what happened, you just found him in pretty bad shape and decided to be good Samaritans. A.J. and Iris, the same with Ms. Poland and then get some sleep."
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
10/21/2008 - Made a few small grammatical changes.
