In which Harry Stewart lays down some vastly improved rhymage.

NOTE: Chapter 08 updated to include Anna's ghost, a very important detail that I meant to include but forgot.

CHAPTER 09: THE MAN IN THE CHAIR

TIME AND LOCATION: 11:21, Greenvale General Hospital, convalescent ward
WEATHER REPORT: Slightly cloudy
FORTUNE: "A mysterious capitalist shall bestow perplexing wisdom."

"Why, Mr. FBI Agent! What in the world are you doing in Mr. Fisher's closet?"

I blink up at Fiona's astonished face, her red hair frizzier than ever. Slowly, I uncurl myself from where I've been lying cramped on my side, for what seems like hours. Something cracks and I wince, dropping my gun at Fiona's feet. Another federal agent no-no, but it can hardly be helped. She utters a little shriek.

"Sorry, Nurse Freckles," I say, holstering my piece and standing up without too much swaying on my feet. "I came in here to take a little nap, and I guess I must have sleepwalked in here. It's a bit of a problem, but at least I didn't break anything falling down the stairs this time. Although, if I had, this would have been the right place to do it."

"Agent York!" It's Emily and the rest of the cavalry, George and Ushah behind her. She runs up to Fiona and touches her on the arm. I light a cigarette and wait for the fireworks to start.

"Thank goodness you found him. What was he doing?"

"Well, he, um, I came in here to get Mr. Fisher's jacket, and there was Agent York, all curled up under the hangers. It looked like he was having a bad dream or something."

She'll never know how right she is, Zach. "Like I mentioned," I say, after taking a good, long drag to clear my thoughts, "Sometimes my body gets restless, even when I'm not aware of it. It could happen to anyone, really."

"In my professional opinion, you should probably get that looked at," Ushah begins, but I think we're done here. There's plenty of other things these people have to be worried about, aside from finding FBI agents sleeping in unexpected places around town. Knowing this case, it's going to happen more often than not, so they'd better get used to it.

Emily wrinkles her nose. "What's that smell? Did you spill something on yourself while you were wandering around?"

I ignore the question. "Isn't there something urgent one of you should be telling me? Something about the DNA samples taken from Anna's body, perhaps?"

George pushes his way past Ushah, glaring at me. "How do you know about that? You've been in a damn closet for the past fifteen minutes, or so you say!"

Zach, did you hear that? We were only gone for a quarter of an hour...

"It just fits the pattern, that's all," I tell George, trying to placate him. "The pattern of the murders, the inevitable destruction of evidence. It happens every single time."

"But someone broke into the storage room and smashed everything up. The saliva sample from Anna's killer is gone. You're telling me this has happened before?"

"Yes, and that's all the details you guys are going to get from me," I say, putting out my cigarette and lighting another. "We need to put this behind us and continue with the investigation. Ushah, the FBI will cover the damage done to your facility. Emily and George, let's go."

We head out into the lobby, Fiona and Ushah hanging back with worried expressions on their faces. Perhaps they are concerned about their own safety, knowing that someone involved with Anna's killing was in this very building with us not moments ago. But they have nothing to worry about. That evidence was the only thing that was destroyed, the only thing that mattered... And now that it's gone, the hospital is safe once again. Not to mention the fact that the vandalism took place on what you might refer to as another plane of reality; not to get too science-fiction about it, Zach, but I think we both know that the culprit had a lot longer than fifteen minutes to get the job done.

As we make our way towards the main entrance, I hear the faint creak of wheels turning behind us. We all turn, and coming towards us is one of the strangest characters I've met since coming here. A man, wheelchair-bound, not in itself a big deal... Especially in a hospital. But this wheelchair is big and wooden and custom-built, and the man sitting in it wears a charcoal suit to match, snappy as all hell. He's probably in his sixties or seventies, given the color of his hair, but that's about all I can tell about him. Oh, he's also wearing a gas mask over his face that reminds me of a skull, and these round, brass-colored diodes standing out on his neck like Frankenstein's monster.

He's like an inmate from Escape from New York or something along those lines. At least, he would be if not for the expensive clothing. Everyone makes a big point of staring, and it's not hard to see why: The newcomer has a most unsettling disposition. I lean over to George, whispering, "Who's the old guy?"

"That's Harry. Harry Stewart," George says, doing nothing to hide the mistrust in his voice. "One of the more... problematic elements here in town. His father started up the lumber trade in this area and founded this community, but Harry himself is a bit of a weirdo, as I'm sure you can see. Always wearing that mask, never talking to the other townsfolk... And, FYI, he owns almost all of Greenvale."

I nod, watching the wheelchair approach.

"And the one behind him?"

"Michael Tillotson, Harry's aide. You'll never see one without the other. Tillotson hasn't always lived here, but damned if I can remember when he first showed up in town."

The man pushing Harry Stewart's wheelchair wears a cream-colored suit, exquisitely tailored to his slim frame, and has distinctly Asiatic features. He looks young, but appearances can be deceiving. He and Stewart come abreast of us and Tillotson stops the chair, both of them staring directly at me, though it's hard to tell through that gas mask. Stewart beckons Tillotson closer and the two seem to be conversing, though I can hear nothing.

"Mr. Francis York Morgan," Tillotson says, straightening up. His voice is soft and lilting, almost sing-song. "The seeker does well not to proceed with haste. Last is the rat who thinks he's won the race. So says Mr. Stewart."

"Nice to meet you too, " I say. "How did you know my name?"

Another whispered missive. Tillotson turns to address me again.

"Mr. Francis York Morgan. The hunter is hunted, the deer takes the lead. Information will find you, for it wants to be free. So says Mr. Stewart."

Now where have we heard that last line before, Zach? As I rack my brain, George steps up beside me and confronts Stewart directly.

"Harry, stop trying to get in our way. Keep this up and we'll start to think you're involved somehow. And then even you'll have to answer to me."

The diodes on Mr. Stewart's throat bob rhythmically as Tillotson bends over him, listening patiently. Here it comes again, Zach. Tillotson's eyes are cold and dark as he recites his cryptic riddle, almost unfocused, as if he's talking to nobody.

"Mr. Francis York Morgan. With rainfall comes madness, the forest is weeping. We cannot stop it while the goddess lies sleeping. So says Mr. Stewart."

George throws up his hands in disgust and turns away. "Thanks for the warning," I say politely. Michael gives a slight bow and takes up the handles of Mr. Stewart's wheelchair once more. They move past us and out the front doors, wheels trundling across the threshold. It's stopped raining outside.

"Has he always been a poet?" I ask George. He is not amused.

"He's always spouting that nonsense. Don't give it any thought. It's a bunch of gibberish."

Maybe, maybe not. You think Harry Stewart knows more than he's letting on, Zach? Or is he just senile? Questions for another time, perhaps.

The police radio on Emily's shoulder crackles. She turns her head, presses a button on its side. "Emily here. …Okay, Thomas, thanks." She lets her hand drop. "Agent York, we've contacted the first witnesses to the crime scene, " she says. "You can interview them where they found the body."

"Excellent! I was just about to ask you to take me there."

Emily laughs as the three of us walk down the steps into the parking lot. "Had enough independence, Agent York? You were so keen on driving yourself around town before."

I rip open a bag of potato chips I'd picked up from the vending machine in the hospital lobby. "I'm too hungry to drive. Besides, from what I remember of the files, Anna was found way out in the forest somewhere. I'd never make it there on an empty stomach."

"Right, the Greenvale Forest Park," Emily says, getting behind the wheel. "It's the town's pride and joy. There's a beautiful hiking trail leading to a viewing platform over Velvet Falls, and the place becomes a national tourist attraction during the hunting season."

"Mmm! Sounds fantastic," I say through a mouthful of chips. "Remind me to get you to show me the sights sometime, Emily."

No kidding, Zach. She'd make quite the attractive tour guide. Though, I don't think that type of job would suit her any better than this drab police uniform she always has to wear...

"No time for that now. Let's get to the park," George says, climbing in the front passenger seat and forcing me to sit where all I can see are the backs of their heads. As Emily pulls out, George turns around and says, "Agent Morgan. If I could just give you a friendly warning..."

"Are you really that upset about me taking over?"

George scratches his chin and grumbles something inaudible.

"My involvement with Anna's case is completely authorized by the Bureau," I tell him. "I understand if you don't like it, but you will follow my orders."

"I'm not disputing FBI authority," George says after a long pause. "But this is our town. You won't get far alone. And so far, with all the stunts you've been pulling ever since you got here, it doesn't make me confident that you are ever going to cooperate. You will gain nothing by antagonizing me."

I shrug. I can't help the way I am, and I tell him so. It doesn't seem to satisfy him, especially when I suggest that taking him off the case might be the most appropriate method. We're going to do things our way, Zach, and unnecessary conflict is only going to hurt matters. Best to avoid it altogether.

Emily doesn't seem to understand either. "Stop it, you two. We need to solve this case, not bicker among ourselves."

"But-"

"Don't make me turn this car around!"

I turn my face away so they can't see me grinning. Outside, the civilized world, the man-made homes and businesses of Greenvale, begin to give way to the untamed majesty of the forest. Tall pine trees stab upwards into the sky, managing to evoke a bleak sense of loneliness despite their numbers. Beyond the forest, far into the distance, are the blue humps of mountain ranges, covered in perpetual fog. One of them must be the place where we crashed our car...

"So, I take it you've already interviewed the witnesses," I say, gazing out the window in hopes of catching sight of a deer. Zach, yell if you see one.

"Well, not yet, exactly."

"What, are you out of your mind? Isn't that one of the first steps in police procedure, after taking care of the body?"

"Agent York, I don't appreciate your tone," Emily says icily. Funny, I expected to hear some talkback from George. "We were given orders to wait for your arrival."

"Oh, really? Who gave the orders?"

"An FBI man, name of Abrahams."

Robert, is it? Good old Bob Abrahams... We did tell him to stay out of it, didn't we, Zach? It's always tough to have a meddling boss. George in particular seems happy to hear that politics and miscommunication exist even in our perfect little organization.

"Why, Agent Morgan, I thought you knew! Don't worry about it. We may not have the official statements, but we got all the information we need. I can fill you in, if you want."

"Thanks, George, but I still need to visit the crime scene. And it's always more informative to talk to witnesses face to face."

Emily shakes her head. "I just can't believe that the children were exposed to such a graphic crime this way," she sighs. "You'd better be careful with them, Agent York."

That's right, I'd almost forgotten. The first witnesses had been two young boys... Come to think of it, hadn't I seen a couple of- What's that, Zach? What? Where?

"Oh my god! Look at that!"

The seatbelt across my chest tightens as Emily slams on the brakes. George, who has decided to forgo his belt for some reason, puts his hands on the dashboard to stop his nose from breaking against it. Emily looks wildly around, jagged blonde locks flailing.

"What? What is it, York?"

"I think I saw one!"

"Saw what? What are you talking about?"

"I think Zach spotted a deer."

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