Chapter 3: Invitation to Silence

He couldn't tell where the noises were coming from and it annoyed him. Everything was dark; it was like somebody had turned off the sun. Slowly the noises in the background became just a little bit clearer. He could tell someone was trying to call to him, but from where? He thought about it for a moment, and decided that he wasn't dead. After all, there weren't any bright lights about, only the oppressive blackness that enshrowded him. But if he wasn't deceased where was he?

Maybe he was dreaming. Yes, that must be it. Dreams always started out in this sort of fashion. Everything surrounding the dreamer would be cast completely in shadow, and important figures or things would reveal themselves as the dream went on. At least, that's how he thought dreams were supposed to go; he couldn't be quite sure, as he couldn't recall the last time he'd dreamt. He was pretty sure that he hadn't dreamt in awhile at least. The background noise increased, and it was becoming increasingly irritating to listen to. On the same level however, the noise took on a definite accent, as though it was a person who he knew.

As he listened to the noise, he realized it was somebody speaking. He tried to place the sound with a face or name, but nothing surfaced. It certainly didn't seem like any proper sort of dream to be having, so he must've been awake. But if he was awake, why couldn't he see? He certainly remembered being able to see things before, but now nothing appeared in front of him. But there was something else about this darkness, it felt so... close. Suddenly it dawned on Sly Cooper that he had his eyes closed, and he opened them.

With a sudden rush, all of his senses leaped back into place. He could suddenly hear properly again, and though his vision was blurry at first, his eyes focused seconds later. He found himself staring right into the face of his good friend Bentley. The turtle's worried face relaxed as he saw that Sly had awoken from his sleep.

"You gave us both quite a fright Sly, just falling asleep like that Sly and then not waking up for three days," Bentley explained. Sly watched as Bentley sat back fully in his wheel-chair.

It took a moment for what Bentley had said to sink in. He'd been asleep for three days? Sly's head ached, buzzing as though he was experiencing a hangover of sorts; but Sly never got drunk. It hit him then and there. Von Stoopehd must've put something incredibly nasty in that drink, and it had messed with his system. Three days though? That seemed almost impressive, in a dark, "I'm surprised he didn't just outright kill me" kind of way. Sly's throat was very scratchy and the raccoon didn't feel like responding to his friend right there.

Meanwhile, Bentley had made himself busy, running all sorts of tests on Sly in an attempt to assess the thief's health. The green turtle wheeled himself in front of Sly, who was laying on a sort of examination table, with a checklist in hand. Bentley mumbled to himself as he went down the items on the list, checking them off one-by-one. Finally, he was satisfied that Sly wasn't in any sort of mortal danger. "Well Sly, I've checked you over and you seem fine to me. How do you feel?"

Sly sat himself up, and rubbed at his eyes with his hands. He opened his mouth to tell Bentley just how he felt, but ending up coughing violently instead. When the coughing subsided, Bentley's worried expression had implanted itself once more upon the turtle's visage. Sly tried to reassure his friend that he was ok, but only heard a rasping noise escape from his throat.

"Uh-oh..." said Bentley, reaching for a strange looking instrument on a nearby table. He fiddled with the joystick on his wheel-chair and soon was eye-to-eye with Sly. "Say, 'Ah'," said Bentley. Sly complied by opening his mouth, but no sound came out. Using a hand-held flashlight, Bentley gazed into his friend's throat. You weren't as smart as someone like Bentley without knowing a thing or two about medicine and all the things that could go wrong with somebody's body. It always payed to be prepared.

Sly tried to say, "But I feel fine Bentley," but nothing came out. This was starting to seriously creep Sly out.

"Well, I don't know what to say Sly," said Bentley, as he scratched his head. "Everything should be fine, and yet it seems as though your larynx has been temporarilly shut off." Sly gave a quizzical look at the word larynx. "Means your voice box isn't working," Bentley explained, pointing at where his own larynx would be. "I'll have to run some more tests... Sly? Sly! Don't go back to sleep buddy! Fight it! Fight the power!"

Sly's world went black once more, against the protests of his green friend. He woke up later to find himself laying underneath the covers in his bed. They must've moved him here thinking it'd be more comfortable than waking up on an examination table; they were right.

Sly shifted himself so that he was sitting up and looking at his face in a mirror. He looked the same as he always had. There weren't any hideous mutations marring his face, and he didn't seem to have a monster bursting forth from within him, but why then did this feel like it was something out of some old horror movie?

Just to make sure the whole thing hadn't been a dream, he tried to yell. All he got for his troubles was a low raspy sound that he was pretty sure only he could hear. He tried to say something, to be double sure that he couldn't speak. He looked like an idiot, opening and closing his mouth with nothing coming out.

It finally began to sink in. He couldn't speak, nor laugh, nor yell, nor emit any sound at all the sounded in any way, shape, or form like speach. He'd never be able to do a million different things he'd wanted to, all because he couldn't utter a word. He suddenly felt very depressed. He'd never be able to...

But his thoughts were interrupted by a small whoosing noise that came from the mail tube in the corner. It was a simple device that Bentley had whipped up after being told by both Sly and Murray that simply yelling down to both of them while they were sleeping would do him no good. So, instead of straining his voice, Bentley had used some stolen materials to build a mail tube. If there was something that he needed Sly or Murray to know, and he suspected that they were sleeping, he'd just type it up and send it down. It used to be that Bentley could just walk down the stairs, but no so anymore.

Sly guessed at what the note said, and decided that it'd just be easier to have Bentley tell him the news to his face. Without a second thought, Sly quickly ascended the wooden stairs to the main level of the safe house

He stepped into the living room. Long ago, before the Cooper Gang had renovated this place, the walls had been plain concrete, and odd bits of wire and plastic hung from the ceiling. Now however, the walls were covered with a soft green print, and the wires hanging from the ceiling had been repaired or replaced. They had also had a brownish-gray carpet installed. There was a single couch up against a wall, opposite of which sat the television. Just in front of the couch was a coffee table.

Bentley was sitting in his wheel-chair next to the couch, his laptop open. He was typing away furiously, and failed to notice Sly's entrance. Normally, the raccoon might've said something along the lines of "Hey" or "Hi Bentley" but under the circumstances that probably wouldn't work. Instead, he tried flailing his arms around frantically; that worked. Bentley looked up from his work and saw Sly.

"Uh, hello Sly. Just give me a moment here," said the turtle, glancing back down at his laptop's screen for a second. "Almost finished." The only sound that filled the room was the sharp clicking and clacking of keyboard keys. When Bentley was finished, he gently placed his computer on the coffee table. He removed his glasses and began cleaning them with the edge of his shirt. "Now, I have absolutely no clue as to what has happened to you, and how to go about looking for a cure. Don't worry though," he said quickly, as he saw Sly's face fall. "That won't stop me from trying to find out how to reverse this, but in the meantime..." Bentley fished around in his pocket for something, and pulled out the envelope from earlier (A/N:Chapter Two). "I took the liberty of opening your mail for you. Here, I think you'd better read it for yourself."

Sly reached out and took the proffered envelope in his hands. The wax seal had been left intact because Bentley wanted to inspect it at some later date. The envelope had been opened by use of a letter opener, and Sly removed the note from within. The paper was thick and heavy, and looked somewhat grainy. The thing itself was only the size of a postcard. On the front in cursive writing was Sly's name. Sly turned the envelope and would've gasped at what he saw if he'd been able to.

"Strange huh?" asked Bentley. Sly watched as Bentley returned his spectacles to their proper place. "Receiving an invitation to a ball from a guy who you saw die less than a week ago? Still, we got this new letter in the mail yesterday, while you were still out. It's a letter from Von Stoopehd." That certainly prompted a response from Sly. The thief's features lit up with surprise and shock. "In essence, it says that the party's still on, barring another experience like that of three days ago. Now, I've already checked the document for evidence of forgery, and it checked out. It's really his signature Sly. I know for a fact that ghosts are real, but zombies? Give me a break Sly, that's just physically impossible."

Sly shrugged his shoulders in response, as there wasn't a whole lot else that he could do. This whole 'not being able to talk' thing was really beginning to frustrate the Master Thief. It'd barely been ten minutes and already the lack of being able to communicate his thoughts and ideas was irking the raccoon. He'd have to figure someway around it.

"As we've currently no idea as to where to start in search for a cure, I propose that you actually attend Stoopehd's party. I know it goes against the whole 'never return to the scene of the crime' deal, but we don't have any other leads at the moment. You should get working on a disguise, the ball's tomorrow."

Sly nodded in agreement. He felt as though he'd be walking into some sort of trap, but what other choice did he have really? Sit around for weeks waiting for Bentley to come up with one or two things to try, that most likely wouldn't work out in the end? Sly just wasn't the kind of person to sit around and wait for things to happen. Sly sighed deeply and hung his head as he moved into the kitchen in search of something to eat. Yesterday things had just seemed so... bright compared to today.

One day later, Sly stood looking at himself in the mirror. He was particularly pleased with this disguise, and rightly so. It had taken the better part of yesterday to perfect it. He'd almost decided on wearing a monocle, but after thinking on it left it behind. It'd have just been overkill. Actually, now that he took a close look in the mirror he noticed that he looked a lot like his ancestor Thaddeus Winslow Cooper III.

He inserted a small radio-wave transmitter into his right ear. Bentley had just broken through the radio scramblers that von Stoopehd employed to keep all outside interference on the outside. With the radio-wave transmitter, Bentley would be able to keep in touch with him should things become decidedly dicey. With one final glance Sly was sure that his disguise was finished.

Sly arrived at von Stoopehd's gates minutes later, and he had to say he was impressed. The entire manor had been lit up for the occasion, and two large search lights out in front on the lawn shot their beams of light into the night sky. The manor had certainly looked ugly last night, but Sly just guessed that was because it had been entirely dark.

Sly watched as several groups of people in front of him were admitted past the gates. Most people were on foot like Sly, but several limosines and other fancy cars drove up the driveway before delivering their occupants to the manor.

He walked boldly up to the gate guard and handed him his invitation. Bentley had, using some technology that Sly didn't quite understand, modified both the guest list and the actual invitation itself so that neither would give away his true name. Tonight Sly was Devon Eastham, and he planned to stick to that name no matter who or what happened at the party. The guard barely paused to look at the invitation, and allowed Mr. Eastham admittance to the manor up ahead.

Walking past the guards quickly, Sly was thankful that the guards hadn't asked him anything. He had come armed with a pad of pader and pen if things became so desperate that he absolutely had to communicate with somebody, but the feeling of those objects in his inside breast pocket felt heavier than they should have. Besides, Sly wasn't even sure how long his voice would remain the way it was. Even the strangest of diseases and afflictions would sometimes vanish of their own accord, didn't they?

Sly gazed up at the gaily lit manor, not just a little bit curious. Something seriously... wrong was going on here. Only three days ago he had seen the owner of this house fall down on the floor, dead. He couldn't forget the picture of the rat on the floor, as though he were some common vermin. Sure, he hadn't been a saint or even a good person really, but to just see someone's life snuffed out like a candle? It was more than a little frightening.

Stoopehd had spent the majority of his life in deathly fear of practically everything. It just seemed to go against every bit of the rat's character. Why hold a party when you were afraid of people, crowds, noise, hand shakes, friends, enemies, certain foods, certain drinks, pink and green colored napkins, and countless other things that present themselves at parties?

Sly made up his mind as he took his first step onto the porch that extended from the manor's front, there was something seriously wrong with Stoopehd, and he'd have to investigate. He first stepped into the huge reception room that had been specially cleaned for tonight. The marble floors sparkled with a cleanliness they had not seen in years. There were long, plush red runner carpets that headed off to the right and left, down long hallways, that had been decorated with expensive looking paintings and sculptures.

Looking around the room, Sly was able to tell that Stoopehd wasn't here greeting his guests. He must've been in some other part of the manor. Sly looked down at a golden watch that he had swiped from somebody earlier that week, and saw that it was already 6:30. That was late compared to the start date of the ball, and most of the guests had already been present for over an hour.

He chose to head down the left corridor in search of the host. He passed by several paintings and other works of art. His fingers itched at the thought of how much he could get for any one of those things on but he controlled his urges. It would've been incredibly stupid and fool-hardy to swipe anything tonight, well... anything that wasn't large enough that it wouldn't fit in a pocket anyways.

Rounding the corner, Sly saw a pair of open doors that led to the ballroom. That was were he would find Stoopehd, he was sure of it. Sly took his first step into the ballroom and was truly awestruck for a moment. The ceiling was a high one, from which hung an absolutely gigantic and stunning crystal chandelier. That one chandelier illuminated the entire room perfectly. The dance floor was slightly sunk lower than the rest of the room, and made from black and blue marble. Currently on top of the marble were at least one hundred people, all moving and swaying in perfect timing with the music.

Sly's attention was drawn to the small orchestra who sat in the corner of the room, projecting their melodious tunes throughout the entire room. There were people playing violions, cellos, flute, and even several instruments that Sly couldn't name off the top of his head. At the head of a group stood a lone wolf, who conducted the entire group with the motions of his hands, his baton, and sometimes his whole body. Right now, a soft, slow tune that flowed very nicely wafted through the air, providing a very tangible sense of atmosphere.

The dance floor did take up much of the ballroom, but a small section had been reserved in the far corner for refreshments. As Sly's gaze moved from the dancers to the refreshment table he saw just what, or who, he had been looking for. There, standing in the center of a group of people, was von Stoopehd. He seemed entirely different from how Bentley had described him and how Sly remembered him. Laughing loudly at a particularly humurous joke, Ludwig excused himself from the throng of people that had formed around him. They seemed genuinely reluctant to let him go, as though they had become fast friends with Stoopehd in the mere confines of several hours.

Ludwig carried himself confidently now, with an almost friendly glint in his eyes. His face split into a wide smile as he spotted Sly, aka Mr. Eastham. He made his way to Sly and offered his right hand to shake. Thinking it would be better to keep up pretenses while surrounded by so many people, Sly took the hand shook in return. "Mr. Easthem! I'm very glad you could come! Enjoying yourself?" Sly nodded. "Good, good! I expect you are wanting to talk to me, yes?" Von Stoopehd either didn't notice Sly's slight twitch, at the word talk, or he didn't care about it. "If you'd be so kind as to follow me."

Ludwig led Sly from the ballroom, and paused for only a minute or two to talk with a few of his other guests before arriving in front of a huge steel door that looked oddly familiar. In fact, it was the same steel door through which Sly had passed through on his heist days ago. "I do hope you don't mind turning around while I enter the code. Can't be too trusting these days, can we?"

Sly turned around. He looked slightly to his left and right and saw some people section off the hallway he was in. That certainly couldn't be good. He was about to get out of there when he felt something grasp his collar from behind. Using an almost super-human strength Ludwig flung Sly into the art gallery. Normally Sly would've been able to roll one way or the other in order to avoid falling flat on the floor, but not this time. The raccoon landed on the gallery floor with a thud.

He had flown through the air with his eyes closed and chose now to open them. Staring directly at him was the, almost week-old, corpse of Ludwig von Stoopehd. Scooting back as fast as he could, Sly bumped into something. His head whipped upwards, and found Ludwig looking down at him.

"Boo."

Ludwig laughed as Sly nearly jumped out of his fur. The raccoon, now a considerable distance from both the dead and living Stoopehd, finally stood up and took deep breaths as his heart pounded faster and faster.

"Ah... I've been wanting to do that for a very long time Cooper," said Ludwig, instantly dropping any pretenses he had held earlier in order to keep suspicion off of him. "In fact, I've wanted to this... all of this for a very long time." He held his arms up wide palms open to the ceiling to illustrate his point. "For most of my life really, ever since that time... ah, well there will be time for reminiscing later won't there?"

Sly wasn't really listening. His mind was more focused on trying to find an escape route as fast as possible. There weren't any windows that he could see, and there weren't any holes in the ceiling that he could use. The only way out was through the door he had just come in by, and that fact sunk in hard.

"As you've no doubt guessed by now, I am not Ludwig Adelbert von Stoopehd. My name is... my name is..." Ludwig, or whoever he was, stopped to ponder. It seemed as though he wasn't quite sure whether he'd decided if he would tell Sly his real name or not. "You may call me The Actor, or just Actor. In fact, let's go with Actor. I never really liked titles," said Actor.

Actor began pacing back and forth. "Where to start...? where to start...?" he mumbled to himself. "The beginning is usually the best place to start, but unfortunately for you Sly, the beginning will have to wait for later."

Actor snapped his fingers and the giant steel door whooshed open to admit to burly looking thugs. Sly looked at the bruisers with a faint twinge of fear in his eyes. He was thing agile yes, but he usually had his cane by his side and right now there was no exit. Eventually, if things turned ugly, he'd be backed into a corner and promptly pummeled. He didn't enjoy thinking about that prospect. A slight twinkle of hope appeared though as the thugs hadn't shut the steel door properly.

"Relax Cooper, I have only summoned these two to make sure that you do not overpower a poor, old frail person such as myself," he said, chuckling afterwards. Sly highly doubted that Actor was old. "Because of your current predicament Cooper," said Actor, obviously meaning that he knew Sly wasn't able to speak. "Because of your predicament it seems I shall be the one to ask all the questions tonight. I suppose, that just by looking at you, you obviously wish to know who I really am. I have already told you who I am, and that should suffice. Besides, I can't be bothered to remind you of who I am if you can't remember yourself. That's right Sly Cooper, you and I have met before."

Sly was surprised to say in the least. He had never once met a person like this. Well, actually he couldn't be quite sure of that. This Actor character was obviously wearing some kind of disguise and probably looked nothing like what he did now without it on.

"So many years ago, in fact that I bet you've forgotten." Sly nodded his head slowly. "Now, on to more present business matters. You are wondering if it is possible to remove this terrible affliction that ailes you, am I right?" Once more, Sly nodded. "Then I'm afraid that you are wasting the precious little time you have to find the man here who can help you Sly. He's here, at this party in fact, and he told me that he'd be leaving in approximately..." Actor took a look down at his golden wrist watch. "Oh, in about three minutes?

Sly made a move, hoping to dash past the guards and into the party to find this man, whoever he was. The thug on the right would have none of this escaping business, and threw a couple of punches Sly's way. The last of which, being an uppercut, connected with the intended target and Sly felt himself lifted off the floor by the force of the blow.

"Tsk tsk Sly. Running off to find a man with absolutely no idea what he looks like? That seems a little unprofessional of you." A small grin found its way onto Actor's face, as Sly grimaced from the pain as he stood up. "But I am not such a bad man to not help point you in the right direction. You're looking for is a middle aged goat. The fur at the top of his head has turned slightly silver, although he won't admit to it. He's wearing a very business like navy suit and jacket. Also, he always carries a monocle around, but for what reason I am unable to discern."

All throughout the description, Sly had listened as well as could've been expected of him. Actor slowly walked over to Sly, and looked the raccoon straight in the eye. "Doctor Herbert Gramshure. I'd go now if I were you."

Sly inched his way around Actor, aware of the rat's black eyes that followed him as he moved. Sly's pace quickened as he ran past the guards. He finally broke into a sprint as he entered the empty corridor, and heard Actor call out something. "I am the one that did this to you! Never forget that Sly!" Sly didn't care about that right now, he only wanted to find this Doctor who could supposedly help him.

He had checked nearly every room in the manor that had been open to guests in just under two minutes, when he hear a loud car horn from outside. Of course! If he waited outside he'd be able to "speak" with Gramshure before he left! Sly hastily scribbled a note on a piece of paper and folded it up as he stepped out into the cold, night air. There, not fifty feet away, was a middle aged goat getting into the back seat of a rather expensive looking car. Sly couldn't believe his bad luck as the car turned down the driveway and sped away into town.

Just like the last time he had exited this building, his earpiece crackled to life. "Sly... Sorry about... lost the signal... back online now... You better head back to the safe house so you can fill me in on what happened. My communications relay with you went dead the second you entered the manor."

Sly took a deep breath as he walked down the driveway of the late Ludwig von Stoopehd's manor. Things... things just didn't seem to be going well for him.

A loud, angry growl rent the silence in the room as hundreds of papers were thrown across the room. Inspector Fox definately wasn't happy. She had just gotten off the phone with the last of her reliable contacts and learned nothing. She had ended the conversation abrubtly by using a string of particularly nasty insults and vulgarities, in at least three different languages.

Her chest heaved in and out, her lungs working double time to make up for the lost oxygen because of all the swearing. Finally, she took a few deep breaths in an effort to calm herself and let her head fall onto her desk. For the next minute or so she did nothing but smack her forehead repeatedly on her desk. She was quite frustrated. She hadn't heard anything on her elusive quarry since they had last met, and it was starting to get to her.

Rubbing her temples, it finally came to Carmelita. There was still one contact she had left, but she was loathe to call him. She wasn't quite sure what it was about him, but that guy creeped her out. She looked at the phone, wondering whether or not to dial the number. Her hand moved over the phone, hovering in position, not sure whether it wanted to grasp the device or leave it alone.

She thought it over in her head. It must've been at least three years since she had since this particular contact, and he must've become a little less... weird, by now right? She gulped visibly as she picked up and the phone and began dialing the number.

She hoped the contact didn't have caller ID. He did. An annoyingly high-pitched voice came over the phone as the contact picked up the phone. "Cousin 'Lita! So glad you called!"