Author's note: I haven't mentioned this yet, so I will now; my fics are meant to be taking place in the present day, much like the Moonstone comics, but, unlike the comics, the fics still take place at the INS in Chicago. Also, the two characters introduced in this chapter—Gorpley and Wainwright—aren't mine; they're a guest appearance from another fandom. Lastly, many thanks to Marie1964 for information on Navy Pier!
"I was still smarting from my encounter with Captain Rausch; I knew that my best bet was to avoid him. However, I wasn't about to get off of this case like he wanted—I was through with being intimidated by him, which was more than could be said for the other journalists present, who had gathered around Rausch after he had finished questioning the witness.
"I knew that I wasn't about to get any information standing there in that crowd, and, sure enough, Rausch's statement was more of a warning for all of us journalists that we were better off staying away from the lake. Quite a few of them looked scared, and for good reason; I knew from experience that the captain was willing to resort to ways of persuasion—the kind that didn't leave any physical marks, but could damage you all the same.
"So, while Rausch was busy intimidating the other journalists, I chose the moment to slip free from the crowd and approach the witness, Roland Marvin. It was a decision that would prove to be most fateful, though—like all fateful decisions, I suppose—I had no idea of it at the time."
Roland looked up as Carl approached him as he sat by himself, surprised to see the same journalist again.
"You're that reporter that the captain chased off!" he said. "Hey, I don't think you should be sticking around—Captain Rausch wouldn't like it if he saw you talking to me."
"Oh, don't let old Rausch fool you; we've got a rock-solid relationship," Carl said, with a wave of his hand. "Tell me about what happened here."
"Well, it's like I told the captain—my dad and I were fishing, and he just… fell overboard and vanished! And when I went in to save him, all I saw were large fish tails in the water…" The young man shuddered, but then looked back to Carl. "…Are you sure it's okay for me to be telling you this?"
"Sure, sure," the reporter said. "Now, if I remember correctly, you also mentioned something about hearing music?"
"Was that even important? Captain Rausch didn't think so. But, like I told him, I heard someone singing… Actually, several voices singing, very faintly—all women, without accompaniment."
"So, you heard some sort of female acapella group?" Carl asked. "And you said it was on the radio?"
"Yeah, it had to be a radio, based on how faint it was," the young man said. "But it didn't sound like it was coming from the shore after all, now that I think about it. If anything, it sounded like it had been coming from in the water, but that can't be. Maybe it was from a nearby boat? It was really foggy, and I guess there could've easily been another boat that I just didn't see."
"A nearby boat…?" Carl mused. "But you would've heard a motor or oars if there had been another boat, wouldn't you? If anything, you would've at least heard the wake of the boat on the water…"
Roland shrugged, helplessly.
"And forgive me for being a bit presumptuous with this question, but do you think there was anyone out there who would've wanted to kidnap your father?"
"No, not at all!" the young man insisted. "Dad never had any enemies! Captain Rausch is convinced that Dad's line caught a large fish, or possibly even a shark, and he was pulled overboard by the catch."
Carl frowned. Something didn't seem right.
"Your dad had been fishing for a long time before today, hadn't he?"
"For years—since he was a kid."
"Then why didn't he let go of the pole after whatever he caught pulled him overboard?"
"Huh?"
"Something doesn't add up," Carl said. "Call me crazy, but I think that music you heard might be a clue as to your father's disappearance."
Roland gave him a blank stare.
"Okay, you're crazy," he said. "Are you saying that someone sang a song that made him fall into the water and disappear? That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard!"
It was Carl's turn to shrug.
"Well, I'm not making any final statements, but it's probably a good idea to leave all possibilities open."
"Now I know why Captain Rausch wanted you to leave," the young man muttered.
Carl shrugged again.
"Well, if you'd rather believe that there were displaced sharks involved, be my guest…"
Roland gave Carl a glowering look, prompting the reporter to acknowledge that he had worn out his welcome. Carl took his leave, and the young man seemed only too happy to see him finally go.
Carl walked over towards the edge of Navy Pier, mulling over what he had to work with: the next victim in a long line of weird disappearances from on the lake, a witness who had seen large fish tails and had heard strange singing, and an angler who had apparently not known enough to let go of the rod and reel?
There was a story in it somewhere…
Carl was soon distracted, however, by someone addressing him.
"Kolchak? Carl Kolchak?"
The reporter looked up, seeing another man with a press badge heading towards him.
"Are you Carl Kolchak of the Independent News Service?"
Carl gave the man a bemused look and then sardonically took out his own press badge and looked at it, as though confirming his identity.
"Yes, I would say that I am," he said, suppressing a smirk.
The man held out his own press badge in return.
"Sam Gorpley, Chicago Chronicle."
"Oh?" Carl asked, wondering why a reporter from such a prestigious paper wished to talk to him.
"I couldn't help but notice how you stood up to Captain Rausch back there—and then going to talk to that witness even after he had threatened you. The rest of the press started clearing out of here once he told us that he would arrest anyone who didn't leave the Lake Michigan area within fifteen minutes on the grounds of interfering with the investigation."
"When did he say that?"
"When you had walked away to speak to the witness while he was talking to the rest of is," Gorpley said, with a smirk. "Did you find out anything?"
So that was it; the Chronicle wanted in on the information he had found.
Carl merely responded with another shrug of his shoulders.
"Well, you know… same old, same old…"
Gorpley's eyebrows arched.
"Oh, I'm not trying to steal your story; in fact, I was going to say—"
"You know what? Hold that thought," Carl said, not about to hand any information that he had obtained—meager as it was. "I need to call my boss."
He headed further down the pier, grudgingly pulling out his phone. He had never thought too much of the concept of being able to be reached no matter where in the world he was, at any hour of the day—how else was he supposed to pretend that he never got Tony's messages while busy investigating somewhere?
Well, the phone was proving to be useful now, he admitted, as he called Tony's office.
"INS, Vincenzo speaking…"
"Tony, it's me! I did a little looking around the lake, and you wouldn't believe what I found out—"
"You're right—I won't believe it," Tony grumbled. "Carl, please tell me you're on your way back here."
"Sorry, Tony; I'm at Navy Pier. Listen, I was talking to the witness—the son of the victim who had vanished—and he said that he heard music—women singing—just before the victim vanished. And then he saw large fish tails in the water."
"So, he heard a radio while his old man was pulled away when he snagged a big one," Tony said. "What's your point, Carl? No one is going to be interested in some old coot being pulled overboard by a fish!"
In the background, Carl could hear Miss Emily's distinct, shrill voice calling, "Excuse me?"
Carl chuckled to himself; Tony would have to talk himself out of that one once this call was over…
"That's just it, Tony," he went on. "The official story is that he was pulled overboard by a large fish, but it doesn't make sense. How could he disappear so quickly after that? And why would an experienced angler make such a fatal error like not letting go, anyway? And what about the music coming from the water? There's a story in here somewhere, Tony, and something tells me that the answer lies deeper than anyone else realizes!"
"No, Carl!" Tony bellowed, causing the reporter to hold the phone some distance from his ear. "I knew this was going to happen if you went up there to the lake! Carl, your assigned story is the production of Julius Caesar tomorrow night—please don't make me have to remind you again!"
"Oh, come on, Tony! Think of it as getting two articles for the price of one! You'll get your Julius Caesar article tomorrow night, as you requested, and, as a bonus, you'll get an exposé on the creatures that dwell in the depths of Lake Michigan!"
"Oh, sure—creatures that sing before they cart off unsuspecting fishermen!" Tony said, rolling his eyes. "Is that what you're trying to tell me, Carl? Because, if it is, that's a new level of the bizarre—even for you! At least none of your other stories featured singing monsters! What's next after this one—a creature that sings, dances, and puts on a one-man show before it attacks?"
Carl knew that Tony was being sarcastic, but he could resist continuing down that line.
Oh, weren't you listening to what I said, Tony? The witness heard women singing. That's plural! You can't exactly have a group of women doing a one-man show, now can you?"
"Carl… please do us both a favor. Come back here before someone thinks you're crazy! …Or is it already too late for that?"
"Yeah, it kind of is… The witness didn't appreciate my theory of the music being behind his father's disappearance."
"You think?" Tony asked, sardonically. "Carl, just get back here before anything else happens!"
"But, Tony," Carl protested. "What else could possibly happen, huh? I've already had my run-in with Rausch; the other shoe has just about dropped—"
"KOLCHAK!"
"…Okay, now the other shoe has dropped. All right; you win, Mr. Vincenzo. Your prodigal son is returning home," Carl declared, silently snickering as Tony groaned in derision at his metaphor.
The reporter then sighed to himself as Tony disconnected the call. He placed his phone in his pocket and looked out across the lake. It seemed serene and nondescript now, but it was a chilling thought, knowing that something in its depths had claimed six men.
How many more would be taken before whatever responsible was finally satisfied? Or was "whatever" satisfied already? Was that why the younger fisherman had been spared? Or had there been another reason for that?
Carl's thoughts came to a sudden halt as a flash appeared in his peripheral vision—something in the water had reflected the sunlight for a split-second. It was, most likely, a brightly-colored fish, but, on the other hand…
"One of those mysterious creatures…" he murmured, hoping it would surface again due to the activity going on at the surface and on the shore. However, he knew it was doubtful.
"Kolchak!" Gorpley called, heading over to him. "There you are! I was trying to tell you—I'm not trying to steal your story! My boss… Well, I gave him your number; he'll tell you himself; I think you'll find it worth your while. And I guess I'll catch you later."
"It'll have to be much later—my boss has officially requested my presence, and I probably should see to that," Carl said, still not buying into it. He threw one last look over his shoulder at the water, but saw nothing. "Mr. Vincenzo's patience seems to be wearing thin—even more than usual."
Gorpley just smirked.
"Glad I don't work for him," he said, as Carl started to head off. "I hear that the guy turns down half of the articles submitted to him!"
"Oh, that's just a vicious rumor," Carl said. "It only averages out that way because he turns down five of my articles for every six that I write."
Gorpley actually snarked out loud at this, and Carl decided to leave him to his cackling, heading for his Mustang and driving back towards the INS.
It did bother him a little that Tony rejected so many of his articles, even if Carl could understand why. It was clear that after the fiasco in Seattle, Tony just didn't want to take the risk of printing those kinds of stories. But it wasn't so much the refusal to publish them as it was Tony's apparent reluctance to believe him.
When will you believe me, Tony? Carl thought. What do I have to do to prove to you that this sort of stuff really happens? When will you see that I'm not the crazy nut that everyone thinks I am—including you?
Carl was jerked from his thoughts by his cell phone going off again. With a sigh, he pulled his car over to the curb and hit the call accept button without even bothering to see who was calling—he assumed that it was Tony calling back.
"Look, Tony, I said I'll be right there—you've got to give me a little time to drive back without going over the speed limits and rear-ending traffic!"
He trailed off as a voice he did not recognize replied him.
"This isn't Vincenzo, Kolchak. This is R. T. Wainwright, editor-in-chief of the Chicago Chronicle."
Carl just blinked, wondering if they really were that desperate to get their hands on the information he had obtained.
"I believe you recently spoke with one of my employees—Gorpley," Wainwright continued.
"Yeah, that's right," Carl said. "He wasn't very clear about why exactly you wanted to talk to me, but he did say that you would explain, and that I would find it to my interest."
"That's right, Kolchak. I want to buy the story that you are currently working on and print it in the Chronicle—the Lake Michigan disappearances. And that's not all—"
"Wait… you want to publish my story?"
"Yes. I understand that your take on a lot of stories can get… mmm, well, interesting, shall we say? And Gorpley has told me about your pluck—how you aren't afraid to get the facts and put the word out, even with these unique story angles. But your impassable roadblock seems to be Vincenzo—he didn't even want you on this story, did he? That's why I'm offering to buy it; if Vincenzo won't publish it, then I will. You have my word of honor on that."
Carl just stared straight ahead, hardly believing his ears. An editor from a prestigious newspaper was genuinely interested in an article of his, even with the odd angle?
"But… I don't even work for you!" Carl pointed out. "Why would you be interested in one of my stories, anyway?"
"Well, I'm hoping we might possibly change the current situation of you not working for me."
"You want to hire me?" Carl almost yelled.
"Yes, I do," Wainwright answered. "I'm looking for a new investigative reporter to join my staff—ours recently retired, and we've been forced to have some of the other members of the staff try to fill that role, with limited success; quite frankly, none of them seem to have that drive or zeal that you seem to possess. And that is why I am extending this invitation to you."
"It's not that I'm ungrateful—because I am, and flattered, too—but I am also curious…" Carl said, still convinced that this was too good to be true. "How is it that you know about my drive and my zeal when the majority of the investigative articles I write are never published?"
There was an awkward silence down the line, prompting Carl's eyebrows to arch, slightly.
"Your reputation precedes you, Kolchak," Wainwright said, at last. "My reporters have seen the aggressive stance you take at the press conferences, bringing up possibilities that you aren't afraid to address—even if it means that people think you're a little crazy. And Gorpley told me about how you refused to be intimidated by Captain Rausch just a little while ago. That's exactly the kind of investigative reporter that I'm looking for."
"Uh-huh…" Carl said, still not fully sold.
Wainwright could sense it in his voice, and he tried again, this time, ready to place all of his cards on the table.
"How about this, Kolchak? I've got a moment free right now… Why not meet me in my office at the Chronicle, and I'll give you all of the details of the job that will be waiting for you, should you choose to accept it?"
"Well, I'm actually due back at the INS for a meeting with Mr. Vincenzo," Carl said, checking his watch. He could always come up with some sort of bluff to later explain to Tony why he was late, if it came to that. "But I can probably squeeze in a quick confab with you first."
"I'll be looking forward to it," Wainwright said. "I think you will find that I can offer you far more than Vincenzo ever could."
Carl mulled over these words as he said goodbye and drove towards the Chronicle.
Well, it wasn't as though Tony had offered him nothing—if anything, Tony had been the one person keeping Carl employed all this time—sometimes at the risk of Tony's own job security, as Seattle had proved. But Carl was anxious to have a chance to get the word out about some of the odder happenings in Chicago—which was something that he and Tony would never see eye to eye on.
And then there was the whole prestige the Chronicle had to offer—a prestige that promised a bigger paycheck. The chance to write what he wanted and get those stories published… An editor who would be fully behind his every endeavor… No arguments over what he could write about or where he could go…
Carl chuckled.
I'm not one to make snap judgments, he thought to himself. But if this job offer really is on the level, then I'm afraid it just might be arrivederci, Mr. Vincenzo. Your prodigal son might be leaving again, after all. But I guess that's one less headache a lower blood pressure for you, right?
He sighed to himself.
Funny… This morning, I was thinking that the most interesting thing in town was what was going on at the lake. But it looks as though something far more interesting has come along.
