Geist - Jennifer

You pick it up. It's a sheet of lined A4 paper, folded four times. Its edges are stained and slightly burnt. One side is covered in very small, untidy script:

"This one I will send before the others, most likely given to someone or coming into the possesion of someone with no understanding of it. Then the earlier ones. It cannot be guaranteed, given the means of transmission, that they will arrive in order sent. Or at all. In fact, it is highly likely, given the vagaries of the invocation, that some will be consumed in the howling æthers. But if you are not reading this, then you are not reading this, so what can I do but assume that you are? Conundrums, paradoxes... (Conundri? Paradoxisms?)

You will know who to entrust it with. At first I merely thought to send it later, appending a warning, but now — the nature of it... but no. The simpler the better. This will be the only set of instructions. The others will be excerpts from the notes, already written. There are limitations on how much I can send at once. Also, I am now continually on the move, as the ones who have stolen my face hunt and track me. There are so few shelters now, so infrequent the moments of rest... I must marshal my resources each time.

Also there is the warning that the later I have written something, the less store you can place in it, as the disturbance of my mind increases. I believe, hope, pray that the Möbius hornets have been fully expundged from my consequences consciousness. That they no longer colonize my reason, adjust my memories. (Warning: I am no longer sure whether they are metaphorical or literal. Either is possible.) I look now and the notes are spiderscratchy, curving in on themselves. But beware, nonetheless, for if there is a thing that is in short supply from this vantage point, it is hope. So just because this is in a familiar hand, my oldest friend, do not assume you can trust it. Vigilance above all as you proceed. Or, to put it more precisely, do not proceed yourself. For you have failed, my friend. Failed to take the right road, when there were so many others to travel. I cannot go back and retrace my steps, but you can send others, who will inevitably choose to tread variant paths, see other patterns in the puzzle, come to different conclusions... Looking back there are so many decision points... If but a single one is taken differently, the towers of New York might not sink and melt, restless shapes will not blacken the land, the canyons will not quake and be upthrust--

Hubris! It is hubris you must avoid! Also, do not place your trust in Austin Kittrell. I believe this was my first mistake. Whether he misled intentionally, was a dupe, or acted in utter ignorance of the consequences his advice would put into motion, I still cannot determine. I tried to track him, because if I gazed upon his face I would know—the fact that he has a face—but Kittrell: act warily around him. Perhaps do not approach at all. Maybe that is the first fork. If only I had not engaged him in conversation that chilly night, as he smoked those thin cigarettes on the portico...

Again, the other pages will only be notes. You will have to make of them what you will."

[if you work out where I've gotten the text from, please dont take anything from that source for granted]

Eric continues: "Do you need me to come and meet you? To make sure that you get home okay."

"That's a good idea..." Jennifer says, casting her eyes over the first few lines of the note... "There's something here you should probably see. It makes no sense to me." She tells Eric the name of the cafe then sticks her head out of the door to see if she can see where the old man went...

[to be continued...]

The man is waiting at the traffic lights a bit further down the street. If he was expecting you to follow him, he's a very good actor.

Jennifer keeps her phone in her hand, but keeps her hand in her pocket (presumably the conversation had ended... if not she continues talking, but not loud enough that the man can hear). She slips the note into her other coat pocket, and then waits for the old man to cross the road, waiting for the next green man to come up before following him, without being right on his heels.

[Timewarp. You hung up and Eric travelled the distance in five minutes]

You get across the road when your phone rings. It's Eric:

"Where are you?"

[I assume you give her directions and you meet up while still following the man]

Eric does his best to get you attention without startling you. He gestures to the man in front and makes an expression that he hopes conveys his confusion as to why you are stalking an old man through the streets of London.

Yes, Jennifer had her hand on her phone in case she needs to use it suddenly, and she'll answer it quickly. She explains where she has gone from the cafe, keeping the old man in sight. Where does he seem to be heading?

Once Eric has caught up with her she fishes the note out of her pocket and hands it over to him. And stops for a moment, as if checking something on a nearby bus stop, but keeping the old man in sight.

[He appears to be walking down a residential street with keys in his hands. Perhaps he lives near here?]

Eric whispers to you: "Are we just going to follow him, or should we maybe try to question him?"

Jennifer shrugs. "What would we ask him? Do you know what this note means? Because I don't... maybe if we just find out where he lives, and then if we need to find him later we can."

[the man stops and turns into the 7th house on the left]

Jennifer calls up a map on her phone and takes a screen grab. Once the guy has disappeared into the house she takes a picture, and then asks Eric if there's anything in the note that incriminates the old man, or suggests what's going on.

"There's three of them. He's related to one. Probably his spouse and child." Eric is muttering to himself as much as to you.

He then turns to you. "Okay, we know where he lives and have potential leverage to use against him if we need it. Let's get somewhere quiet and take a better look at the note."

"Cool. Back to the cafe? Or shall we head to the bar where we were earlier?"

"The cafe might be best. If you followed the old man from there, there might be additional traces that we can find."

[you head to the cafe, which is almost empty now and find a seat by the window]

Eric takes the note from his pocket, unfolds it and smooths it out on the surface of the table.

"I'll get a copy of this to my... colleagues in the morning. Hopefully they'll be able to shed some light on the matter. In the mean time we could try and find out what we can about this Austin Kittrell. Does the name sound familiar?"

"It doesn't sound familiar," Jennifer says.

She offers to grab a drink for him whilst she gets a coffee for herself.

"Coffee. Black, no sugar. Thanks."

I buy a coffee for each of us, say hello to the guy at the counter (who probably recognises me from half an hour ago) and then bring the drinks back to the table.

You return to find Eric Googling on his phone. His brow is clenched in concentration

I sip my coffee. As I do so I watch people walk past the window, eyes drifting in and out of focus, in case any dead spirits, or live people with prominent death marks, just happen to wander by.

[It takes you a few moments to realise it but everyone seems to have the look of death about them, like a great sickness has taken them]