He had gotten the gig through a friend who knew a friend who knew a friend, and it was better then staying at his cousin�s house and celebrating with them. The hotel was nice, and they had a full sized band. He was drowned out in the mix of instruments but it was all good.

The band stopped as the announcer counted down the last of the year. Then the band started into �Auld Lang Syne�. Mat played well, and most of the crowd was drunk. He wondered if anyone knew the words, not that you could tell as they slurred them anyway. Many of the couples were getting their first kiss of the year, good luck and all.

He would have to find himself a girl to kiss, and from the looks of this crowd there were plenty of them. Washington would not a be half bad place to hang out, not like New York, but then perhaps he could find a place in this city like New York?


Women available in all their endless variety- every nationality, every scent, every flavor- and all of them searching for someone to complete them. Never mind that the predators stalked both ends of the field- men and women each desiring togetherness tonight, of all nights- it was the women who did most of the promenading. Legs crossed and uncrossed in their chairs, lips curled into a seductive smile, dresses were ever-so-slightly adjusted, hair was curled around index fingers... an endless cavalcade of semi-seductive gestures.

The music was loud and the food was good, the drink was freely poured and the dancing was erratic. If variety was the spice of life, then this particular gathering had certainly been overseasoned. Asian women, white women, black women, middle-aged women, young women... all of them here in numbers- regardless of social status or financial stability. This was New Years Eve in Washington D.C.- one could hardly expect to start 1947 without a bang, right?


The band stopped and was taking five. Almost four hours of playing and the crowd was still going strong, of course it was only an hour after midnight. Mat took a long drink of water backstage and nodded to some of the other band members as they talked about the party.

�So what is your flavor Mat?� Gino asked as he passed a flask over to the next guy. �I like the Italian girls myself.�

Mat shrugged. �Any are good I guess.� He replied taking the flask and giving it a drink, the liquid burned a bit.

�Just give Mat something soft to hold eh?� The bass player said, a large black man. �I saw a few southern girls out there, I am with Mat, though, anything would be fine.�

Mat took a cigarette that was offered to him and took a few puffs. �I am just here to play. I think some of those birds out there are flying a bit high for me. I don�t know if I could afford to keep them.�

�Keep them?� Gino exclaimed. �Son, you do not keep them, you let them fly free, after plucking a few feathers.�

The group of musicians laughed and Mat shook his head. He took another drink from the flask. �I gotta go, fellas. I will be back.� He headed off in the direction of the backstage bathrooms. They were downstairs under the stage, off the dressing rooms, you would miss them if you did not know where they were.

He stepped into the room and suddenly was slammed against the wall. He knew a mugging when he was in one, he grew up in Brooklyn. His elbow pushed back as he felt the body of the attacker hit him. He heard a muffled yelp, then the attacker fell away.

Mat spun around and looked at his assailant, the man in a long coat and suit was slumped against the wall. In his left hand was a revolver and in his right was a book. His whole side was covered in blood. He had been here for a while, the floor and the walls had blood on them as well, around the sink were towels where it looked as if he was trying to stop the bleeding. He was very pale and it was no wonder Mat beat him so easily.

Mat knelt down. �Don�t, mister, we will get you some help.� He needed to get upstairs and fast. He started to stand and the man pressed the book to Mat�s chest. �Pavalio�� He chocked out, then stopped moving.

Mat took the book, tucking it into his suit and ran up the stairs. �Guys, there is a man in the bathroom, hurt bad.�

The stage manager stepped over. �You have 2 minutes left.� He showed his pocket watch as it were evidence of the fact.


Blood stained Mat's hands and some of his garments, but the material was dark enough and his hands were hidden enough that the stains would not be noticed, should anyone be looking in that direction- which was unlikely in the first place. Indeed, there was a rush to get the young man back on stage for the next set. Hands were pressed into Mat's back, ushering him back onto the stage for his next performance, nobody apparently interested in whatever man might have been in the bathroom.

The music struck itself up again, and once more the women seemed to be displaying themselves for the sake of the musicians- a common practice- and showing themselves off for the affections of those who were deemed grand enough to inhabit the stage. It was like a game- these coy mistresses promenading delightedly, knowing full well what they had and that it was in demand.

The book felt undeniably heavy inside Mat's pocket- not physically heavy, but there was certainly something of an unusual emotional feeling attached to it. It wasn't quite burdensome, nor was it especially unsettling, it just felt as if it didn't wish to be held, but rather had to be convinced of Mat's right of ownership.


The girls were not as interesting now, now with what happened. The last set was only two hours, but they seemed to drag on forever. The book was getting heavier by the hour and he could not wait to finish. He had to focus though, keep with the tempo, or else he would play to fast, as if the music could make things happen faster.

Only a few people were left for the last songs, most had left for hotel rooms he assumed. Then when they were done, he packed up the clarinet and rushed to find the first security guard. �Listen, there is a dead guy down in the bathrooms under the stage.� He informed the man.


The security guard's eyes widened in shock, clearly perturbed by the news-- but at the same time there was a note of caution in the way he regarded Mat, as if considering the possibility that the clarinet player had simply had too much to drink. "Show me," said the man in a simple imperative- eyeing Mat alternately with suspicion and intensity.

The two of them moved down the stairs and to the bathroom, the guard following Mat's lead- and as the door slid open, for an instant Mat saw the flashes of the blood-covered bathroom, blood staining everything... the crimson fluid upon his clothing, hands, the walls, the floor...

But within the room there was nothing- only the standard polished and immaculate facility. No dead bodies, no blood, nothing that might have ever led one to believe that Mat was telling even a tiny bit of the truth. The guard, for his part, scoffed and looked back at Mat, eyes widened with mirth.

"Look here, kid, I think you've had too much to drink. Maybe you can go down to one of your band buddies and they can take you home, alright?" Laughing and muttering about drunk musicians, the man turned and began to stalk away, leaving Mat alone with the mystery of what had transpired.


Nothing was there, Mat started to wonder if he had dreamed it himself. The book was very heavy now, and he clammed up about it real quick. He hardly heard the laughing from the guard as he left for the stage exit. His bike was parked out back.

He dusted the snow from the bike seat and hopped on, the streets were pools of light lit by the lamp posts as he started biking home. He played the scene over in his mind. How had they cleaned it up? He should have done more; he should have pulled the man up the stairs. There is a lot he should have done. Did not matter now, what�s done is done.

He turned the bike and rode up onto the curb. He crossed a bridge headed back home.


It was late, with little real traffic- indeed, the city seemed surrealistically quiet, aside from the few parties that continued to wind down as the hours proceeded. Some people still had work, despite the holiday- and as such people were finding their way idly into their homes and making their gradual procession into dreamland. The few parties that still burnt in the cool night were filled mostly with drunks and those responsible for taking those drunks home-- and more than a few bodies would likely wake up in alleyways and with conspicuously empty pockets, by the time the morning came.

The book still felt heavy- perhaps heavier, by virtue of the strange coincidence of the disappearing body- but at the same time it never really conceded itself to the icy cold of the Washington night, instead retaining its almost flesh-warm touch.

After a brief ride, Mat would find himself at his residence- the weariness of sleep drawing heavily upon him, as he had spent most of the night playing his instrument- a wearying activity when done for too long. The excitement, too, threatened to force his eyes shut, though his mind might long for wakefulness. There was much to consider, after all- and not all of the considerations needed be done through waking thought.


Mat dragged himself up to his room. The house was quiet, it normally was at this time of night. He tried to walk through the kitchen and living room without creaking the floor. It was a task that was more difficult then one might think. Stairs posed an insurmountable problem in that area.

As he reached the second floor Lindel stepped out. She was his uncles daughter, just a few years older then him. �You have a good time?� She asked, a baby cradled in her arms

�Yeah, it was alright.� He said, adjusting his grip on the clarinet case. �I got twenty dollars for the set, not bad since I also got some food from the kitchen.� If this had been a normal night he may have tried to find a nice girl, and a nice all night diner, if they had them in DC. �It was good music, but not my style.�

�It would have been nice to go to a party like that, you should feel lucky Mat.� She adjusted the baby as it started to stir. �I should get him back to bed. I will try not to wake you until lunch.�

Mat nodded and headed up the last flight of stairs to his room. He set the clarinet on a chair near the door, then pulled off his jacket. Sleep was a looming monster making his body ache with the press of his weight. He took the book from his jacket and walked over, setting it with the stack of school books on his desk. The gratefully sank into sleep


The young man sank into slumber as dreams slowly pulled him into their embrace and memories of crimson stains and dark grimoires filled the absence of all things. Infinities folded into themselves as all became peace and silence. Just beyond the walls, the distant sound of gunfire rang out- ignored by all, in their desire to forget the problems of others.

Only Mat heard them, really, as he drifted toward the land of Nod. Even then, his ears might have been deceptive in their duties. Shadows deepened, even as the sun grew closer to rising, and then Matiyahu knew nothing aside from the oddly hypnotic caress of sleep.


The lazy sound of birds chirping just beyond his window woke the young man up, the light streaming in through the windows of his room slowly producing wakefulness from the absence thereof. Memories seemed slow to awaken, fingers slowly flexing as the realization of the late hour would enter his mind. Lindel's soft singing, from just beyond the doorway- perhaps whistling as she prepared food for the evening meal, or perhaps offering up a siren song to lull an infant to sleep.

Dreams had not been kind to Matityahu Sommerstine, not that night- there had been the tortured realization that all had been real. Drowning in a sea of blood, staining everything, the young man had envisioned that he himself was drowning, becoming lost in the mass of disappearing sanguine pools. Horrifying- the realization that he had seen a man die and that there had been nothing he could do about it.

Then, of course, there was the book- foreboding as it was- and as the young man might sit up in his bed, he would see it resting not where it had previously been... but rather resting upon the bedside table, as if the dreams had somehow pulled it closer to Mat's bedside. The light reflected off of the licorice-black surface, the musty pages possessing a sheen that seemed to defy their age.

"Are you up, Mat?" came the call from Lindel, only a few rooms over, the sound of sizzling now entirely audible. "You've been sleeping for almost twelve hours, and you know how some people get about oversleeping..."

And then the song started anew, filled with hope and sweetness- but at the same time chilling in its innocence.


He wiped his face, as if to pull the mask of sleep from him. He did not think he was that tired, or was it just the dreams were trying to keep him there, drowning. He could not wake from the sleep when he was struggling to stay adrift on the sea of blood. Now, he was just trying to clear his head and rouse his body to stand.

He looked at the book, he wondered if he did move it in his sleep. �Yeah, I am up, I will be right down.� He rand a hand through his hair pushing it back and stood, his legs still wanted to sleep but he willed them to keep him up.

Picking up the book he put it back on the desk with his other books. �You stay put this time.� He joked as he headed to the bathroom to do the morning routine. After a shower and a quick shave he was back in his room to get dressed, suit and shirt, had to look nice, even if it was just a Thursday and he had nothing planned on the schedule. You never knew when you would meet a nice girl.

He picked up the book and slipped it into the jacket pocket without thinking about it and headed down to the sound and smell of food.


The reflection of his face was almost ghostly. Perhaps it was because sleep was still lodged in his eyes or maybe it was because he hadn't adjusted to the daylight yet, but for a moment he did not look himself. The reflection was a dozen years older and his eyes had lost the refraction of youth. A bit of water cured the fogginess and the reflection looked normal, if not a bit tossled.

The unfamiliar book rested in his pocket with no weight and little recollection. By the time he left the room it was already forgotten and only distant memories of a bloody dream remained, but fizzled finally into obscurity as he saw Lindel over a pan of blintzes.

"Can you get the cottage cheese out? I have some blintzes for you," she said in between tunes, "do you have plans tonight?"

--Laveaux 00:39, 11 December 2005 (CST)

Mat shrugged as he entered. �I thought I would go and get some books from the bookstore. I got paid for that job and I need some books for school.� He stepped over and pulled the cottage cheese from the ice box. �Why, you need me to do something for you?� He set it down on the counter and reached for the coffee pot.

He pours the black drink into a mug and lifted it to his lips. �Happy new year, by the way, I forgot to say it last night.� He let the dreams drift away, no reason to dwell on nightmares.


Lindel recoiled her hand to avoid spitting grease and then cautiously tossed the pan off the hot stove and onto the countertop. Licking away the tiny grease burns on her fingers she finally responded.

"Oh, well it's nothing major, I was hoping you could run an errand for me. Dr. Sweringer has some literature on newborn nutrition he wanted me to have, but I can't make it over to the hospital. I'll give you five bucks for dinner and you can take the car."

"Glad you saw a paycheck from those people," she added, "You should get yourself something nice. Maybe a new suit for school."

She suddenly remembered something when Mat wished her Happy New Year, "There's some champagne left from last night, but don't overdo it."

Lindel was getting into her mothering tone again.

--Laveaux 00:39, 11 December 2005 (CST)

Sipping more of his coffee and nodded. �Sure, I can do that for you. I do not know if I made enough for a new suit.� He watched as she served up one of the golden rolls filled with the cottage cheese and took the plate, sitting at the small table. He cut it with his fork and shrugged. �I only made 30$ for the night, not too bad.�

He looked at the ice box. �Maybe latter I will have a mimosa, but for now I should go get that book for you from the doctor.� He polished off the blintz and his coffee and stood up.

He held out his hand. �I will be good to the car. Anything you want from the market?�


Enjoying her blintze, the evening breakfast was short lived. Angela, her daughter began fussing and so she picked the child up and paced the kitchen whispering to her. Settling down at last, she put her in the crib in the family room.

Quietly, she grabbed the keys and gave them to him, "No thanks, I think I have everything. Careful."

She kissed him on the cheek and returned to Angela.

--Laveaux 00:39, 11 December 2005 (CST)

He picked up the keys, tossing them into the air and catching them. �I will be back!�

He headed out the car, stopping at the door to pick up his hat. He headed out to the car and fired it up. Soon he was on the snow slicked streets of DC, heading for the hospital. The building was tall and the outer walls were carved with wheat and grass that was made all the more pronounced with the snow clinging to the carvings.

He pulled out the key, and slipped it into his packet. Feeling for his things. He checked for the book without even thinking about it, and only after that did he remember he had it. He looked in the coat and there it was, black binding and dull yellow edged all pressed together tightly.

He pulled his coat around him tighter as he approached the hospital, opening the door and stepping in. he stopped at the nurses desk. �I am here for Dr. Sweringer, he has a book I am supposed to pick up for Lindel Sommerstine.�

Last edited by rentiger1 on Tue Apr 26, 2005 2:12 pm; edited 1 time in total


The nurse smiled sweetly, perhaps being a bit flirtatious. Her young brown eyes darted to a switchboard at the desk and with a subtle flick of her finger, turned on the intercom.

"Dr. Sweringer, please call lobby. Dr. Swinger, to the lobby."

Playfully she rested her chin on her hand and said, "Are you a friend of the Doc's?"

The phone buzzed, and keeping eye contact, the dark-haired nurse picked up the receiver.

"Yes? Mhm. A book for Lindel Sommerstine. Okay."

She hung up and smirking said, "He's in his office on the third floor. And I'll be right here . . . if you need anything else."

--Laveaux 00:39, 11 December 2005 (CST)

Mat leaned on the counter. �Yeah, I think I could use your name and time you get off your shift.� He smiled back, pushing back the fedora. �How about I pick it up on my way out?� He did his best to give her one of his more charming smiles. �I have to get this book, but I will be right back.�

He stood up, straitening out his suit coat and walking off in a cavalier manner, a nurse, not a bad job if he did say so. He leapt up the first few stairs and made his way to the office.

The hallway was tiled and tile ran up a third of the wall. It was painted stark white and the place had a sterile dead feel to it. It reminded him of the bathroom last night. His foot falls echoed in the empty hall, this place was more offices then ward room, so not many prowled these halls.

His mind could not get the image of the man from the other night. He tried to force it back. It was not his business, and he had to have been drunk or something.

His hand went to the book. He knew he was not drunk, and he knew a man had died there. No one would believe him. Not unless he could find out about this book.

He was standing at the door of the office as this thought came to him. He would look at the book later, at the bookstore.

He rapped on the office door. �Doc, I am here for the book.�


Following the young uniformed beauty's instructions, Mat strolled up to the Sweringer's office. The door was open and inside the neat office of the Doctor was visible. A graying man was busily working at a typewriter with a cigar hanging from his mouth. He had rejected his white coat in favor of a tweed one and hadn't bothered to put on a tie.

He raised his eyebrows at the young man's arrival and said from behind the stogie, "You here for the book?"

His accent was clearly Brooklyn, one that Mat was familiar with. Pointing to a childcare book on his desk he continued typing.

"Good info in there for the kid. Nutrition, mostly. How is the runt, anyways?"

The doc's attention was suddenly moved to behind Mat and he said, "Can I help you gentlemen?"

Two men in nicely fitted suits and fedoras stood behind Mat. One sported a trimmed mustache and the other was aged, graying at the temples with a hardened and scarred face. He was the one that presented a federal badge.

"We are with the Central Intelligence Group and would like to have a word with this young man. Sorry to interrupt, Doctor, but he has been difficult to track down."

--Laveaux 00:39, 11 December 2005 (CST)

Mat almost jumped out of his skin at the sound of the voices behind him. His fear grew even more when he saw the badge. "This is about last night right. Listen, can I just pick up this book, then I can tell you all what happened. Ok."

He looked at the Doctor. "Listen, this is nothing, ok." he stepped over to the desk to get the book. "Call Lindel and tell her I may be a bit late."

"I am glad you are here, no one was listening to me, and I thought I was going crazy or something."


Sweringer grunted, nodded and continued with his stogie as he dialed a number. The two government men lead Mat out without a word. Not acknowleding his statements they remained quiet until they were in an abandoned office. It must have belonged to a doctor that recently transferred or retired because all that remained was a desk and three chairs. The window outside offered a pleasent three-story view of Washington DC, the iconic Washington Monument and National Mall in plain view.

The sun was already beginning to set as Mat had managed to sleep through most of the day. The Mall's lights were turned on and orange iridescent reflected off the base of the obelisk outside.

The trimmed mustached man set on the desk and lit a cigarette, while the gray-haired man sat behind the desk. They stared at Mat for an uncomfortable amount of time before proceeding.

"What did that man say to you last night? It is very important you recite his words verbatum."

--Laveaux 00:39, 11 December 2005 (CST)

Mat�s mouth went dry as he sat. He began to wonder what exactly was going on. Then came the question, he was glad they spoke, it took the edge off the silence. Silence has a weight, and it was getting pretty oppressive, when he spoke it was like the lead bubble was burst and Mat nodded to them, the relief shown in his eyes.

�It was a name, Palvio, or Pavalio, I think it was a name, Itallian I would guess.� He shrugged. �That was it, before he died. Listen, I did not kill him, he was shot when I got there, and he jumped me from behind. I had to fight him off.� Mat spit this information out nervously.

The book however, did not come to mind. Why should it, it was Mat�s book.


The questioner sighed and glanced up at his partner, the mustached man, who'd just sat down and removed his hat, wiping perspiration from his forehead.

"Did he say anything else? Or give anything to you? You have to understand this is a matter of national security. That man had some very important top secret information and we have to be certain the information is not compromised."

The other man cleared his throat suddenly, interrupted the moment and removed his jacket. His face was becoming sicken red and sweat very quickly drenched his white shirt. The older man tried to ignore him and established eye contact with Mat again.

"You are not in trouble, we just have to know everything that happened. The President has to know."

--Laveaux 00:39, 11 December 2005 (CST)

Mat felt for the book, it was there, in his coat. It was heavy like a brick now.

"He gave me a book." He said slowly. His hand reaching in to draw it out.

It was in his hand, black and solid. He had to hold it in two hands to keep from dropping it. "This is it."


A half-smile crossing the agent's face he took a hold of the book. Just then, his partner laid his pale and sickened head on the desk. Annoyed he glanced over.

"Jesus, Eddie, what is wrong with you."

"... don't feel so good..."

The agent sighed and pocketed the book without looking at it. Rising, he gripped his partner from the armpits and hoisted him up.

"You don't look good either. Stay here, I'm getting a doctor."

Then to Mat he said, "Don't move, we aren't done with you yet."

He left the office alone with Eddie who sat somewhat dazed in his chair.

--Laveaux 00:57, 11 December 2005 (CST)

Mat looked at the man. What could he do? Could he just sit and watch this man die too? The whole experience was alive again in his head, the blood, the empty look in the man�s eyes.

Mat stood and crossed the room. �Lets lay you out, get you more comfortable.� Mat said , pulling the chair out a bit to help the man out and lay him on the floor. He slipped his arms under the man�s arms. �Come on, you there at all? Come on, keep talking to me. You need to keep talking there big guy.�


Slippy with persperation, the now olive-colored man slithered to the floor with very little effort. Dazed and and hollow, his eyes glazed as he looked upward. Suddenly, he doubled over as an apparent cramp clinched his stomach. Reeling for a moment, identity fleeted back into his eyes. Desperate hands grabbed Mat's shirt and he gasped, "Get the ... book from him. The cure ... is in the ... book..."

He coughed heavily and bloody phlegm jumped out onto his chin.

"He won't ... do anything... it's up to you... please..."

The door fell open and a lanky gray-haired doctor with a white coat came in along with the other agent. Immediately jumping to the sick man's aid, he took the man's pulse and checked his eyes with a penlight.

"This man needs medical attention right away."

He jumped to his feet and called for a nurse over the intercom.

--Laveaux 00:57, 11 December 2005 (CST)

Mat nodded to the suffering man. "I will tell them." He took out a hankerchief and wiped at the drool as the doctor rushed in.

Mat stood and looked at the agent. "Doctor, he has a book, in it is the cure for what this man is suffering. It is in his coat, you need to look at it." He pointed to the pocket the book was hidden in. "Hurry."


The doctor cocked his head at Mat's plea and turned to the agent in question only to find a pistol pointed at him. A very official looking expression on the agent's face passed from the doctor to Mat.

"I'm afraid, the doctor here doesn't have the security clearence to look at that particular document. I recommend you take my partner to the emergency room and treat him like you would anyone else."

The sick man on the floor cried in agony and then blurted out, "Jesus, Richard! You know what'll happen! YOU KNOW WHAT'LL HAPPEN!"

Conviction crossed the man's face as he watched his crumbling partner on the ground, but it was immediately stomped out by duty.

"I work for the government. You know the drill, Gene."

He paused, "Doctor, quarantine the hospital. That's an order."

Confused and angry the doctor stared at the man with the gun and then apologetic eyes passed to Mat.

"Yes, sir," he said and then headed out to get help.

--Laveaux 00:57, 11 December 2005 (CST)

Mat stood up and looked around the room. "This is not legal, and it really is not right. You have a way to help and you do not. You may as well just shoot him now." Mat told the agent. "He is your friend, he has family, you are going to have to look at them, knowing you could have helped, is that what you want?"

Mat sighed. "Come on, I am sure he is not going to say anything about you saving his life to your boss."


"There is only one cure for what he has," the agent said plainly as he kept the gun on Mat, "and I'm not prepared to do that."

The other agent, Gene, arched his back in a sudden convulsion. If Mat made any motion to help, he would bark at him to stop. Fear crossed Richard's eyes as the convulsion climaxed into a howling scream.

The Doctor and three nurses came in with a gurney. He ran to aid Gene, but then stopped suddenly and backed away, face pale and voice silenced. The nurses looked at him awaiting orders, but then as one of them glanced at their patient, she screamed.

Gene's skin was pussing at his lips and eyes and the color was drenched into a deep orange hue. He reeled onto his feet, foam leaking out of his mouth and all life removed from darkened and vacant eyes. Lurching forward with stiff posture, he grappled the first thing in his way, the gurney, and toppled it sending a huge array of medical tools crashing to the tile floor. The once placid expression of the agent now carried unnatural murderous rage.

"He's turned...", Richard said, "RUN!"

--Laveaux 00:57, 11 December 2005 (CST)

Mat was now totally shocked. He stood and stared, it was like looking at a train wreck, he wanted to look away, but could not. Fear and wonder gripped him. It was not until the agent shouted that Mat realized he was between the mad man and the door.

Mat bolted, moving around the far side of the desk and grabbing for the lamp, just incase he needed something to hit with. He started for the door, stopping. He turned to pick up the child rearing book. His sister would kill him if he forgot that.


Armed with a lamp, Mat careened into the hallway, it's slick tile floor causing him to slide uncontrollably into a nearby wall. Leaping back into a sprint he pounded forward. Gunfire echoed from behind. Three repeating shots and then a fourth.

As Mat pivoted his momentum to take a corner he got glimpse of the office behind them. The door exploded open as the agent, Richard and nurses fled the scene, horrorified.

The Doctor came up from the adjacent hallway and grabbed Mat's shoulder.

"Calm down, son, what is it?"

He looked with inquisitive eyebrows at the stampede of colleagues running through the hall. The lurching figure of a creature that was once named Gene stumbled out. Animalistic growls poured from his mouth as he stumbled forward into a limping jog.

Passers-by, patients, nurses and anyone else nearby screeched at the sight of him.

--Laveaux 00:57, 11 December 2005 (CST)

Mat did not stop. �That is what it is.� Mat told the doctor running for the stairs. Elevator would take too much time. He paused at the top of the stairs to look at the agent. Curiosity had him what was that thing, and what was in the book that could stop it?

He held onto the lamp as if it may come in handy. He needed to get the book, or at least get the other agent out of here.


Not the only who thought the stairs were a good idea, a crowd overcame Mat as they poured into the stairwell. His pause to look back gave him witness to the agent opening fire on his partner again, this time unloading his weapon. The torso of the creature fell back with the impact, but he kept moving forward.

By the time Mat and the surrounding hospital staff reached the landing in the stairs, the agent arrived from above.

"Move! Move!" He shouted and with the help of a security guard locked the stairwell door.

Pouding resonated from the other side, but those in the stairwell did not stick around to see what happened. Crashing by the second and first floors the remaining third floor staff unleashed into the lobby.

Mat overheard the security guard say, "What about the others?"

"Too late for them," the agent responded.

--Laveaux 00:57, 11 December 2005 (CST)

Mat went with the flow, what else could he do? He followed the mob as they rushed down the stairs and onto the main floor. Mat lost sight of the agent in the throng. He was just a fish in the flow of people spilling out into the lobby.

Last edited by rentiger1 on Sat May 21, 2005 12:31 pm; edited 1 time in total


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