reached out with one arm to wrap it around my shoulder. I jumped slightly at the touch. It guided me down the pavement, out of the covered taxi lanes of the station, and stopped. It lifted its other hand and indicated the city before giving me a firm push on the back causing me to stumble.
When I recovered my balance and looked up, all the Myyga were gone, leaving behind a normal crowd of travelers except for the smattering of figures of yellow amongst them.
What did you think the Myyga were trying to tell you?
That they wanted me to do something in York.
Did you know what that was?
Not really though I suspected it had something to do with the figures. I began to think that maybe it was not the Myyga that were the problem but the figures and only I could see them. Perhaps it was that ability the Myyga wanted.
The figures were the problem?
Yes, like the enemy of the Myyga or something.
Why do you do that?
Do what?
Assume there is a battle?
The way I saw it, people were dying. There really was one.
If it is time to die, what's wrong with dying?
You’re mental.
You are ignorant. Now, continue your story before I am forced to show you the consequences.
When I walked back through the town, it was even quieter than before. I saw Myyga and crests alike, walking about as though they were entirely normal people simply on their way to work or the shops. Every now and again, I would see one Myyga following a crest. I knew all too well what would happen but also that there was little I could do to prevent the change even if I should. I continued walking.
I crossed the river and ignored the shops, stopping only when I had reached Coppergate. I saw nothing down the street except open shops but no customers and no shopkeepers. A crest brushed by my left shoulder as it walked past the opening of Coppergate. I looked around. There were still people walking along the other roads but not one had a human face. It was points and helmets everywhere.
I walked down Coppergate and stopped again when I saw the police tape. It was blocking off the Viking Centre. That must have been where the victims were found. There was still no one around.
I ducked under the tape and descended the stairs. I had no idea what I was doing. Logically, I felt it a waste of time given what I had already witnessed the previous day. What more could I learn from their ash?
My fear and confusion drove me onward until I was traversing the underground exhibit. The lighting was poor and it smelled horrid; too much of synthetic hay and feces to 'smell the Vikings' as I traversed the displays of wax figures and mock huts.
A peculiar sensation made me freeze. Without having heard or seen anything strange, my blood felt as though it were draining into my feet. My body had perceived some threat before my mind had caught up. My instincts told me to turn back. I ignored them.
The wax exhibits gave way to a small room with display cases. The lighting in this area was much better and I could see several evidence cards scattered around the room. There were no police. It was entirely quiet.
I had watched enough horror movies to realize I had been an idiot and that this was the worst place to be. When I heard the low, vibrating tone, I nearly wet myself. At first it sounded like a tuba from a great distance, then almost like a howl, then lyrical like a song. I could feel my ribs vibrating from the low frequency.
I looked around for the source. There appeared to be nothing. I tried to discern its direction. I thought maybe it was coming from right in front of me and yet it sounded like it was all around me.
The tone itself was trying to pierce my heart. It felt like it had succeeded and was sucking upon it. Strange, invisible lips moved over the surface. I could not lift my legs despite how much I wanted to run. The touch was too painful for me to have the strength to fight yet too intimate for me to accept. I tried to push it away. I even managed to lift my hands as if I could physically push against it. Despite the absurdity, I had to try.
The tone changed the more I was violated. It became more varied and soon I made out words.
"Oliver," it whispered. "You are delicious. Now I may have all of them."
I was confused. I had no idea what it was. I had no idea of anything but as my mind raced through any and every memory, trying to find an explanation, the voice spoke again.
"Indeed they all will be delicious too," it said.
Did it mean other people? I had no way of knowing but assumed as much. I worried for Amelia despite her dislike of me.
The pain lessened.
With the dullness, my head cleared slightly. Maybe it really was Amelia who was in danger, her and everyone else. I needed to get to her.
The piercing eased. The tone evened and became quiet.
As with everything else, I could make no sense of it but I was no longer stuck to the spot so I ran. As I turned the corner to run up the stairs to the outside, I crashed into a man and fell back on the ground. Looking up, I was surprised and also irritated to see Graham.
"How the hell did you get in here?" he said, looking down at me. "And why the hell are you in a crime scene, you stupid git?"
I stammered, trying to give him an adequate answer and failing.
"Michael?" he called to someone behind me. "How did he get in here?" Graham's face was slowly turning purple with his anger.
A young constable trotted up and looked down at me. He seemed as shocked to see me as I was to see either of them.
"I don't know," he said to Graham.
This was not what the detective wanted to hear. "Do I dare trust you to tell me whether he touched anything?"
Michael straightened as if his lower back had been slapped with a paddle. "He couldn't have touched a thing, sir. The team is still taking those re-shots you requested. The lot of us have been there the whole time and he wasn't there."
The creases of Graham's forehead smoothed so that they were no longer forming large ridges. "At least there's that. Where's Gabaldon? He's not up at the line keeping people out."
Michael shrugged. "I don't know, sir."
Graham looked back down at me. Unfortunately, he hadn't forgotten I was right there. "Well, tell that layabout he's in trouble if you see him. I'll join you in a minute," he said, still talking to Michael, "But I've got to deal with this one first."
Michael nodded and returned to the room with the display cases.
"Get up," Graham growled. "I'm seeing you outside myself."
I nodded and did my best to stand. Though the process did result in me being vertical on my feet, it had not been the most graceful effort to right myself. There had been a flailing arm at one point.
As we neared the top of the stairs, Graham stopped and turned around to face me.
"I don't know what you thought you were doing here," he said. "Maybe you kids think the police with more education and more experience than you are too dumb to figure this out."
I tried to tell him that wasn't it at all but he cut me off.
"Honestly, I don't really care about your reasons. You are an idiot who is going to muck up my crime scene. There is absolutely no evidence showing you had anything to do with these murders except that you keep showing up at the murder scenes. If that continues, a logical person might begin to wonder and innocent or not, I personally will arrest you if you come near damaging any of my evidence again. Am I clear?"
I felt it best to say nothing so I nodded.
Graham stood aside and held up the police tape to let me under. Once I was back on the street, I turned to say good-bye but he had already set back down the stairs.
The noise of the shoppers brought me back to myself. Looking around, I saw that there were people everywhere though things were still not entirely back to normal. Amongst the human crowd, I could still see a peppering of crests and points.
Despite the mundane surroundings, I could not forget what had happened. Though the tone was gone, my ribs still ached as though the vibration had
bruised them. My chest around my heart felt swollen and abused and there was no way I would ever forget that violation. No amount of scrubbing would have rid me of the crawling on my skin.
Its strange words came back to me as well and I thought of Amelia. Not knowing where else to go, I began to run back to the University to look for her.
Before you continue, can you tell me anything more about the vibration? Did you see anything? Even the faintest of images?
No. I could only hear and feel it.
And nothing else? You did not see the investigators photographing the scene? You didn't see anyone before going in there?
No. I already told you. It looked deserted. I have no idea what was going on.
When the tone violated you, you said it felt like you had been pierced by a point. Was it one or two?
What?
One or two?
I couldn't see it. I don't know. It felt like one but I can't say for sure.
I need you to know for sure.
Well, I don't!
Then we have a very big problem.
Why does it matter if it was one or two?
How many piles of ash did the police find again?
Two, one from each of the Myyga involved.
The Myyga that you interrupted. Perhaps remembering that, you will understand why I find the number so important. We are treading upon unfamiliar territory. We must have every detail.
This has never happened before?
We didn't think it possible until you came along. You