He said, "I guess maybe you'll have to kill me."

John tossed and turned in his bed. Finally, his body succeeded in rousing his mind out of its slumber, and he jolted awake. One hand felt simultaneously for the racing pulse of his heart in his ribcage and the scratches that he half-felt he should've expected to find on his chest. The other hand smoothed back the brush of hair on his head, wiping off the sweat where the scalp had been shaved. His eyes darted all around, taking in evidence that he was in his room while his hands took stock of his body's wholeness.

Once he was finally calm enough, he hauled himself out of bed, sitting at his desk and turning on the light. He pulled out his journal and began to write, while things were still something close to fresh in his mind.

Weird dream tonight. At least, it seemed like it. I only remember flashes, glimpses. Yawning corridors. Hands grasping, clawing, only maybe real. My father, scarred and lamed... but he's been dead for decades, even before... well, before. Since the War. A sense that whatever the dream was about, I was being told where I was needed. Needed? Wanted? Wanted for good or ill? Somewhere. Something... Not much good to call a guy and not say wh--

A N T I N O R A

That's the name. Antinora. The hospital? What's going on there? I haven't been there since before the plague... but I know a couple people who have. Guess I have a call to pay, once it's a bit more light out.

((back-reference))

Few days' drive turned up a few interesting things, aside from supplies. For one thing, the quarantine's gone; I can only suppose that's because there weren't enough people still alive to maintain it. For another, so's Purgatory, the entire town reduced to nothing but a giant scorched crater. I'd think it was maybe some kind of nuke, except it would've had to be improbably small and clean to have done that without any obvious signs of fallout on the area beyond. On the other hand, I already know two people with power over fire. Who'd have ever thought that could seem to be a more likely possibility? In any case, I guess I have some asking-about to do.

Meanwhile... shit. I hate that I have to use the word "vampire" in seriousness, but those kids who attacked me and baseball bat girlChancey... they fought to draw blood from us to drink, kept moving after wounds that would've killed a normal man twice over, but then burst into flame and burned to ash when dawn came and the Sun's rays hit them. That goes a bit further than even Pennsylvania cannibals. Guess the old stories about 'Salem's Lot have more to them than most of us thought. At least the bite I got doesn't seem to have done anything worse than a bite normally would; made sure to drag myself outside during the day to make sure. If one of our local fire people can do something as big as Purgatory, I might just have a job for them. Shit in this town is trouble enough, without vampires too.

((back-reference))

Well. That was an interesting meeting. Agent McAllister, FEMA... or so she and her partner claim. They might be, but from my meeting with her, there's definitely something going on aside from that. She, at least, seems on the level, though; she didn't have any of the menace or slime, vague or otherwise, that'd ring any of my alarm bells. She got a bit jumpy, sometimes, which was weird, given how assured she was the rest of the time. Maybe my face was showing more unpleasantness than I thought; maybe she just didn't like my looks.

Overall, the meeting went well, though. Still some questions about what they have to do with McGee and/or Suresh, but then, I don't know as much as I'd like about them, either. McAllister said she'd get back to me about the power station -- whether she meant the two of us going to check it out, or letting me know what she and her partner find out, I'm not sure. It is a bit odd that it came back on its own, though.

Pennsylvania cannibals. Just what the world needed.

He would rather have had a group conversation, among those who went out to Country Road 17, directly after their defense of the town. However, at least a couple of members of the group had run off on their own, and he'd had to take an additional arrival into town, so he'd left it be, in favor of sleep, a shower, a bandage on his wound, and a meal. After that, though, there was one person in particular he'd wanted to talk to, so he made his way to the Dam Site Inn.

How did he know or find which room to knock on? He's a PI: Maybe he looked at the guest book, found Ramon's name, and figured that for a good starting point. Maybe he snuck around, peeking in windows or performing a stakeout, hidden in the shadows HIS PARENTS ARE DEAD wait never mind. Who can say?

((regarding this...))

John had been running observation from his office window in what passes these days for the downtown area. He was a bit annoyed that he'd missed whatever happened to that Stratus yesterday, and so he wanted to make sure he caught if any other shenanigans happened. He'd ignored the initial flashes of light in his vision and pain in his head, then looked away from his binoculars to pinch the bridge of his nose.

The hit of memory, though, knocks him out of his chair. (To be fair, he'd perched himself somewhat precariously in the first place, to get a better viewing angle, so it was really his own fault.) He remains on the floor, laying flat out while he tries to cope with memories that aren't his own flooding through his senses.

He snaps upright when the feels the gunshot rip through his brainpan. The shout he exclaims can probably be heard for a couple of buildings in either direction, albeit muffled through the walls and closed windows. Still catching his breath, he hauls himself upright, grabbing the chair as he lunges for the desk. He pulls out a spare notepad and a pencil and starts writing things down. It's not a narrative, by any means; he's just trying to squeeze as many observations as he can out of the memories while they're still fresh, writing them down without wasting time with conscious examination yet.

It's a good while before he's done, coming out of the almost fugue-like state of concentration he'd gone into. He flips back to the beginning and reads through. It all seemed like something out of a novel, but he couldn't think of any movie or TV adaptations of anything he'd read that had the vividness of sight or sound, and the other senses chipped in to add the extra visceral sense that this had happened, and was not just a recollection of fiction.

The drawer from which he'd pulled pad and paper also contained a bottle. He'd kept himself sober much longer this time than he usually did. After this, though, he's not making it home tonight anyway, and he doesn't want to think about what he'd just experienced for a little while. He pulls out the bottle of whiskey, turns off the lights, kicks off his shoes, and lays himself out on the office's couch (not for the first time in his years living in this town), drinking until sleep finally overtakes him.

Town had a power outage the other night. Started in the evening, came right back on in the morning. Generators worked just fine, though. It was strange... I expected, driving around town, to encounter people out and about, either wondering what was going on, or taking advantage of the darkness to do something. Instead, everyone just broke out flashlights and candles and kept on going like it was nothing. I'm not sure whether I should take that as reassuring or cause for alarm. The timing's suspicious, though, to have the whole town black out and come back all at once. Should probably go talk to the Sheriff, see what he knows/plans.

Pretty good turnout at the town meeting. The Sheriff had some pretty good words to say about people getting their stuff together, particularly for all the newcomers. The event was... marred slightly by the entrance of a dame who was all bloody from a gash in her gut, who got all doom-and-gloom at us before making a gun fly through the air to blow her own head off. Looks like my Rip Van Winkle act isn't the only odd thing in the world after all. If that wasn't weird, then the VFW's newly-added doors certainly are.

"You're all going to die." That's what she said. "You think you've escaped, that it won't catch you, but they will. They're here and they're everywhere and nothing can stop them. Nothing." ... Escape and "it" not catching us sounds like she might've meant the flu, but that doesn't track with "they will" and "they're here." Two different things? We escape the flu, but now there's someone else, some other people to watch out for?

One thing I know, I don't particularly like it and I don't intend to be prey. Sounds like things are starting to happen, anyway. Some looking around might do me some good.

( You do not aim with your hand... )

Shit. Guess I can close the Dietz case. It's hard to snoop for your client's divorce case when your client, the husband you've been tailing, and the guy he's been seeing on the side all catch sick and drop dead within the space of a couple days. Good thing she paid in advance, I guess. RIP, Mrs. Dietz.

( Something would turn up. It always does. )