Link to article: The Carters in Piscataquis.
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[[include :scp-wiki:theme:mcd]] [[>]] [[module Rate]] [[/>]] @@ @@ //It is 2023, July 8th, at 10:34 P.M., and// Mayhew Carter sits in a windowless room ensconced by numerous cavernous hallways from the wooded nothing of Maine’s vast north. In the morning he will venture into an interior courtyard that abuts a private lake, and he will allow himself to be taken out upon the water, but there is only him tonight, his wife Layla in the next room doing whatever she does with her time, and the help stacked like sardines in their quarters far away. He is reading a book; it is open on his desk; he looks down and thinks with a start that he does not remember what book it is or why he is reading it, nor does he know quite where he is or why he is there, or who he is, and It is 10:34 and he wants to get up but //a bright wind is blowing from Heaven// He wouldn’t have thought himself able to get there. He was Reformed on his mother’s side and the mark of predestination is virtue in this world and he has never been the type of man who jealously guarded his innocence, no, and in the course of his life and his ascendance it is also the case that the world has darkened somewhat in his esteem, such that it seems childish that a soul could indeed be redeemed or purified by actions within this realm of night that grew ever darker, grew ever darker, and now is literally dimming before his eyes, as //a bright wind is blowing from Heaven// He feels goosebumps and the cold that comes when sensation ceases and he feels the thoughts roll slower through his head, and maybe he could scream and be heard, if only by Layla; he could dispel all this for an instant and roar and allow himself to be swept back up by the rush and crash of the storm that he had made, all of his wealth, or an arbitrary amount thereof, suddenly funneled to the cause of the preservation of his person; and his reinforcements, his cavalry, would be summoned by Layla. His whore, he thinks. His bluebird. Well, should she save him, his bluebird tonight – though not even he can foresee his emotions, as who can know what tomorrow will bring? Although he is unsure whether he desires to scream. He cannot quite unite that will with his mouth which moves fluid and strange, not really his, and his head, at once made heavy, slams down on his desk like a fallen tree, and his fading eyes yet behold his discolored slobber as it seeps into the leaves of his book, and it might be that he could cry out even now, if he summoned his incomprehensible strength, that strength with which he had built ships and buildings and ferried great things far from their place of creation, was it not he himself who had raised those great towers? And he at last cries out, just once, as //a bright wind is blowing from Heaven// bringing with it no pain ------ //It was 2014, May 10th, at 10:34 P.M., and// It was Mayhew Carter’s birthday extravaganza, the precise age that he was turning a secret to all but those closest to him; and helicopters, alongside shielded crafts of various and fascinating designs, descended upon one of his favorite rural properties, a colossal mansion in Piscataquis County, Maine. Many remarked, upon entrance, about the quaintness of the location – the beauty of the surrounding woods, the splendor of the lake – but they were people for whom physical location was of minute concern, for whom one place was like any other place, and they said it only in order to make conversation. It had been only three months since Mayhew’s marriage to the young – perhaps scandalously young – Layla Carter. (Once Layla //Rosen//, a few of the folks from Valravn observed, whispering out of propriety. Gosh, they really were //everywhere//, weren’t they?) (And others whispered, out of propriety, that it was nice that he’d found someone so soon after his prior wife passed, especially since he’d lost her after only seven months together, and – this too they whispered – Mayhew had been truly unlucky in love, having married his //previous// and now-departed spouse only a few weeks after the equally premature departure of his //prior// spouse…) (And others observed, whispering out of propriety, that a certain anonymous attendee of the prior wedding had sent Mayhew a splendid assortment of objects belonging to King Henry VIII, and that Mayhew was now devoting considerable investigative resources to identify the person who had insulted him so…) (And //others// observed that an especially inebriated buy-sider from the Deer College Management Corporation had been loudly inquiring as to whether other guests had heard the tale of Bluebeard, and been discreetly ejected…) (And //still others feared// that perhaps there was trouble in Paradise, as Mayhew and the lovely Layla Carter had been heard to have an animated conversation beside one of the outlying cocktail-tables, at the conclusion of which Mayhew had slapped her quite hard on the cheek and barked something at her, at which point she fled…) And Layla Carter was quivering, weeping, standing some distance down the manicured path that originates just east of the great lawn. Her mascara was running. She did not know whether the handprint showed on her face. This was the first time but she knew already that it would not be the last. She felt a raw and acrid anger move through her. She didn’t totally know where she was, but knew that in a few days they would be going back to New York City, and that once she was there she would… it would take //time//, she would have to wait for the current rage to pass so that she could //think//, she didn’t get this far being helpless, no, or being irrational. But this was a life that she could and would leave. She knew how to cut her losses. She had the world before her, and whatever he said to her, whatever he tried to make her believe, she knew that there was nothing that she could not do. But he told her to get out of his sight, and she still wasn’t ready to go back into that house. She took a handkerchief from her clutch and wiped her eyes. She breathed in, breathed out. Counted her breaths. Felt her heart slow. Five things you can see. Four things you can touch. Three things you can hear, two things you can smell, nothing to taste. She could take her time, here. There were a pair of footsteps far behind her, but when they caught up to her she could turn around and greet them and say, oh, I was just collecting my thoughts. It’s so good to see you. Yes, sometimes I like to step out and take some time to myself and just think about how lucky I am. She had thirty seconds to gather herself, and then turn around and face the person approaching. And, from then, the world. She turned. A woman was standing there, quite tall. Kindly eyes. Beautiful shawl. Mid-fifties, if she had to guess? She smiled – automatic – and extended her hand. “Good evening!” Layla said. “I hope you’re enjoying yourself on this fine night?” “Yes, absolutely,” said the woman. “I’m sorry that we haven’t met. You can call me Stephanie. Stephanie Kimball. I’m with… ah, well, one of //those//. But it’s nice to see that someone else has gone out walking.” “Oh, absolutely,” said Layla. “You know, when the weather is getting warm like this, I really hate to waste it indoors. I hope my presence hasn’t been missed?” “I wouldn’t worry,” said Stephanie. “You know, events like this are for //enjoyment//. If the spirit moves you to go for a little walk in between drinks, then that is exactly what you should do.” “So what brings you here?” More footsteps in the distance. Perfect. Layla thought that if another few people joined her throng, then by the time she arrived back at the house, it would be as though they had left as a group in order to see the gardens, and it would seem as though she had not run away at all. “Ah, well, my organization is a diversified one. A little bit of this, a little bit of that." “But anomalous?” asked Layla. “Entirely. But don’t let me keep you; we can keep walking together." “That’d be lovely. You know, it’s really good to just talk to someone. You get in so many huge, twelve-person dialogues around here. What city are you based out of?” “Well, that’s an embarrassingly complicated question. The association I’m part of is very location-independent. I can tell you that we do a lot of business in the major metro areas: New York, Los Angeles, Chicago, for instance. I find myself showing up essentially wherever there are people.” “And, tonight, you’re even where they //aren’t//.” “Oh, exactly! I mean, how did he ever land on Piscataquis?” “He didn’t. The property’s been in the Carter family for generations. He just made a number of additions. Almost 80% of the floor-plan was added on by him.” “I’m impressed that you know all that. Do you work with MC&D?” “No, but I am associated with them, I suppose. Oh, I haven’t introduced myself at all, have I?” “That’s entirely my fault. I guess I didn’t even ask your name.” “Well, my name is –“ A short distance away, a man coughed from the darkness. Layla stopped, then turned to face him. “Oh, evening! We’re just walking together; would you care to join us?” “Not tonight,” said the man, facing Layla. “I’m not sure we’ve ever met properly, but I’m Judd Marshall. I, too, am associated with MC&D.” “Oh, good evening, Judd!” said Stephanie. Marshall turned toward Stephanie, with an expression that bordered on amusement. “Eat your face.” “Excuse me?” Stephanie asked. “Eat your face.” “I’m sorry, Mr. Marshall. Is it offensive to you?” “Not //terribly//. Has she given you her name?” “Why, no,” says Stephanie, looking at Layla. “No, come to think of it I suppose that you haven’t.” “I assumed she hadn’t,” said Marshall. “Given how //well// she looks.” Stephanie smiled, but the smile was strained, and the voice that issued from her lips was breathy, deep and dry. “You’re coming between a hawk and its game, Mr. Marshall.” “Oh, apologies,” said Marshall. “Would you like to know her name?” “It only works if it comes from her. And not if I ask for it.” “Indulge me. Carter. Her last name is Carter.” “She’s his daughter?” “Not quite. I…” He looked up, snickered. “I think that before I do anything else, I am going to take this coin, this one right here, and I am going to flip it into the air. I expect it to come up at an ordinary pace and down at an ordinary pace, unaffected by any anomalously generated force, and for it to proceed to hit the ground. After it hits the ground I might take certain steps. But until it hits the ground, presuming accordance with my aforementioned expectations, I will abstain from any further action. Do you understand me?” “Forgive me, Mr. Marshall, but did you //want// me to eat my current face?” “I don’t give a damn what you do or don’t do,” said Marshall. Then he took the coin and placed it on his finger, and he flicked it in the air, and it went up in a two-foot arc and banked slightly westward and when it landed it was half-swallowed by the soft dirt. When Layla looked up there was nobody on the path but Marshall. “Who was that?” Layla asked. “Something from somewhere.” “Thank you.” “Don’t mention it. Really, don’t.” “Will it come back for me?” “I strongly doubt it.” “And why are you out here?” “I wanted to go for a walk," said Marshall. “You just wanted to go for a walk?” “No.” “Did Mayhew send you?” “No. No, he’s already upstairs.” “Should I join him there?” “I wouldn’t recommend it.” “He has company?” “Not my place to say.” “Well, surely it’s my business.” Marshall kept walking. “I mean, I’m his wife.” “Is that what you are?" “Yes, I’m his wife! You know I’m – God, what should I do? I don’t – you don’t need to answer. I just don’t know what I should do.” “If I were you, I would apologize to him.” “For what?” “For //something//. Make something up.” “He slapped me in the face. And… and he’s upstairs with…” “Then you’ve got a hard road ahead of you. He must be //very// angry. You might have to beg. But he wouldn’t have married you if you didn’t know how to make him happy.” “Look, I know we barely know each other, but I don’t have an apology in me.” “You don’t have to mean it. Hell, cry a little. He’d like that.” “I don’t mean to say what I don’t mean.” “You know, uh, Lily, I’ve seen corpses that piss and shit themselves shortly after they die. And then as they deteriorate, you know, those parts decay //first//, because there’s a pile of organic matter within them that acts almost like fertilizer, and, well, all corpses that are left out to the elements start stinking just terribly, but those, well, those //really//–“ “Why the hell are you telling me this?” “Don’t interrupt me again.” He walked a few paces in silence, then continued. “I’m telling you that dignity dies when the body does. It recedes to nothing in an instant. That’s all.” “Are you implying that he would kill me if I left him?” “It wouldn’t be out of anger.” “//What?//” “It would be as a matter of course.” “Why do you… why do you //think// that?” “Half the people in that room have killed for vastly less.” “That’s insane. You sound… completely insane.” “God, you sound just like the last one. Walk slower, will you? I’m an old man.” “How far are we from the house right now?” “About a quarter of a mile, now. Why?” “If I ran away into the woods, right now, what would you tell him?” “I’d tell him exactly where you are,” said Judd. “Oh, is that what friends do for friends?” “Not even that. It’s what colleagues do for colleagues. You had chances to get away. But now all of those chances are behind you forever. I guess I’m sorry that no-one told you. Keep walking, Lily.” Her breathing was heavy and her vision swam. //“Keep walking.”// ------ //It is 2023, July 8th, at 10:56 P.M., and// Layla sits on the porch and sees the gibbous moon reflected in the lake’s calm waters. It is a summer night, but even so, the breeze comes with a pleasant chill, and she wraps her shawl around her and cradles her steaming teacup. The crickets chirp loudly, and will continue until seven hours pass and the birdsong supersedes them. She will call for help, she thinks. The first thirty minutes are the crucial ones. But first she will finish her cup, slowly, staring out over the water. Then she will run to the servants’ house. In such a terrible hurry. Tears in her eyes. @@ @@ @@ @@ [[include :scp-wiki:component:license-box]] [[include :scp-wiki:component:license-box-end]]