CoSQ, Chapter Seven: I'm sorry, Mr. Polis

Hey, we've caught up! This is all I've got written so far. So, for chapter seven we get another flash back. Gee, 7 chapters and 3 of them are pretty much entirely flashbacks. Is that a bad thing? I'm not sure. We follow a new character now, someone we have already met but did not delve into, so that's fun. I hope.

Declan had finished calling the agents of the Committee of Special Questions who answered to him. He apologized for calling so early, and had told them it was of importance to the Committee. He asked if they had a dream with a familiar man they did not immediately recognize, and gave a general description of Jonathan Teivel, trying to stay vague. Asked if they dreamt of the smell of onions, or smelled them now. Of the four, only one had such a dream.

As auditor Barr had still been calling his agents, and Clenshaw was still in conversation with auditor Robels, he had a moment to think. It was three years ago that Peter had stepped into his life, though he wouldn't be aware of the thing's existence for another year. The year he found himself face to face with it, and had helped to seal the creature away.

Had it really been only three years since his sister-in-law died? Poor Dolores. She didn't deserve that. He thought back to the day he had heard the news, as he sat in his chair waiting.

When Sammy, Declan's brother, told him over the phone that it was “It's bad news, it's about Dolores.” Declan nearly dropped the phone.

“What is it?” Declan asked stepping away from kitchen table and the unfinished crossword he had been working on, “Don't tell me you hit her again, I swear Sammy, if you laid another hand on her I'll personally come over there and, God help you Sammy-”

“No. God Dec, how could you say that? I quit drinking, no. It's worse. She's, she's dead.”

“She's what?!” Declan stammered, almost tripping.

“Dead Dec. Something got in, something big. It, it tore her apart Dec.”

“What do you mean?”

“An animal or something. Maybe a few dogs. The place was locked up Dec, I don't understand.”

“A few dogs? Was she alone? What about the kids?” Declan protested.

“Oh God Dec, they saw her. We came home, I picked them up after the field trip and walked in, and she was right there. They saw her like that.” his voice cracked, and shook with every word.

“Oh wow, do you,” Declan said feeling cold, “Do you need any help? Anything?”

There was a long pause before Sammy said a word “I gotta go Declan.”

“Wait what? Sammy?”

“I gotta go Dec. There's some people here. Questions. I gotta go.” and with that Declan's brother hung up the phone.

Thoughts raced in his head as he left the house and got into his car, forgetting to lock up as he did so. He drove down to Sammy's house that night, almost sure his brother had to be wrong. Dogs? A few dogs? Did he mean some kind of pack of wolves? There hadn't been wolf sightings in years. What did he mean torn up?

There was a fear in his head, a fear that Sammy did indeed strike her. Maybe did more. Maybe he's lost it, cracked. Did something horrible and can't imagine what he's done. He heard the slurring speech, could practically smell the stench over the phone. His brother was a drunk. Had struck Dolores, and the kids in the past. It seemed like things had been working out though. But sometimes things happen. Who knows, Declan thought as he ran a red light without realizing, what his brother could have done. Was trying to cover it up with.

That was the night that Peter threw his life upside down, though he couldn't know of it then, and the night it would see him first. When Peter came into the house, barging in to be met with cops demanding to know who he is, it was watching in the shadows, no longer under the bed. It hid in the shadow of Sammy, the father of those two children who had since been sent away with other humans.

It saw the trouble in all their faces as they talked, saw this new comer, Declan, and how his face scrunched up in pain at the news delivered. He enjoyed it. He laughed.

Something happened. The radios the policeman had conversed through, to who it didn't know, suddenly spoke up. Hisses and pops erupted from the devices loudly. When it stopped laughing so did the noise. The police looked in confusion at each other, at the sudden burst of noise. It thought for a moment, then tried to speak again.

It's voice was not like that of any creature native to this world, and so was not heard with mortal ears at first, but a moment after it had done so the radios sparked to life with static gibberish again. It could communicate. Perhaps it could do more than just noise. It waited.

“I'm sorry, Mr. Polis,” a police officer said, “But can we ask you to wait in another room.”

Declan left the room, as it watched. It wanted to follow, to see this new comer. It had grown bored of the pain caused by this man, Sammy. It had latched onto him, well his shadow, but could not leave it now. Not without drawing attention to itself. It wanted to play.

“I'm sorry.” it tried to vocalize. The static of the radios sparked to life again, as one policeman tried to fiddle with his. It tried to repeat itself. “I'm sorry, Mr. Polis.”

This time the sound came through. The words pitched in the static of the radios. It was clear, and it caused fright in all the faces present. It tried not to laugh, but if it had a mouth it would have smiled.

Declan, unaware of the stranger from deep and darkest space had heard it. Now, in the modern day as he sat in his chair he knew it was Peter who had said it. He couldn't have known it then, nothing like Peter had ever crossed his path before. A few months after this he would hear his brother had quit drinking. There was a pride he felt then, for his brother. Then of course his brother had informed him he had found a group who could help him, a “special committee.”

Declan knew now of course who they were, he was a member of the very same group now. However then, in 1980, he was worried about his brother. Had advised him to stay away from these people, believing they had ill intentions. That they might be trying to exploit his family's tragedy.

As he thought back more memories came to him. He tried to not think about it, but couldn't help it. The haunting memories of those next few months rang in his head loudly, vividly, and would not be so easily ignored.

He pitched forward in his desk, snatching the small orange trashcan he kept next to the desk. He heaved and partially filled it as he grew sick from the memories. His throat stung, and his eyes watered as he relieved it, and the torture it inflicted on him.

March, 1980. Declan had visited his brother again, who no longer kept the house well. It was an unannounced visit, and it wasn't surprising that Samuel had company.

“Hello,” the woman said, “I'm doctor Bhagya Everette, and this is my husband John. He's a doctor two.” Declan didn't like the smugness in her voice.

“And I'm Henry Tong, nice to meet you.” a short man said, standing up from a chair as he extended a hand. Tong's height didn't change by much when he did so, and appeared to be a scrawny little thing. Still when Declan did shake the man's hand, he was surprised by the strength in the grip.

“We've heard so much about you.” the male Everette said with a knowing smile, “You don't trust us, do you?”

Declan didn't enjoy the visit. He tried not to argue with them, but the Everettes seemed intent on trying to say how wrong he was about any and every worry he had.

When he said he didn't want his brother to give his money away to any group that gave comfort, the male Everette was quick to point out they only accepted donations. When that didn't sit well, his wife would say that they are a charitable group. When asked about the charity work, they answered with a pompous smile and the claims that he wouldn't understand. It was all very complicated.

Mr. Tong seemed to be the only one of any decency. Not to say that Declan trusted him, that would be far from the truth. But Tong would from time to time at least admit to being able to see Declan's worries, but would assure Declan that they met no ill will towards his brother.

Sammy remained quiet for the majority of the arguments. He tried to defend his brother when one of the Everettes claimed he was just being too closed minded. Then he would try to defend the trio when Declan called them a bunch of exploitive thieves.

In all, this was a short argument. Lasting only a few minutes, although the words exchanged got Declan and the Everettes quite heated. Mr. Tong had suggested that perhaps he and the Everettes should leave, and let the Polis brothers speak amongst themselves.

That's when Sammy fell to the floor, his whole body just toppled over on itself without warning. Declan ran to him, to see what was wrong but he pushed him away claiming to be fine. One of the Everettes asked him questions, but he told her to be quiet, rather rudely at that.

“I'm sorry,” Sammy said putting a hand up apologetically as he stood up, “I, I must've lost balance.”

Declan again tried to help his brother regain himself, but was pushed away. “I'm fine!” Sammy snapped. Mr. Tong again suggested that they, the Committee three, should leave. Although the Everettes were less than receptive to the idea, Sammy did agree and politely saw them out, promising to check in with them later in the week.

He turned to his brother, “Care for a drink?”

“You can't do this, Sammy.” Declan said moving away, “If you're drinking again, you know you don't have to.”

Sammy gave an angry sigh, “I told you already, I haven't touched the stuff. I was asking if you wanted a glass of water, maybe some coffee? Tall glass of milk perhaps?”

Declan gave his brother a firm look, “Sammy-”

“Declan, I swear on my wife! I'm not drinking!” the older brother said as he took two steps towards the kitchen before falling over again quite suddenly, his shoulder now hitting the coffee table with a thud. An angry yelp escaped from his mouth as the man grabbed at his shoulder, laying face first into the maroon rug.

Again Declan went to help his brother, but again was pushed away. “I'm fine, I'm fine! Just leave it, okay? Let me just sit here a minute.”

Declan rubbed at his eyes in frustration, before readjusting his thing wire framed glasses. “Listen, Sam,” Declan said as he bent his knees and lowered down to his brother and placing a hand on his back, “You have to talk to me. What's going on, huh? You're acting strange.”

“I just lost my wife! My kids! They took them away Dec, they took them away! How am I supposed to act?!” Sammy viciously spat shoving his younger brother away form him.

“I – I didn't know. I'm sorry Sam.” Declan's voice was sympathetic, it genuinely was but for any number of reasons Sammy refused to hear it.

“I want you out.” Sammy commanded, and when Declan didn't move fast enough his voice raised to a yell, “Out!”

“Okay, okay Sammy.” Declan said with a sigh. He had never been as close to his brother as he had wanted to be. When emotions rose they didn't communicate, particularly when his brother decided he had finished the discussion. Or worse, as Declan thought it was, when he refused to even start one. Declan collected his coat, and turned to tell his brother to call him if he needed anything. He then left, and cursed at himself for refusing to stay. For refusing to end the conversation before it had started.

At the same time Sammy was cursing at himself as well. Not for shutting out his brother, his mind was far from that. No, he thought instead on the Committee. They had been discussing strange occult happenings that resembled the death of his wife. He was sure there might have been something there. Satanic methods of some sort. No, not quite satanic, he thought, it involved something older than that. He barely understood it, when they spoke of things older than physics, but he knew it had to be true. It had to be. They spoke with such clarity and certainty. At this point any feeling of certainty, not matter how much he faked it, felt right. Felt smart.

He pushed himself to occupy his mind. There was reading materials, books and papers the Mr. Tong had left for him. He tried to read them, but he couldn't hold his concentration for longer than a few sentences. Finally he stood and moved over to the stereo cabinet kept in the bedroom. He looked through his wife's belongings, trying hard not to cry for what seemed the hundredth time. He refused. Not again, he willed himself, at least go one night.

He had to though. He couldn't just forget about her. That's what it felt like, when he wasn't obsessing, that he was forgetting. Dolores. He could still smell her. He gave a chuckle remembering the way she would dace around the room while cleaning up, always listening to those English bands he thought were so dismal and dreary. The pile of record imports had already started to collect a very thin and translucent layer of dust, save for one.

He picked up the sleeve, but didn't need to remove the record. It had remained in the stereo, the last song his wife had listened to. He moved the needle, pressed play and sat in the bed, elbows to his thighs.

“Nowhere girl,” he started to sing to himself after the notes had already played for near a minute, “You're living in a dream. Nowhere girl you stay behind the scenes. Nowhere girl, you never go outside-” as always happened, every night, he pitched forward, burying his head in his hands as he sobbed.

Soon the song ended. The record ended. There was the popping and hissing sound of the record needle scratching at nothing, when Sammy Polis finally removed his hands from his face. He face red and wet, his eyes bloodshot he tried to call to it, that voice that came to him from time to time. It was difficult to do so, for he feared the voice as much as he saw comfort in it.

“Are you, are you there?” he asked.

No answer.

He scrambled to the stereo, remembering how he had found the voice. Switching to the radio he turned the dial to an empty station and jumbled, walking backwards, back to his bed and sitting down. He tried again, “Hello? You're there aren't you.”

The static white noise broke as a grabled voice came in, “I am always here, Mr. Polis.”

“Sammy, call me Sammy.” Mr. Polis said, before sniffling a bit, “Please, tell me again.”

“There is nothing out there.” the voice cracked through the speakers, “You are, and always will be alone. They left you. You deserved it.”

“I did,” he said nodding, and his voice cracked as his eyes swelled up again, “I really did, didn't I?”

“Yes, Mr. Polis.” the voice said, “You all do.”

“I know.” Sammy said in agreement, his body shaking as he started to break again. Mucus and tears ran down his face, and he rubbed it on his sleeve, “It, it really is pointless isn't it?”

“Yes.” the voice cracked.