Abraham stepped up beside the others, the last several gunshots being fired at another target who he’d yet to see.  He gazed in with the others ahead of him, the knife he’d drawn on impulse held at his side.  Abraham glanced toward Walter, looking at the man’s bloodstained clothes, and then over to the Doc with his fire extinguisher.  Things had gone so wrong so quickly, and he still had no idea what the two—no, three men were doing in the room that Jackson had called them too.

_{17:47, Today: Abraham Hargrove rolled 56 using 1d100 with rolls of 56. Sanity (70).}
This message was last edited by the player at 21:48, Thu 24 July 2014.

Before Bishop could shoot the man in the headdress, someone else had put one in the man's skull. Not focused on his target, Bishop looked about the room. That was when he spotted Jackson's remain virtually torn apart and strewn across the bed. This was not the first he had lost a friend or even seen one mutilated, and while it was still tough Bishop knew he had a job to do.

Sorry Jack, I'll see you on the otherside.

”Ladies, you best not come in. Doctor, I am sorry is too late but I need to come in.” Bishop said hoping that the words would keep the ladies out and prepare Leonardo for what he was likely to see.

Bishop shifted his attention to the room and the bodies. The place had been tossed, but they interrupted the killers. Whatever they were searching for was probably still in the room.

”They were searching for something. If we want to know need to find it fast. Otherwise the cops show up and foul things up.” Bishop said as he started his search with the dead men and then moved to the room.



Bishop rolled a 54 for his sanity check.
16:36, Today: Stanley Bishop rolled 53 using 1d100 with rolls of 53. spot hidden.

This message was last edited by the player at 23:41, Thu 24 July 2014.

Walter slid to a sitting position in the doorway, his back to the jamb, one leg in the room, the other outside it. Sweat beading his face, he flipped on the safety and proffered the Luger to Rosalie.

"Is this piece... registered and... do you have... a permit... to carry it?" he gasped out, right arm pressed tightly to his side.

Leo heard what Stanley had said and it gave him pause, but he pushed it out of his mind for a few minutes. He compartmentalized his fear and instead tended to Bo.

"Stop moving, Walter." Leo took a moment to pull some of the shirt away from Walter, and then helped him out of the torn shirt. He attempted to create a makeshift bandage of some sort to stanch the bleeding, creating strips from Walter's ruined shirt.

19:41, Today: Dr. Leonardo Elias rolled 3 using 1d100 with rolls of 3. Medicine (75)
19:43, Today: Dr. Leonardo Elias rolled 2 using 1d3 with rolls of 2. HP Recovery.

He looked at the gash, thinking he had probably done some good. He knew his niece had spent some time as a nurse, and turned to her. "Rosie, stay here and keep an eye on his wound. And talk to him about your firearm, I suppose."

Leo closed his eyes as he heaved his body upwards, his legs not really wanting to stand.

19:46, Today: Dr. Leonardo Elias rolled 96 using 1d100 with rolls of 96. Sanity (80).

As he took a few steps into the room, he saw the remains of what had occurred, and immediately fell to his knees and vomited what remained of his birthday dinner onto the carpet of the hotel room.

Rosalie felt her knees go weak at Stan's warning and a sickening nausea filled the pit of her stomach.  Walter's question distracted her only a little.  "It is... ah... Jackson's.  He asked me to... return it... "

Standing in the hallway, she took a few tentative steps toward the door.  "But what about Jackson?  Where is Jackson?"  She shook her head violently as she saw Leo fall to the floor.  Tears sprang to her eyes and her chin trembled.  "No... no..."  There was a rising note of hysteria in her voice a she took another step.  "Oh, God, no... please... not Jackson..."

Leo's bandage was comforting at least. Walter laid the Luger on the ground beside him. He reached up and grabbed Rosalie's hand. "St-stay with m-me, K-kiddo," he whispered with chattering teeth, using his old pet name for her. He shivered, "I c-could use that t-top c-coat. I'm c-cold."

[He hasn't seen Jackson yet, but he has a good idea what Stan and Leo are reacting to.
Walter 'Bo' Brandon rolled 12 using 1d100 for Sanity 55.]
This message was last edited by the player at 03:11, Fri 25 July 2014.

She didn't pass beyond the dead black men to enter the room, but she caught a glimpse of splattered blood on the walls and floor.  Gripping Walter's hand tightly, she staggered back until she struck the wall and then slid to the floor to sit beside him, weeping silently.  Numbly, she reached for his overcoat and pulled it to her, using her free hand to cover him.  Huddled tightly against him, she rested her cheek on his shoulder and stared at the wall in shock.  It was impossible, wasn't it?  After everything that Jackson had done and all he had accomplished, the dangers he had braved, and the many near-death experiences that he'd survived, he'd been cut down in a hotel room in civilized New York City.


20:28, Today: Rosalie Elias rolled 54 using 1d100 with rolls of 54. Sanity (80).
This message was last edited by the player at 03:30, Fri 25 July 2014.

As Bishop searched the dead man by the window, he looked at Leonardo "Doc I know it is bad but the only thing we can do for Jack now is find out why he was killed. We need to search the place. We need you to examine his body."

But even as he spoke, a seldom used part of Bishop's anatomy, his heart, felt a tinge of pain at the sight of Leonardo on his knees in front of a pool of vomit. It was that pity that had stolen some of Bishop's own resolve as his voice cracked slightly as he spoke.
This message was last edited by the player at 04:51, Fri 25 July 2014.

OOC:

• Abraham, Stanley, Walter and Rosalie all passed their sanity checks, but still lose 1 SAN for the death of someone very close to them.
• Leo failed the check, so takes a 1d4 SAN loss.
• Leo impaled on the Medicine roll, so Walter gains 4 HP back.
• Annie is still downstairs, flirting with the hotel clerk.

Leo's eyes remained closed and he on all fours for several moments as thoughts raced through his head. First he replayed the recent past in his head - the call with Jackson and their trip to the hotel. Could Jackson have been saved if Leo had been quicker to act and push people out the door? Was the father to blame for the death of his son?

He then moved on to thoughts of how his wife would bear this news, and his arms slumped a bit toward the ground, his face nearly brushing the pool he had recently deposited on the hotel flooring. The scent of it probably kept him from trying to lie down on the floor to deal with the weight of what they had just discovered. Sweet Kate would be devastated by this news. He was the only child they were able to have, and had lived an amazing life - but Leo knew she still held out hope that he would slow down a bit in the near future, at least long enough to have children.

His thoughts then moved backwards through Jackson's life, recalling the times they had spent together. The trip to England was a grand time, with the boy off hunting witches (or rather witch hunters) and Leo enjoying time with some friends in London. Though they had spent a lot of time talking about life in general, and what Jackson was doing. He flashed back further to Jackson's graduation from Leo's alma mater, and how proud he was of the boy.

He kept seeing visions of his child going all the way back to Jackson's birth. He came into the world screaming at it. Sadly, he had likely left the world in a great deal of pain. Tears eventually came, but Stanley's words made Leo raise his head and at least wipe away the salty droplets that were running along his cheeks. He was about to lash out at Stanley, barely restraining himself before he said something stupid. Instead, he somehow gathered enough strength to stand again, though he couldn't look at Jackson. At least not right away.

Leo drew a hand down his face to help himself gain some measure of composure. He mentally separated a part of himself - imagining himself still grieving on the floor while some instinctual part of his mind took over the business at hand. As he looked over at Jackson again, a new wave of grief, shock, and anger washed over Leo. After a deep breath he walked over and said quietly, "Jackson, my boy, what have they done to you?"

Leo swallowed thickly and started to look closely at Jackson's remains. He had to pause several times to look away or regain his composure. He wasn't certain if he was more upset with himself for doing what amounted to a preliminary autopsy on his own son, or with Stanley for suggesting it needed to be done.

07:59, Today: Dr. Leonardo Elias rolled 91 using 1d100 with rolls of 91. Medicine (75).
Not surprisingly, Leo doesn't do a very good job of looking over the body.
07:42, Today: Dr. Leonardo Elias rolled 1 using 1d4 with rolls of 1. Sanity Loss.
This message was last edited by the player at 13:03, Fri 25 July 2014.

While the doctor's current state prevented him from conducting a successful examination, he could not miss the strange symbol carved cruelly into Jackson's forehead.

Bishop knew he had pushed Leonardo, but he also knew if they wanted to find out why this had happened they would need to take matters in there own hands. As he continued his search he knew he needed help. Looking over at Abraham.

"I know this is gruesome but we need to search the place. Not much time I need your help."

"We need to scour the room quickly if we are going to find what they were looking for. Bo if you can manage in I need you to search the two dead guys in the hallway. Look for anything that might tell us who they were or why they were here." Bishop said a little louder so he could be heard by Walter.

Leo avoided moving any parts of his son around, lest he disturb the scene that Stanley seemed interested in committing to memory. "Stanley - take a look at this marking on his forehead. Hopefully you've brought a notepad."

Pain was making Leo want to speak as little as necessary. It was as if his heart was held in the clutches of another. He rubbed at the left side of his chest hoping his ticker wouldn't give out on him, as he turned to check on the other men in the room. They were all down, but he still checked for signs of life. Perhaps they would be able to extract some information from one of them if they lived. He also rifled through their pockets, if nothing else to keep his mind off Jackson for a few minutes.

While checking for pulse or other signs of life, Leo will also take a look to see if anything else is interesting on their bodies.

10:40, Today: Dr. Leonardo Elias rolled 59 using 1d100 with rolls of 59. Spot hidden (25).

OOC:
Rather than posting your search results on an individual basis, I'm going to assume that people are going to have helped as per the Pinkerton's directives and post findings for the group.

Their exploration of the hotel room was thorough and efficient, directed by the expertise of a Pinkerton detective.

Leonardo found that as he suspected, the three men were dead without question. He also noticed that all three of them wore a strange headpiece, a simple and crudely cut band of leather with a read wooden object hanging down from the leather over the middle of the forehead.

Bishop, Walter and Abraham searched the bodies, finding a variety of papers, notes, and cards. Upon the body of one man, a letter was found addressed to Roger Carlyle.



His front pocket contained an elegantly engraved business card.


Located in the inside pocket of his jacket was an empty matchbook with a bright red cover and golden lettering.


The first man who had come at them in the doorway had a blurry photograph folded up in his shirt pocket. It showed a large steam or diesel powered yacht beyond some Chinese junks. Part of the yacht's name was visible, the first three letters reading D A R.


When the picture was removed, another business card fell out onto the ground. Printed on ordinary stock, it was somewhat faded and read on the front Emerson Imports. On the back of the card, in Jackson's handwriting was written the name "Silas N'Kwane."




The third man, the one who had cut Walter, had a typewritten letter stuffed into his pants pocket. Uncrumpling it, it seemed to be some correspondence between Elias and a woman named Miriam Atwright. The letter is emblazoned with the seal of Harvard.


On the desk, a small sheet of paper was inserted into the second volume of Andrew Dickinson White's A History of the Warfare of Science with Theology in Christendom. The paper is an ordinary handbill, such as those that are passed out or posted publicly.

He had barely made it more than a few steps inside the room before freezing with his stunned eyes locked on the form sprawled on the bed.  He tried to process what he was looking at on the bed, but the juxtaposition of Jackson’s familiar face and form with the ropes of slick viscera spilling from the gash in his stomach didn’t seem like something real.    His hands trembled, the knife slipping from his fingers and dropping to the floor.  No, that didn’t make any sense—there was no reason anyone would want to murder Jackson.  He slipped his shaking hand into his coat and removed his flask, unscrewing the cap with practiced ease.

He felt his face getting warmer and his vision beginning to blur.  There’d be nothing they could do to help Jackson.  The man’s life was through and at last the final mystery of life had an answer but this time there’d be no book to shed light on sociological fallacies and ageless speculation.  The worst of it fell to Leo, and it was his pain that caused Abraham’s heart to break.  He didn’t know what to say to the man.  He’d seen friends fall to gunfire, bayonet blades, shells, gas, and disease but he’d never been the one who had to deliver the report to family members.  And that had very little in common with a father walking in on his son’s eviscerated body.

”Uh, yes, Stanley,” mumbled Abe, ”some, ah, help looking for the…”  The unknown ‘it’ that the trio of men had been looking for when they’d come and taken Jackson’s life.

He attempted to distance himself while searching through Jackson’s effect and the bodies of the dead criminals, reading over the notes he came across with failing focus.  What the hell did any of this mean?

Stanley heeded Leonardo's request and looked at Jackson's body and the mark carved in his friend's forehead.

Stan was not much of an artist, but looking at it he took a handkerchief out of his pocket and pressed it against his friend's forehead to capture he sign on the handkerchief with Jack's blood.

Bishop had looked over to Jackson's father to see that the he had moved onto checking the three dead men. Given what they had found, it would have been better to take at least one of the men alive. But when the two men had attacked them, it had been about protecting the others.

Having collected the image, Bishop turned back to his search of the room.

"I suggest if we find anything interesting, we run it down ourselves. The cops are going to want to close this up fast." Bishop said looking over the room. "Whatever happened  here is no simple robbery. These boys were here to kill Jackson and to find something he had with him."

"Given that headdress maybe we was working on a new book. If so we need to find his notes. They must be here somewhere unless someone got away."

This message was last edited by the player at 23:14, Fri 25 July 2014.

In the distance, the faint sound of police sirens could be heard.

Walter seemed to rouse from a light doze. He was warm under his overcoat. A woman's soft hand clasped his and her perfumed head nestled nicely on his shoulder. The wound that arced around his ribcage only ached a little. Then he heard the police siren and remembered where he was and what had happened.

He turned his head to see who the woman was.

"Rosalie, it's you," he murmured, "Listen. You need t'get Leo home so he can tell Aunt Kate. Take Miss Ashcroft, and Abe, if he'll go. His car keys're in my topcoat pocket. Otherwise, police'll keep you all night."

His voice grew stronger, as did the pain in his side: "Go on now, please. Nothing any of you can do here's any use an' Kate'll need you. I'll be fine 'til they get me to a hospital. Stan'll take care of me. Get going."
This message was last edited by the player at 04:27, Sat 26 July 2014.

Roused by Walter's urging, Rosalie lifted her head and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.  She nodded mutely and nearly started weeping again when she thought about having to give her aunt and parents the news.  She gave his hand a light squeeze and then released it, drawing back to have a look at him.  "You need to rest," she said softly.  "Make sure you get to the hospital as soon as possible.  Don't let them take the Luger.  If you have to tell them about it, tell the truth -- that it is Jackson's."  Reaching into his coat, she pulled out the keys to Abe's car and then pulled herself to her feet.

Moving to the doorway, she pointedly did not look toward the bed, but searched for Leo and Abraham.  "Walter says that we need to go before the police get here, or they'll keep us here all night.  Stanley can explain things.  Uncle, come.  We need to go.  You don't need to be here any longer.  Abraham, you should probably come as well, on account of your... condition."

About halfway between body of the first lifeless black man and the second, half stooped in a swaying lurch with an ordinary photo of a steamer in a harbor populated with several oriental-looking ships and a worn business card clutched between his unreliable fingers, Abraham turned his head toward Rosalie, dropping one knee to steady himself.   ”Sure, that’s probably for the best.” He glanced sidelong at the two men.  ”What about his publisher?  If his notes aren’t here, someone there might know more.”

He waited for a moment until he was sure the floor wasn’t about to start spinning around.  At this point, the unreality of the room being swept up in a sudden vortex of wind seemed to pale before four deaths.  Abe rose, noting some specks of fresh blood on his pants, likely gained while rummaging around through the dead man’s body, and waited with Rosalie.
This message was lightly edited by the player at 14:29, Sat 26 July 2014.

"Walter, might be best if she stayed and rides with you too the hospital. The cops don't like any questions. If we hand this to them tied up with a bow they won't be keeping anyone." Bishop said.

Leo completed his checks of the dead men, then took a few moments to look at Jackson again, pinpricks dotting the surface of his skin as he thought about what had happened to the boy. He helped a little with the searching of the room, though his thoughts weren't really on the task at hand. Fortunately, Stanley seemed to be an expert at ordering people around in these sorts of situations, and Leo could simply respond to command.

He frowned at the suggestion they leave before the police come, and he finally spoke again. "No, I don't think I'll leave. I believe that if any of us are gone when the police arrive it would cast suspicion upon us, and I don't think we have anything to hide from them. If Miss Ashcroft requested an ambulance from Bellevue, Walter should be have the finest medical attention avaialable in the city in short order." As if reminding himself of the wound that he recently treated, Leo went over to look at Walter's ribs again, and gave a self-satisfied nod. He had done quite well with the limited tools at hand, really. A few sutures and a little bit of rest and Walter should feel right as rain.

All that said, the information that they had uncovered sent Leo's mind racing in a number of directions. Just what had Jackson stumbled upon? Did this have anything to do with the Carlyle expedition? Or was it something else entirely? The question of why this had happened to Jackson was now forefront in Leo's mind. Why had they killed his boy?

Bishop looked about to see if anyone else was watching or listening. If so he made sure he was not overheard.

Stan knew this was a tough time, likely the others were in shock. He knew this was time for clear thinking, and he was used to situations like this one. Later he would let it all hit him, but for right now they needed him to focus on the job "So if we are all agreed."

"When the police arrive let me do the talking. I am not much of a lawyer, but I have plenty of experience dealing with the police. I will stick to the truth and most of us, if not all should be allowed after they have taken our statements. There will be no mention of the nic nacs we found. Walter will need to go to the hospital. Best everyone return to the Elias home. It will be a tough night."

"If we depart separately, which I suggest we don't, I suggest you be carful leaving the building. There are likely to be a reporter or two and maybe a photographer. Say nothing turn up your color and pull down the brim of your hat. Like I said, best if we try and depart together." The less for the press to work with the better.
This message was last edited by the player at 00:41, Sun 27 July 2014.

If her uncle would not leave, then Rosalie could not think of abandoning him.  As much as her inner coward screamed at her to leave such grisly sights and run crying to her parents, she knew that Leo and Stan were right -- it would look suspicious if any of them left.  With a sigh, she accepted her fate and turned to Abraham, placing one hand on his shoulder.  "Will you come and sit with me, Mister Hargrove?  You look rather unsteady on your feet and could use the services of a stout wall to keep you upright.  You don't happen to have any more in that flask of yours, do you?"

As she moved to follow her uncle and return to Walter's side, she threw Stanley a glance.  It hadn't escaped her how easily he had tamped down his fear and revulsion to take charge of the situation.  She was rather thankful for it, knowing that without his push, it would have been extremely difficult for their group to handle such a horrid situation -- especially as nearly everyone had such strong ties to Jackson.

Walter felt rather remote from the scene, as though it were a motion picture projected before him. He'd made his suggestion, but if these relative strangers chose to disregard it, that wasn't his business. He shrugged his left shoulder, grunting a bit as Leo examines his work and then kept his right arm pressed tightly over the bandage. Felt better that way.

As Rosalie rejoined him, he looked up at her. "Cigarettes in my coat pocket," he grated, "You mind?" He didn't want any of Abraham's hooch, but some nicotine would help.

"Hey, Stan!" he said a little louder, "Don't let th' bulls arrest Rosalie for carrying, right? Maybe I grabbed th' Luger off th' floor where Jackson dropped it."
This message was last edited by the player at 03:18, Sun 27 July 2014.