What Blind Eyes See.   Posted by The Story Teller.Group: 0
The Story Teller
 GM, 130 posts
Tue 24 Sep 2019
at 22:49
What Blind Eyes See
The moans and wails of the monstrous bitch cowering before you wash over you as you beat and stab and smash and impale it’s crocodylidian skull. After an indeterminate amount of time the red mist passes, at some point mid-frenzy you must have closed your eyes and just let the fury take over because you find yourself opening your eyes to find that the beast is gone! It’s blood still soaks the stone beneath where it once lay but otherwise you are alone in the dungeon-like room, where once you held a blood-rusted jagged metal pipe you now find yourself holding a rolled up Newspaper.

You unfurl the broadsheet to see the front page is emblazoned with the face of Floyd Galloway.

quote:
HERO DETECTIVE RECIEVES COMMENDATION FOR BURYING JENNY'S KILLER

The words "He was blind" are written in what you assume to be blood over the photo.!


The article discusses the commendation ceremony and details of an interview with Galloway in which he talks about his methods and how he caught the infamous Lawrence Reeves. He talks about how he lives and breathes a case, taking them home with him and even having what he describes as a ‘crazy person wall’ in his study that he would often stare at long into the night until he passed out from exhaustion. It was on one such evening, after several weeks of staring at the faces of the assorted suspects they had gathered that the clear and obvious line to the now convicted Lawrence Reeves revealed itself to him in what felt like a moment of divine inspiration. Once he could see the line, all the evidence started to fall into place and Reeves was in custody within a matter of days.

The moment you finish reading the article you are jostled from behind as someone barges past you.

“Don’t just fuckin’ stand there, people are trying to catch a train here! Asshole!” One guy sneers at you while several others manoeuvre their way around you to get to the platform. The noise crept up on you, you hadn’t noticed it arrive but the bustle of the rush-hour station rings in your ears, the dank stone and wrought iron sconces have vanished to be replaced with a regular NYC subway platform. A sign reading “East 78th” on the wall opposite the platform tells you this is the station at the end of Carruthers’ street.

You’re back.
Laurence 'Mute' Reeves
 player, 149 posts
Fri 11 Oct 2019
at 08:22
What Blind Eyes See
Reeves stands transfixed by the gift, unmoving, buffeted by at least two more of his fellow New Yorkers as they barge past him but he doesn't care.

He was blind... and he knows it.

Reeves wasn't the only one who had been living with pain and anguish these past years. For a hotshot like Galloway to have poured his art into the chase and then got it wrong.

It'd be enough to drive you mad.

Why was he afraid of Galloway? Galloway was his lead. He'd march up to the cop's door, offer his gracious forgiveness and say 'c'mon man, let's pick up the trail and find this killer together!'

Then, when his new detective friend had done the heavy lifting and found Jenny's real killer like you were supposed to do eight years ago you stupid ignorant fucking pig...

...then the Bodach would tear him limb from limb and smear him across the pavement in a glorious orgasm of catharsis.

The plan crystallising in his mind, he turned and charged back up the stairs towards Sharon's car.

This message was last edited by the player at 08:22, Fri 11 Oct 2019.

The Story Teller
 GM, 131 posts
Thu 17 Oct 2019
at 21:13
What Blind Eyes See
You make your way up the steps back up to the street, an icy cold rain drop lands on your cheek just as you crest onto the pavement. It's the first of what will likely be a lot more before too long but for now it's just starting. The cold February air does a better job of jolting your senses than any coffee would and for the first time in hours you are able to open your eyes to their normal aperture and you see Sharon's car about 50 yards down the street. Carruthers is sat in the back seat and Sharon is stood on the driver's side, door open looking around craning her neck clearly looking for you. She spots you at emerging from the subway and shouts for your attention, making a wide Y gesture with her arms that communicate her meaning better than any words other than What the fuck Ramen?. She follows you silently with her eyes as you head back to the car and guides you to your seat with a glare that perfectly blends frustration and confusion like cheese with fine wine. She doesn't say anything, she isn't half as tired as you and what she feels is bad enough so is willing to give allowances.

Carruthers is less tuned into your condition that is and chimes in from the back seat once everyone is back in the car...

"Planning on ditching us for the 08:43 circular Mr. Reeves?" He remarks, trying to sound jovial but it's only a thin veneer over his vacant and defeated tone.
Laurence 'Mute' Reeves
 player, 150 posts
Wed 23 Oct 2019
at 08:52
What Blind Eyes See
Dead-eyed, empty and gaunt, Reeves simply turns in his seat to fix Carruthers with a penetrating glare.

How dare you make jokes you fat shit, your time will come. I'll smear you across the cobblestones and make what's left of your face eat your own genitals...

...says his eyes. His mouth would never be as brave. Turning back to face the direction of travel, he inclines his head towards Sharon.

"Sorry, been a long night. Let's go. Drop me off at Galloway's before you take him in."
The Story Teller
 GM, 132 posts
Tue 29 Oct 2019
at 21:50
What Blind Eyes See
Carruthers sees your gaze and hears you louder than if you had spoken. Sharon, not seeing you as she focuses on pulling out of her parking space, quietly nods as she pulls into the street.

"Glove box." She says, gesturing with one hand. Inside is a copy of the phone book, it takes you a minute but your brain kicks into gear and you look through to find Galloway's address. It takes you a minute but the traffics shit so you have time, 2nd Avenue, some apartment block or another.

She takes a detour on her way to the station to drop you at 2nd Avenue, she drives clean past Galloway's apartment building but before you can protest she pulls up at the end of the street right next to a bagel stand.

"Get yourself some breakfast and a fresh coffee before going in there, and ... try not to get shot, yeah?"

She drives off, leaving you on the corner of 2nd, with Galloway's building looming in the middle distance while the drone of Manhattan bores your ears
Laurence 'Mute' Reeves
 player, 151 posts
Wed 30 Oct 2019
at 09:52
What Blind Eyes See
Watching Sharon drive off, Reeves' gut twists. The thought of yet another cup of coffee made him gag, much less the idea of food soaking up the caffeine which screamed through his system, defining every last irregular heartbeat.

Even so, sleep was not an option and the fear of his first meeting with Galloway demanded procrastination. He bought an americano, sugared it into oblivion, and choked it down til he retched.

Finally, sugar and coffee pounding out a frenzied duet on his guts, he enters the foyer of the building...
The Story Teller
 GM, 133 posts
Mon 18 Nov 2019
at 08:33
What Blind Eyes See
You enter Galloway’s apartment building through a glass revolving door as a few smartly dressed, and slightly flustered business types come the other way. The foyer itself is smart but plain, an air of bland efficiency permeates the place, as though the owners know full well that the people who live here couldn’t give a damn about what the lobby looked like because they would only ever see it in passing as they rushed out they doors on the way to work, or wandering wearily back to their apartments after a long tiring day at said work. It was a business arrangement, a supply closet for their respective offices only where they were the supplies. Nobody cared what colour the walls were, so long as it was kept clean and tidy and nobody stole the hole punch. A row of bronze-plated mail boxes lines the right hand wall looking like they had been there since the thirties and witnessed many a new coat of clean steel-grey upon their partner wall, looking them over spot that Galloway’s apartment is on the 2nd floor, apartment 8..

A sign marks the elevator as out of order, explaining the harried expressions on the business-types on their way out. You haul yourself up the stairs, one laborious hiking step after the other reminding you of the infinite stairwell Askern had ascended before meeting his fate. The thought glazes your perception of time as your body goes into some kind of autopilot because by the time you bring your thoughts back round to the here and now you are stood before the deep muddy red door of apartment 8, not recalling a single step of your trek beyond about half way up the stairs. You look up and down the hallway, taking in this new environment. Red is a prominent theme of this floor, red doors, a deep and rich red carpet, albeit a tad weathered from countless Galloway’s treading their size 9’s up and down it for the last decade or more. The walls are covered in a pleasant enough white wallpaper with repeating rows of rose vines dangling from ceiling to floor and the faint buzz of halogen strip lights drones from the ceiling from lights that clearly need new bulbs in as they are a tad dim and beginning to blink. A lone CCTV camera points down the hall from just above the elevator door


Spoiler text: (Highlight or hover over the text to view)
08:29, Today: The Story Teller, on behalf of Laurence 'Mute' Reeves, rolled 3 successes using 4d10 with the World of Darkness nWoD system with a target of 8, rerolling 10s ((10(+6),3,10(+3),9)). Perception check (-2 dice for tiredness)


It appears whatever it is that has taken out the elevator is electrical as the little red light atop the camera is out, leading you to think that it’s likely not working right now. Your surroundings gauged, you turn back to face the door of apartment 8.
Laurence 'Mute' Reeves
 player, 152 posts
Mon 18 Nov 2019
at 09:03
What Blind Eyes See
Shaking his head to clear the cobwebs, Reeves tries and utterly fails to recollect his long journey up the stairwell. This needed to all end soon... one way or another.

The camera was out, but no sense tempting fate. Approaching it, he reached up and turned it to one side, giving it a good clear look at the wall and nothing else.

That done, he takes a deep breath, steels himself and knocks once, twice, three times upon Galloway's door.
The Story Teller
 GM, 134 posts
Tue 26 Nov 2019
at 10:35
What Blind Eyes See
Once. Twice. Three times on the door. Your knocks are slow and by the third you hear a familiar voice bellow out from inside.

"Jeez! Alright, alright! I'm coming, but if that's you Jeffers I swear to god, this is like the only week off I've had in like a year and a half and you coming here with your fucking dead-knock hauling me out of bed, this better be good or I'll have you on beat for a month!" You hear the tell-tale thudding of a heavy-set man stumbling out of bed and waking himself up through ritualistic venting while looking for a dressing gown before making his way dully down the hall. "If it's about that fucking journo, I told you what I think, and I told you I ain't on this o..."

The door opens and his sentence stops dead in its tracks as he sees you on his door step. There's a moment of dumbfounded silence that for you lingers mildly past its welcome, but for Galloway feels like an eternity. His still half-asleep brain then starts jumping hoops as panic and adrenaline start to kick in and he starts to stumble backwards.

"You... YOU! What the fuck are you doing here?! You come to get ME TOO?! FIRST THE SUIT, THEN THE JOURNO, NOW ME, IS THAT IT?! I FUCKING TOLD THEM, I TOLD THEM IT WAS YOU, BUT YOU AIN'T GETTING ME, I SEE YOU AND I AIN'T LETTING YOU TAKE ME DOWN!" He back-pedals towards his coat rack and starts fumbling through the pockets of a jacket but in his panic trips over his boots and in clinging onto his jacket tears the coat hangers off the wall bringing a small mountain of coats and scarves tumbling on top of him.
Laurence 'Mute' Reeves
 player, 153 posts
Tue 26 Nov 2019
at 10:55
What Blind Eyes See
What had he been expecting to feel when he reunited with Galloway after eight long years? Fear, certainly. Bitterness, yes. Contempt, absolutely.

All these he felt at the sight of the man who had bullied and coerced him out of nearly a decade of life... but they were dull, distant, faint-remembered emotions. Was it the fatigue? The nightmare his life had become? What he really felt was contempt for this fat, pompous old man rolling around in his pyjamas beneath a pile of coats.

Sure, there's a gun in one of those coats, but it's going to take a while to dig out. He had time for an elevator pitch. This one had worked before...

'Askern and Harper were smeared around like peanut butter. I've got arms like ramen noodles. If I fired that gun you're about to shoot me with, I'd break my damn wrist.

I'm not here to kill you, detective. I'm here to forgive you like a good Christian and help you nail who really did it.'

This message was last edited by the player at 10:58, Tue 26 Nov 2019.

The Story Teller
 GM, 135 posts
Tue 26 Nov 2019
at 17:16
What Blind Eyes See
Galloway's brain seems to be operating on a few second delay as he continues to fumble through the bundle of coats as if not hearing you for a while until your words finally register with him.

quote:
Laurence 'Mute' Reeves rolled 3 successes using 5d10 with the World of Darkness nWoD system with a target of 8, rerolling 10s.  manipulation + empathy to plea to his reason.

Laurence 'Mute' Reeves, rolled 1 success using 4d10 with the World of Darkness nWoD system with a target of 8, rerolling 10s.  Perception check (-2 for tiredness).


As the faultless logic plants itself his panicked flailing starts to quell, compounded by the added confidence of the .38 he has managed to wrap his hand around. He tries to act cool and keep that fact concealed but you clock him pocketing it into his dressing gown before pulling himself out of the bundle and standing once again in an attempt to reaffirm some dignity. Now that he stands, relatively calmly, attempting to catch his breath after his brief bout of excitement the memories of dealing with this man all those years ago come flooding back. He's a heavy-set man now in his early-to-mid fifties, with light hair that's greying at the edges and the kind of fleshy cheeks that don't quite qualify as jowls but bunch up when he smiles to leave a vaguely diamond shaped recess beneath his nose for his mouth and chin to sit in. He's sporting a beard now which is new, short and heavily greying with flecks of mousy-brown running through it which you imagine would make him fit in perfectly sitting in a commissioners office were he wearing a smart suit and wielding a fountain pen. Unfortunately he is wearing white and blue striped pyjamas, brown moccasins and a dark blue dressing gown with the distinct bulge of a 0.38 snub-nosed revolver in the pocket, so the professional image is somewhat tarnished.

"You ... wanna what?" he says finally in a mix of confusion and amazement. Of all the things he had expected you to say, that wasn't up there.


This message was last edited by the GM at 17:19, Tue 26 Nov 2019.

Laurence 'Mute' Reeves
 player, 154 posts
Thu 28 Nov 2019
at 10:38
What Blind Eyes See
"Forgive you. Which I do. Found Jesus in the joint... where you put me. Jesus also wants me to find who really killed Jenny, so I was sorta hoping to see your big evidence wall and take a shot at the whole 'cold case' thing.

Look, can I at least come in? It's cold and I haven't slept."

The Story Teller
 GM, 136 posts
Tue 10 Dec 2019
at 11:21
What Blind Eyes See
quote:
Laurence 'Mute' Reeves, rolled 3 successes using 6d10 with the World of Darkness nWoD system with a target of 8, rerolling 10s.  Manipulation + subterfuge (+3 for will power).


Between the surprise of seeing you again and the relief that it isn't going to mean him fighting for his life, your words find their mark. Something about what you said or the way you say it resonates with his confirmation bias. Of course you want to forgive him, He didn't do anything wrong, it was just the pressures of the situation, He was as much a victim here as anyone. Not only that, but stood before him in that moment was a chance for glory. His most famous catch had been found to be innocent; at best a career damaging mistake, at worst a corrupt fabrication; if he could crack this case then his reputation could be redeemed! Perhaps these are the sorts of mental gymnastics one does to settle these sorts of quandaries within oneself.

Whatever it is, he seems on board.

He slowly takes his hand out of his pocket and stares you down for a good while. "Sure." He says cautiously, "Just ... come in, shut the door and park yourself on the couch while I go change outta my Jimmy-Jams." He says in an insincere attempt to make light of the situation, loosing an awkward raspy laugh that taddled his penchant for cigars.

You sit in his living room and wait for him to get dressed. The room is fairly basic; a brown leather three-piece suite and pottery barn's finest mahogany coffee table presides in the middle of the open plan living-kitchen area, acting as kind of boundary wall between the two. An old TV sits in right-hand corner in front of the couch, the kind with the wooden box casing and the front shutters, while a large three-section folding cork-board screen stands in the left in front of an airing closet. Sat on the coffee table is a copy of the New York Daily News, the February issue of American Handgunner, a long dead coffee cup that looks like it has been used and reused many times without being washed properly in-between, a scotch glass (crystal, nice crystal) and an ashtray that has been put through its paces. Along the far wall between the rooms two windows is a tall wooden drinks cabinet with glass doors revealing the crystal scotch glass' counterpart and acompanying decanter as well as a comprehensive collection of various scotches and bourbons. The Curtains are shut but Galloway hits a light switch on his way down to his bedroom. The heavy musk of stale cigar smoke is suffused into the very walls of this apartment and the yellow light of the ceiling light only serves to highlight the smoke stains that have repainted the otherwise pale cream ceiling. The kitchen is fairly basic, it has a large fridge and a heavily used microwave oven, as well as a gas stove and an electric coffee pot whose black-stained glass looks more like the inside of a meth-pipe due to countless refills and reboils.

After a few minutes Galloway re-emerges wearing a button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up and the top few buttons undone and his signature beige trousers, brown leather shoes, and under-arm gun holster (complete with his snubby in some sort of attempt at asserting dominance) looking as though he had just got home from work and kicked the tie and jacket to wind down rather telling a lot about the man if this was what he considered 'home wear'. He makes his way over to the airing closet in the corner of the living room, pushes the board to one side and starts rummaging around inside, on his knees with his ass poking out before pulling out a couple of cardboard boxes filled with papers and files. He calls out while he hauls the boxes out,

"Coffees on the top shelf make yourself useful while I drag this shit out."
Laurence 'Mute' Reeves
 player, 155 posts
Thu 9 Jan 2020
at 10:17
What Blind Eyes See
Reeves doesn't need the presence of the gun to do as he's told. Only the looming presence of the Bodach and an almost terminal lack of sleep is giving him the will to break the miserable habit of a lifetime and stand up to a brute like Galloway at all.

He makes the coffee. As he does so, he glances down at the sink cupboard, left ever so slightly ajar by one of those happenstances of bachelor life. Through the crack he spies a can of industrial strength rat poison.

Smiling softly to himself, he makes the coffee. Just the coffee.

Armed with two steaming mugs of black joe, he returns to the lounge and comments on the stack of papers being removed from storage.

"Those from your, what did you call it? Your psycho wall?"
The Story Teller
 GM, 137 posts
Thu 9 Jan 2020
at 14:08
What Blind Eyes See
“Huh?” Galloway grunts, oblivious to your reference. “These? Oh, well sometimes can’t concentrate surrounded by the bustle of the station so they let me bring stuff home to work with a bit of peace and quiet, with a scotch in one hand and a shitter I dare use. Fuckin’ Farley and his sourkraut and brisket. So, yeah I haul copies of case files here to look over in my Mind Palace.” he says as though he is the first to ever coin the term. It’s unclear whether he just read it somewhere and unknowingly absorbed it into his vocabulary or if he pretentiously decided to start using it to make himself look smarter, hoping that no-one else would have ever read a crime novel before. The distinction was irrelevant, both roads lead to douchébag.

He grabs the mug off you and quaffs a mouthful of still scalding hot coffee without so much as wincing. The inside of Galloway’s mouth must be like asbestos you think to yourself as he puts the mug back down and starts pinning bits of paper to the folding screen that he has now unfurled across the back wall of the lounge. After about ten minutes he stands back at his newly completed pinboard and finishes the rest of his coffee in three large gulps.

It’s a gut wrenching sight. Above and beyond the contents of any report, any other photo or profilers sketch, two pictures seem to pop out of the wall in vivid colour while the rest of the scene pales into monochrome around them. One photo of you as you were almost a decade prior, an aspiring young programmer, and the other a photo of Jenny taken post Mortem. She is lying side on exposing a bloody wound on the back of her head and her skin is deathly pale, with bruising around her wrists and upper torso beneath the collar bones. The positioning of the two photos, while likely accidental, pits the two of you facing each other.
Laurence 'Mute' Reeves
 player, 156 posts
Thu 9 Jan 2020
at 15:20
What Blind Eyes See
Gingerly sipping his scalding coffee, he tries his best to digest the evidence before him, but can only fight to hold back his retching at the sight of Jenny's body.

"Uh, look, can we take me down off there please? Seeing as, ya know, I didn't do it?" he asks. "Let's look at what we can't rule out."

'And what might that be?' enquires his sly, treacherous brain. He's by no means a stupid man, but still no cop.

That wound, what did that... blunt force trauma? No accident, someone wanted her dead. Probably to cover up a rape. The bruising on her chest, too low for strangulation, was she beaten first?

And her wrists, she was tied up. How long was she held before she died? How far away from wherever they found her body?

Through the fatigue, he wills the coffee through his system, desperately fighting for some kind of insight into what might have happened to her.

But there, lurking at the back of his mind, is a vile little thought. If she'd gone home with him that night, she wouldn't have ended up dead. He wouldn't have ended up framed. None of this would have happened.

This whole sorry affair was the fault of two people, not just one.

Fuck Jenny.