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Alexandria Rose Nash | Urðr (urdr) wrote in paxletalelogs, @ 2011-02-20 22:04:00

In the immortal words of Jean-Paul Sartre, 'Au revoir, Gopher.'
Who: Alex, Philip
What:Lotto Post. (a) Rule #2: Double Tap (b) Your characters find an odd object floating in the apartment complex's pool.
Where: Pax, in the vicinity of the pool.
When: February 20, 2011, 6:28pm


The sun had set, though darkness had not yet completely consumed the world. Faint lines of pink and gold, the final remnants of fading light, diluted the blue stretch of a cloudless sky overhead. It was the perfect time of day for shadows, which cut across the landscape in a dominating jigsaw of shapes, contorted and often deceptively exaggerated versions of the objects that had cast them. Philip briefly watched the misshapen figure of his own silhouette be consumed by the looming presence of another, merged together and then split apart by a few quick and liquid footsteps that drew him down the path of a walkway. He had reached his apartment building, sand no longer beneath his feet but the more solid support of pavement. Metal lurched under his grasp as he took hold of wrought iron bars, and hoisted himself over the barrier meant to keep small but curious children away from the dangers of an outdoor pool without the supervision of their parents. His sandaled feet landed with a distinctive slap as both struck the ground in a combination of mass and momentum. It was not his most stealthy of maneuvers but then he was not currently attempting to escape anyone’s notice despite the fact he lacked an appropriate key for the property.

Nevertheless out of instinct, his head turned to check once behind him, nothing there but the distant, glistening deep navy of the bay. But amidst the water that single island held his attention, something mysterious and alluring about it that always spurred his thoughts into a hundred different directions, the most forceful of which was the compulsion merely to see it up close. He’d heard stories that it was haunted, and Philip could believe them. Even at a glance, he felt some shift inside himself whenever he looked upon it, as though his eyes and mind perceived two very different things, divergent entities occupying a singular space. This was, of course, impossible and nonsensical, and both those reasons were exactly why Philip was so fond of looking at the island. His mind plunged further into chasing the paradoxical and the unfeasible, and set against the eerie hour of eventide, the play of shadows on his peripheral vision evoked the more unsettling tales of the spirit realm.

And so Philip jumped when from the corner of his eye he saw with a certainty that something had moved. A pallid figure almost luminescent in the contrasting darkness. His flight instinct kicked into high gear. His heart barrelled with steady thumps against his ribcage, his breathing quickened and pupils blew wide with alertness, and yet, he blinked when he realised his company was not a ghost but just a girl. His mouth twisted with a relieved grin, sloppily composed but genuinely warm. “I guess this is why they always say the imagination is a powerful tool,” he laughed, easing the once taut draw of his shoulders with a roll that slouched them back. “Or, you know, why eye-witness accounts always have to be taken with a grain of salt when presented in court. Expectation colors perception. I was thinking of ghosts, and for a second, that’s what you were. Funny thing, don’t you think? How the mind can play tricks.”

Alex blinked at the stranger’s warm and enthusiastic greeting, though she smiled slightly, if awkwardly, at the fact that she’d startled him. “Sorry,” she said, moving closer to the pool with something like grace tempered with caution. That he’d thought she was a ghost was kind of a funny thing - once in college, some poet she used to hang out with had called her “wraithlike” on account of her coloring, her long limbs, and her large eyes combined with her penchant for swathing them in dark makeup. “I’m not a ghost, though,” she told him, tugging at the towel tied around her waist. She was unused to encountering people at the pool at this time - which was why she preferred it. She felt awkward being near-naked around strangers; a rare attitude for someone who’d grown up in Southern California, but there was nothing for it. Despite her initial awkwardness, she’d been exposed enough to socially adept people like her siblings and Adam to know that now was the time for introductions. She moved closer to the stranger.

“I’m Alexandria,” she said, extending a pale, long-fingered hand to him.

"Philip." His larger grasp encompassed hers with a firm lock and then shook it vigorously, the standard greeting carried out with enthusiasm but a sort of haphazard inattention that had him soon slipping off after the hearty motion and taking a few steps toward the pool side. His feet padded along before he turned sharply on his heels to look back at her with a playful grin, any residual apprehension for her company long gone the second he'd realized that this pale wisp of a girl was more solid than specter. After all, most ghosts did not go around with towels slung around their hips, and she certainly did not look reminiscent of an unearthly being now, despite the paleness of her complexion. But such things were always more apparent in retrospect.

"So you came out here for an evening swim?" He made the most obvious supposition given her attire and location. Dropping down to bended knees, Philip perched at the edge of the pool, dipping one hand beyond the glassy surface to test the temperature of the water. "It is a nice night for it. The weather's clear and the air isn't too chilly." His fingers lifted and with a shake droplets scattered to shed the excess liquid that clung to his skin, leaving only the faint sheen of wetness to gleam in the dim glow of the building lights. He had intended to make some inconsequential observation about the inevitable briskness of one's first plunge regardless of the most ideal conditions, but that thought was halted as he caught sight of something floating just one arm-stretch away from his reach.

The sheer disparity between what it was and what made sense to be in a pool had made its identity temporarily inscrutable. Yet, this lasted only a second as his brain pieced together other fragments of his perception: straight edges, even stitching, dark brown faded with a worn down crease. He had stolen his fair share of these to not know what it was before long. "Say it looks like someone lost their wallet. We should grab that skimmer over there and see if we can fish it out." Philip made a quick gesture to a long handled net that had been left out by some careless cleaning attendant last present to take care of the facilities.

For a moment, Alexandria was left with her mouth hanging a bit open, not sure how their conversation had spun where it had. She’d still been deciding whether or not she thought his presence was an intrusion or not when Philip found whatever it was in the water, and she’d already been leaning over to see better when he pointed out the skimmer. Agreeably enough, she went to retrieve it, as eager as he seemed to be to get a closer look. With a tug at her towel to tighten it, she dipped the net into the water and swished it through, sending ripples out around it - but the ripples were interrupted by a larger mass. The wallet forgotten, she leaned over farther, reaching out with the long pole to poke at it. “What is this?” she asked, trying haphazardly to steer the mass closer to them so they could inspect it. Unfortunately, the pole was long, and it was clumsy, inexact work to begin with. “I can’t... quite... get it...” Her toes curled over the edge of the pool.

He spared a curious glance toward the dark and shapeless form drifting in sharp contrast against the clarity of the pool water. It floated there, conforming to every curving crest of waves cast in its direction by Alexandria's attempts to retrieve it, but the object existed as though in constant state of flux, shifting and insubstantial. Only further puzzled by what it might be, Philip continued to watch in silent captivation. It wasn't until he could clearly discern the billowing length of a sleeve that he made an attempt to answer. "It looks like a jacket maybe, or a shirt. I think you can almost make it out if you angle your head. It's too twisted up to really be able to tell for sure," Philip tilted his in response to his own recommendation, narrowing his muted green eyes. His fingers skimmed the surface of the water as he leaned forward almost tipping over the pool's edge. His expression flickered with surprise upon discovering that the wallet had been swept into range by the current, bumping gently against the wall of smooth tile. He picked up the discarded item, droplets slipping in swift rivulets down its edges to darken the surrounding pavement. The deep brown leather nevertheless seemed to bare even darker splotches at its edges as he opened it up, and lay it across the ground to dry. He paid little head to the driver's license inside, somehow distracted by the faint rust-red sheen staining the tips of his fingers. His brain jolted with a new set of questions, regarding what it was and where it came from, but he derived those details almost too quickly. The mottled appearance of the leather hadn't been due to water damage, but some other source, the fabric dribbling discoloured liquid when he gave it an experimental squeeze.

"I don't really know why anyone would throw their things in the water." His thoughts danced around with things Philip preferred not to entertain, and so he gave no voice to them. He spoke without really thinking, his tongue falling into auto-drive as it often did where he filled the air with idle chatter while his mind mulled over other topics. "I knew some kids who used to like to get drunk and go skinny dipping, but even they managed to toss their stuff outside of the pool." With such mysterious circumstances, Philip compelled to investigate further, and he stood back up, circling the perimeter of the pool to attain a better view of the area. There at the far end, Philip noticed now what the shadows had once shielded. Streaks of crimson, diluted in parts by puddles of water, drew a trail behind a row of poolside chairs.

"Alexandria," he called suddenly to his companion, though he never looked to see if she had discarded the skimmer when he had first gone off on his impulsive reconnaissance. He could not look away from this strange red path. "I don't think whatever happened here was drunken skinny dipping."

Alexandria was not so prone to chatter under the best of circumstances - under these, she seemed as much crypt as girl. A shift of the light showed a dark cloud in the pool, and revealed the red that Philip was following. She prided herself on not scaring easily, but each new discovery about the scene made her feel more uneasy. As much as she wanted to, the feeling wasn’t easily dismissed, and she found herself drifting toward her new neighbor without quite realizing it.

“It doesn’t look good, that’s for sure,” she said just loudly enough for him to hear, now holding the skimmer only slightly awkwardly in front of her like a weapon. Belongings tossed into the pool, a wet trail of red - logic dictated that if there was any danger, it probably had fled the scene once they’d arrived, but she wasn’t inclined to take any chances. As she caught up to him, following into the shadows, she veered a bit to the left to cover more ground, the red trail making itself broader and ambiguous. The sun was setting, the light was rapidly diminishing, and her heart was pumping too fast as they delved deeper. Then, her foot hit something, nearly tripping her, and she let out a little gasp that was just shy of a squeak. A sharp, guttural sound came from the ground and Alexandria jumped back, knocking into Philip and swinging the skimmer at the shadows.

The plastic pole hissed as it was scraped across the pavement. Philip, however, stood his ground despite the jarring smack of Alexandria's shoulders against his chest. He was staring down at the strange distorted clump that had been concealed by the poolside chairs, and somewhere in the back of his mind, he understood perfectly what he was looking at. That part of him had perhaps always known since the first glance of that glaring red stain smeared across the ground, and yet, the rest of him remained in denial, blotting out even the throaty, scraping noise that broke the silence. His foot slipped out experimentally, nudging the mass with the heel of his sandal, and with that minimal effort, whatever had once been hidden out there rolled over and slumped spread-eagle.

There was no pretending anymore. Hands and feet could be made out, limbs arranged around the torso in a discernible sprawl, a face still glossy from water was turned up toward the stretch of darkening skies. He looked dead. He had to be. Philip's first thought was that his past had caught up with him, but then he realised the man looked vaguely familiar - not a resident but perhaps someone who had worked in the building - and there were strange markings carved down the center of his chest that had caused blood to seep into the surrounding fabric of a white shirt. His mind edged into a peculiar state of floaty disconnect where his senses prickled him unpleasantly with hyper-awareness but nothing taken in by his perceptions felt remotely real. Instinct pushed him back, the electric thrum of danger coursing through his veins with every pulsing beat of his heart, and his eyes darted around the vicinity, seeking out any movement in the distant corners, any sign that they were not alone.

And then suddenly from the corner of his eye, he saw the body move and heard a rasping moan. Thoughts of ghosts and eerie creatures of the night, all the mysterious of the dark and unknown flew back into Philips head. This time he was the one who jumped, two long strides that propelled him first off the back of one of the pool chairs, which toppled from his weight as he pushed free of its tenuous support, and then over the surrounding wrought-iron fence. Even behind this additional barrier, he sought the cloak of deeper shadows until he was more a nearby voice than a real company for Alexandria, his words echoing behind him as he took cover. "It isn't dead. Kill it. Double-tap. Double-tap!"

As Philip was fleeing, possibly for his life, Alexandria was overtaken with two sickening images - the first of the ritual that had (nearly) killed this man, though she could see no faces, only hands cutting and opening distinct shapes into his skin - and then a flash of him breaking free of the grasps that tried to confine him. She’d covered her mouth, sickened by what she’d seen, the skimmer now only loosely held in her hand. Philip’s voice pulled her out of her dark reverie, though it took her a moment to realize that he was halfway across the courtyard. Alexandria’s face scrunched into a mask of appalled indignation, her mouth wide open in a gasp of surprise. “What?!” she said, having stepped back significantly herself. “Are you kidding me?” While she didn’t have a lot of experience with bloody corpses or ritual murders, she was taken aback by how quickly she’d been abandoned, even if they were just basically strangers. “It’s not an it,” she said, then pursed her lips at the irony of the statement. “That is to say, it’s a he. He’s a he. This person is a male person, and should be referred to as he.”

The awfulness of the situation was causing her to be uncharacteristically and nervously chatty, but she wasn’t able to stop herself; it seemed like the only way to block out the gruesome images repeating in her head. She closed her eyes for a second, taking a breath and gathering herself. Once she’d calmed the wild pounding of her heart, she opened her eyes to say, “He’s in no condition to hurt us, Philip. We need to get help. Do you have your phone on you?”

Philip shook his head, and then realised that it was likely Alex could not see him where he stood in the more obscure safety of dark corners. "No, I haven't - " He stopped himself, not really wanting to explain why he didn't have one. The only cell phones he'd had tended to be pay-as-you-go and he'd discarded the last one when it had run out of credit. But even with his inclination toward a more garrulous nature, he was not foolish enough to share such a detail. "It's not on me. But I could find a phone and make the call." It only distantly dawned on him after Alexandria's pointed distinction between “it” and “he” that this person they'd found might still be alive, and that they could actually do something to help. He glanced in the direction of where he knew the man (not some gruesome figure of the undead as his brain had foolishly concluded at first) lay wounded.

It was a foreign concept, contacting the authorities, particularly on the behalf of a stranger toward whom he'd felt no real attachment, and it had not been among his original priorities in reaction to their discovery. His past was riddled with situations for which it had been necessary to directly avoid any interaction with the police. A body had not immediately dictated a difference in this ingrained course of action. He'd seen his fair share of those as well, some even belonging to colleagues. Perhaps even, one he might have called friend. But people always came and went, often disappearing completely from life into that sphere of non-existence that rendered them the equivalent of dead. He'd learned the only thing that really mattered was that he continued on, always forward and never back, one minute to the next. That was all life was, these slivers of seconds, and he poured little investment into anything more than that.

His fingers brushed the cool metal of the iron bars, resting briefly there as he leaned forward to look at the girl he'd met only a few minutes before. His instincts still blared. He had to go. He had to leave this place. Danger contaminated the air so thickly that he almost convinced himself that he could smell it if not for the over-powering stench of chlorine from the pool. "You know how in horror movies, the bad guy is always impossible to kill and super strong? Whoever, whatever, did this could still be around, and let’s just say when it came to physical altercations in high school, the other guy wasn’t the one walking away with a bloody nose. I'm not sticking around. I don't think you should either."

As soon as Philip had finished speaking, the prone man spat out a gurgle. Ignoring Philip for the moment, Alex shuddered and crouched down next to the unfortunate stranger and felt for a pulse at his wrist, and shuddered again when she felt nothing. “I think -- I think he’s dead,” she whispered. It was in that moment that Philip’s words began to sink in, and she rose up unsteadily, nearly stumbling back from the body. “I -- you’re right. You’re right. I’m -- my friend’s an EMT -- I think there’s a police officer living in the building. I --” she felt sick to her stomach, and she wiped her fingers off on her towel. Part of her wanted to slump against the iron fence, or to vomit into a corner, but either of those things would leave her vulnerable if the perpetrator of this horror was still around. Absently, she searched for the opening in the fence, noting with horror that there was blood on her feet now, and on the hem of her towel from where she’d crouched down next to the victim.

“Shit,” she said, her hands clenching to fists. “Shit.” She felt light-headed, overwhelmed. Adam. She should talk to Adam. Adam. “Shit!” she cried, her voice resonating through the courtyard. “I -- I’ll call someone,” she said, gathering her calm. “I’ll -- I’ll do something.” But she was alone now, and no answer came to break the stillness that closed in upon her. The silence was a merciless companion alongside the enveloping darkness of the night, the passing minutes having siphoned away the final strands of setting sun’s linger haze of gold. Philip, wherever he had escaped to, was long gone, no sign of him remaining even in the soft rustle of movement as feet padded across blades of grass.