Questions upon questions. Layers of deception, time after time. What is real, and what is illusion – if not consciousness itself?

[King Crimson \\ Epitaph]

C 1.7

They were sitting in The Shadows, which turned out to be Frank’s favorite place to grab dinner, looking at the fog roll in; Callahan watched Alcatraz disappear inside the gray mist as the evening turned blue and lights sprinkled like fireflies danced along the hills above Berkeley. Frank had gone to make a call and suddenly alone, Callahan felt lost inside blue mists of his own.

Who were her parents? And who was Peter Weyland? Besides a psychiatrist who could, apparently, summon the nurses of a psychiatric ward almost at will and deploy them in the care of a woman half his age. And as far as Callahan could tell, at least so far, Weyland had no obvious romantic interest in Devlin at all. So, what was it? What compelled the man to look after the girl?

But…was he really looking after her?

Hadn’t Sanderson, the nurse, as much as implied that Haldol, a powerful anti-psychotic medication, was being used to control Devlin? That Devlin didn’t really suffer from hallucinations? That she wasn’t schizophrenic?

And then she’d said this black creature, whatever it was, was trying to protect Devlin?

Bullitt returned to their table and sat heavily, leaning back and rubbing the bridge of his nose just as their waitress arrived with two steins of Paulaner Weissbier, thin slices of orange floating above cold, thin heads. Bullitt nodded and then just looked at the various reflections cast within the amber liquid…

“Harry…it just doesn’t make sense. None of it. Sanderson implied she’d seen this thing. Two people from the yacht club saw the same damn animal, too. And all four from this morning’s incident described the same goddamn thing. An eight foot tall Creature from the Black Lagoon covered in Pennzoil, its eyes dripping with malice. And then this Sanderson says the fucker is protecting Miss Weyland, who really isn’t a Weyland at all.”

“When none of your assumptions make sense, it’s time to go back and question your assumptions.”

Bullitt shook his head. “In this business, Harry, assumptions are toxic. What we need is a cold, hard fact. Like who is this Weyland character…really? And who is Devlin Aubuchon? And we need a timeline, from the time she left the yacht club up to this morning. We need to know exactly where she was at all times. We need to know where this shrink was. We need to know who he gets from his ward to come and work at that house, and their schedules. I want to know who pays them; hell, I want to know how much they get paid, not just by who. I want to know which one of those nurses has been working the last week or so…” Bullitt sighed, his mind drifting again. “Ya know, at all three sightings of this Pennzoil monster…” Bullitt drifted off again, then he shook himself back to the moment: “…during each three, Weyland wasn’t around, was he?”

Callahan nodded. “Yeah?”

“So…maybe Weyland is ducking out of sight and putting on some kind of wetsuit…”

“Frank, are you saying you think Weyland has some kind of electric lance that can vaporize people?”

Bullitt picked up his stein and gulped down the beer – drinking the half liter in one long pull – before he looked over the rim of the stein at Callahan: “Until we can prove he doesn’t, we have to consider the possibility. But possibilities aren’t facts, either. Or are they, Harry?”

“What’s that supposed to mean, Frank?”

Bullitt shrugged, looked at a gray ship heading towards the Golden Gate, a Navy hospital ship slipping noiselessly through the fog between Yerba Buena Island and the Embarcadero, probably on her way back to Vietnam to pick up more broken lives. “Did you know the piano player?” Bullitt asked, suddenly changing course.

“Furman? No, never heard him play.”

“You ever hear anything about him – at all?”

“No. But then again, I don’t spend a lot of time in those places.”

Bullitt nodded. “We have to dig around some, find out if there’s a link between Furman and Devlin.”

“What are you thinking?”

“Well, think about it, Harry. Sanderson said she thinks this thing, this Pennzoil Monster, is trying to protect Devlin. Okay, protect her…from what? And why is this thing involved – if the doc is supposed to be her guardian?”

“Well, what if he’s not…?”

“Not what? Protecting her?”

“Yeah. Then what do we do?”

“Not much we can do unless he’s holding her against her will, but we’d have a helluva time proving that if she’s even only slightly off her rocker…”

“There wasn’t anything wrong with her when we were out on his boat…”

“Which means what, Harry?”

“That the meds he uses to keep her knocked out had flushed out of her system. Which means he let them…”

Frank nodded. “Makes sense. So, let’s proceed on the assumption that Weyland is a bad actor. Where does that lead us?”

Harry shook his head. “I’m not sure that matters, Frank.”

“Okay – tell me…what does matter?”

“That thing. The thing you call the Pennzoil Monster. Which can’t be a monster. You know it and I know it, too. As silly as it sounded at first, Frank, I think you’re onto something. What if that creature is really just someone in a wetsuit wearing some kind of costume…”

“With a lance that vaporizes people? Harry…”

“Why not?”

“Okay, so we ask around, see if it’s even possible to build that kind of thing – but that leads to the next fork in the road.”

“Which is?” Callahan asked.

“What if it’s not possible, Harry? And what if we can’t find a wetsuit or costume?”

Callahan shrugged. “Then that means there’s an eight foot tall creature out there in the bay utilizing very advanced weaponry.”

Bullitt sighed as he shook off the possibility. “No…something doesn’t feel right, Harry. We’re missing something basic.”

“You ever done any Scuba diving?”

Bullitt Looked at Callahan then slowly shook his head. “No, and I don’t want to learn, either.”

“You can swim, can’t you? I mean, you passed the physical agility test to get into the academy, right?”

Bullitt nodded, but Harry could see it was an evasive maneuver designed to stall for time. 

“So,” Harry added, “we need to check and see if our assumptions are provable, right? There’s only one way we can do that, Frank. We have to go down there and take a look around for evidence of this…thing…”

“You know how to dive?”

“A little. I’m not certified, but I know the basics.”

Bullitt looked out at the black water and a shiver ran up his spine. “So? How do we do that?”

“Get an instructor, take a few lessons and then have him take us out…to take a look around.”

Still staring at the water, Bullitt sighed and his head lowered fractionally. “So cold,” he whispered. “So cold out there…”

Now Bullitt’s face was old and gray, almost sickly, and Callahan was suddenly concerned for his friend. “You okay, Frank?”

But Bullitt looked up at Callahan again, slowly shaking his head as he did. “No, Harry. Something is very, very wrong. I’m telling you…we’ve missed something…”

+++++

The nurse ran from Devlin’s room, calling out for Dr. Weyland as she stumbled and reached out for a wall to stop her fall.

Weyland came out of his study with a little black bag in hand.

“Come quick,” the nurse shrieked hysterically. “It’s happening again!”

Weyland sprinted past the confounded woman – wondering why it was so hard to administer a shot…

But when he entered Devlin’s room he shuddered to a stop, and with his mouth hanging open he suddenly understood what the trouble was…

…because as he looked at her, Devlin was slowly fading in and out of view…

…and then he realized she was inside a shimmering sphere, translucent – yet vaguely blue…

…and suddenly he felt an icy cold mist flooding into her room, and the mist smelled of the sea, the deep sea…

And when he reached out for her the sphere reacted violently and the next thing he knew he had flown across the room and slammed into a wall…

…and when he came to, Weyland knew that Devlin was gone.

And soon, even the memory of her would be gone, so he grabbed a notepad and started writing.

+++++

Down there in the mist in a place few know, an Old Man pushes aside the curtains of time and watches as the girl disappears. He watches and then looks down because he knows he has been betrayed.

But it is too soon to be angry, and there is still time to set things right.

He feels it then. That presence. He looks around and through the mist, not sure what to expect this time, but he knows it is out there, waiting.

+++++

A tall, slim man wearing a ragged old hoodie watches the Old Man from the shadows, and he is smiling at the frustration he sees.

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[Foo Fighters \\ Come Alive]