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Don Eppes had a secret, something that he’s kept to himself for most of his life.
Blood dripped down the walls, pooling at the white tiles beneath.
Screams of pain follow his every waking moment, clawing at his mind to please save us.
Twisted and mangled forms crawl into his peripheral, grunting and groaning with the grace of a stumbling drunk.
Crying…so much crying…none of them ever stopped.
Not since that night.
A secret that he never shares, mostly because he knows no one will believe him.
Scratching on the windows, as if something’s trying to get in.
Pale ghostly hands emerge from underneath his bed, clawing their way out to get him.
Eerie whispers that stretch long into the night, telling him things that no mortal should ever know.
The cold, biting chill that creeps into his bones whenever he walks out of his home.
He’s never felt warm in his entire life.
“The supernatural doesn’t exist?” he snorts out in the comfort of his own apartment, another bottle falling victim to his mind. His little brother’s voice rang clear in his mind despite the haze of the alcohol. “You’re so lucky you can think that.” We’re here… a scratchy voice called out from the darkness.
We’rehereWe’rehereWe’rehereWe’rehereWe’rehereWe’rehereWe’rehereWe’rehereWe’rehereWe’rehereWe’rehereWe’rehereWe’rehereWe’rehereWe’rehereWe’rehereWe’rehereWe’rehereWe’rehereWe’rehere
We’rehereWe’rehereWe’rehereWe’rehereWe’rehereWe’rehereWe’rehereWe’rehereWe’rehereWe’rehereWe’rehereWe’rehereWe’rehereWe’rehereWe’rehereWe’rehereWe’rehereWe’rehereWe’rehereWe’rehereWe’rehereWe’rehereWe’rehereWe’rehereWe’rehereWe’rehereWe’rehereWe’rehereWe’rehereWe’rehere
We’rehereWe’rehereWe’rehereWe’rehereWe’rehereWe’rehereWe’rehereWe’rehereWe’rehereWe’rehere
His ears rang as the screams grew louder, dropping the bottle in favour of curling up on his couch, willing the world to go away for just one second. He grits his teeth, pressing the palms of his hands to his skull as the pounding in his head grows louder with the voices. “God, not again…” he whimpered as everything grew in intensity. He could feel cold hands reach out to him, some even managed to grab his wrist or ankle. Looks like tonight was going to be rough. While his hands were still pressed to his head, he shakily got up. Ignoring the scratching on the floors, walls, ceiling, everywhere—
IgnoreIgnoreIgnoreIgnoreIgnoreIgnoreIgnoreIgnoreIgnoreIgnoreIgnoreIgnoreIgnoreIgnoreIgnoreIgnoreIgnoreIgnoreIgnoreIgnoreIgnoreIgnoreIgnoreIgnoreIgnoreIgnoreIgnoreIgnoreIgnoreIgnoreIgnoreIgnoreIgnoreIgnoreIgnoreIgnoreIgnoreIgnoreIgnoreIgnoreIgnoreIgnoreIgnoreIgnoreIgnoreIgnoreIgnore
His own internal screaming managed to shove all the other screams out, allowing him to do a mad dash across his own apartment. Running away from the claws that threatened to rip him apart, from the foreign memories that threatened to sink into his soul. From the screams of voices long gone begging for help. Without even thinking, he threw open his bedroom door and slammed it shut, sealing the voices behind him. He felt them pounding at his door, desperate to get in. He heard their growls and wails, meant either to scare him or gain sympathy. He could feel the scratching, a constant clawing at the door as if they were trying to dig their way through. Letting out a shaky breath, he dropped to the ground, exhaustion seeping into his very being as relief flooded his senses, even for just a moment. His bedroom was one of the few places that had been enforced to protect him from these things when the nights get rough. Although, they could never hide what was always there. They have all night and even all of eternity to chase after him. He didn't even have one hour.He weakly leaned his head back against the door, feeling the slight tremble and thud underneath it as they tried to force their way in. They never could, but it didn’t make everything less harrowing. His eyes gazed upwards, wishing that he was back at home at the Craftsman. The warmth that was somehow innately built inside, keeping all the nightly visions from rushing towards him. The only safe space in his life. Don’t be silly, the supernatural doesn’t exist. Psychics don’t exist Charlie’s voice rang in his mind once more. Don snorted despite the increased pounding behind his door. “Bullshit” he muttered, turning instead to look at his bed. She was still there, staring at him constantly with empty eye sockets. Blood trickled down from her eyes, the red clashing with the wriggling white maggots that were her constant companion. Long clawed fingers, chipped and broken from years of neglect and decay, one or two even hanging by flayed skin, revealing the blackened meat underneath. Her body twisted and broken, shoulders moved far back, cracking with each movement. Bony, her movements were like that of a spider’s, crawling, one limb before the other, sending a shiver down his spine. With the first stretch, Don could hear the audible snap of bones. She gave him an eerie smile, one that stretched from ear to ear, more blood pouring from her mouth and onto the floors along with dust and blackened water from wherever she was buried. Congealed blood stuck to decaying teeth, glinting like gemstones under the moonlight as she made her way towards him. Each step of her wiry limb made a small scraping sound, audible over the screams of agony from the door behind him. It sounded like a light item being dragged over wood floors, not like a bony monstrosity that was coming towards him with the slow grace of a predator when they know their prey is doomed. She was the reason why he preferred to brave the outside rather than hole up in his room for the rest of his life, only waiting until it was a particularly horrifying night before he locked himself inside.His room might’ve been warded, but he was never safe. Don closed his eyes as he buried his face in his knees, trying to block his eyes from the horrors around him. The smell of death and decay drew closer with each passing second, surrounding him as if the reaper himself was coming in to take his soul. With the way Don lived, he was surprised it hadn’t happened sooner. He grit his teeth at the sour smell of blood along with the rolling nauseating smell of the dying. Sharp and pungent, it attacked his senses, causing him to cough as he tried to hide. Veilkeeper a raspy voice whispered out to him, creaky and scratchy from misuse.
I wish that Charlie’s words were true.
Veilkeeper now more voices called out, all from beyond his door. Their scratching and clawing always going up in intensity the later the night went on.
For once, I want Charlie to be right.
He could hear the scrape of bones scuttling over his floors, each sound getting closer.
Please, let me detach myself from reality, if only to preserve what semblance of sanity I have left.
From beyond the darkness of his hands, he could see one clawed finger reach out tentatively, as if afraid that touching Don would burn it.It doesn’t happen often, but it happened enough times for them to be weary. You can’t run from fate… she whispered, her claws scraping on his leg before getting hold of his ankle, her grip tight for a pile of bones. Don felt his heart rise to his throat at that, bracing for the possibility of her yanking him into the hellhole that she crawled from. He felt her tower over him, her breath smelt like death and smoke, acrid and sour. He felt the sharp scrape of teeth over his arm as he pressed even tighter to the door, wishing for the world to melt away. The supernatural does exist, Charlie , he thought hysterically as he looked up. He locked eyes with her, her hollowed cheeks and empty eye sockets with blood pouring out of them, thick and clumpy due to age. Rotten flesh stuck to her face haphazardly, peeling and raw, the only sign of life from her being the maggots that buried their way under her skin. Veilkeeper she whispered, her nails running gently over the side of his face as he tried not to puke.
They haunt me every day.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“Hot date or rough night?” Megan asked him as he stepped into the office. Don resisted the urge to roll his eyes at that. He knew he looked like hell on legs.
“If a hot date ever leaves you looking like me, you might have the entire team on their doorstep ready to kick someone to the ground” he grumbled, gripping his cup like it’s his last lifeline.
“And if
I’m
the one that leaves them like that?”
Don raised an eyebrow at that. “Then kindly please stay ten feet away from me at all times” he replied mildly, causing Megan to grin.
“I don’t think you’ll need to worry about me messing you up considering the fact that you’re doing a good job messing yourself up” she said, this time with a hint of worry in her tone. Don tried not to flinch at that.
“I’m
fine
Megan” he sighed, taking a sip of his coffee. “It’s just the usual, you know?”
“You usually look like you’ve been chewed by hellhounds and then dragged through the underworld?”
He could feel his eye twitch at that. “Okay, fair. I don’t usually look
this
bad, but then again, we’ve been swimming in cases for the past few days.”
“All three of us are working the same cases as you but we don’t look that bad.”
“You might have forgotten that
I’m
the leader here. More responsibilities, remember?”
“Don, you could be drowning in responsibilities and you’d still look fresher than you do now” she said, giving him the critical eye. Don gripped his cup tighter, trying to seem nonchalant. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing’s going on, Megan” he replied coolly.
Just the usual screams of the dead coming to haunt me wherever I go
.
Before Megan could open her mouth to refute, Colby and David walked in. The instant Colby saw him, he stared in shock at his tired expression. David however just looked over at him in concern before sitting down at his desk. “Is today one of those days?” he asked.
“Yeah” he grumbled, rubbing his face in exhaustion. “I completely forgot about it.”
David nodded sympathetically, handing him another cup of coffee. “Can you please warn me if you decide to pass out at some point?”
“No promises.”
“Wait, wait, wait…” Megan held her hand out as if she was trying to
physically
stop the conversation. “You’re telling me this has happened to Don before?”
Don threw her the stink eye. Everyone remains unaffected.
David nodded. "It used to happen a lot back when I first joined, although it hasn't happened again since you and Colby got in" he said at a clear effort to placate her. But, at her questioning glare, David decided to continue much to Don's chagrin. "Not sure why, but at specific dates, Don's sleep quality gets worse. Whether it's due to nightmares or something else, I don't know. All I do know is that he ends up coming into the office looking like…that" David pointed his chin towards him, causing Don to scowl.
“Really? Is there a reason for that?” Colby asked, turning towards Don.
He shrugged. “No clue. But it has happened enough times for me to take note.”
Biggest lie of the damn century, Eppes
his mind helpfully supplied.
“Is there a way to offset this?” Now it was Megan’s turn to ask as she looked him over. Probably to judge whether or not he was actually okay for action.
“The only way I know that works? Sleep at Charlie’s.” For reasons beyond Don’s understanding, the Craftsman had always been a safe haven for him. It was half of the reason why it took Don too long to realize that he wasn’t
entirely
normal. Whether it was the happy memories embedded into the wood, the warmth that seeped from each corner, or the literal ball of light that liked to make itself known on occasion, no ghost or demon even
dared
to step foot inside. Sure Don could still see glimpses of pale faces, but none have ever manifested nearby.
He’s always felt safe there.
“And you didn’t do it because…?”
“I forgot,” he replied, rolling his eyes at Megan. “Got too caught up in a case and realized that it was too late for me to crash so I decided to go home.”
Worst idea I’ve ever had.
“It’s not the first time I’ve forgotten.”
“If forgetting leaves you looking like this, then we all have a right to be worried” Megan said. “You’re barely getting by as it is.”
“Shut up.”
“Why don’t you share those dates with us?” Colby asked. “That way, we can remind you whenever it happens to be that day.”
“For once, Colby’s got a point” David said, grinning at the outraged
hey
that came with it.
Don shook his head. “I appreciate the worry guys, but I’m
fine
.” Don knew he couldn’t give them the dates, not unless he wanted them to be suspicious. And the fact that all of the dates where he’s restless falls onto days that have spiritual ties to them will definitely ring some alarm bells. His team are all highly intelligent, it wouldn’t take long for them to realize that something was up.
And Don doesn’t want to deal with the fallout when that happens.
But before anyone could say anything more, Merrick strolls up to them, throwing a case file on Don’s desk. “Give any casework you haven’t finished to other teams” he says gruffly. “This takes priority.”
Everyone’s ears perked up in interest. “Why’s that?” Colby asked as he got up to take a look, the rest following suit.
“The case…it’s a little rough.”
Don opened it up and then proceeded to cringe from how gruesome it was.
“Oh god” Megan muttered, horrified.
“Holy shit” Colby swore.
“Good lord…” David muttered, looking slightly green.
The victim no longer resembles any human body that they knew. Limbs were elongated and twisted, broken and mangled beyond recognition. Bones poking out of skin, blood drying around them. Torso pulled like they had been drawn and quartered, ribs visible through thin skin. Flesh had clearly decomposed, scraggly bits of hanging meat like the toes and fingers have turned black despite the blood still seeping through their wounds while other parts have started to liquify. The most horrifying thing however, was their face.
Eyes opened wide, crystal clear and still preserved despite the rest of the body. Mouth open so wide, it was clear that their jaw was ripped open to form their final scream of agony.
Fear and pain
.
It didn’t take a psychic to know that this person died in agony.
Don handed the file over to Megan, who was now holding it open for everyone to see. He didn’t want to touch it, afraid that it’ll send him hurtling towards another vision that he wasn’t prepared for. While that part of his ability can be activated by sight or touch, it wasn’t always set in stone. It was always one or the other.
Thank god for small mercies
.
“He was a patient at the nearest psychiatric hospital,” Merrick said. “Went missing two nights ago and wasn’t found until today by construction workers.”
“And why is this our case? Shouldn’t this go to the local detectives?”
Merrick’s eyes tightened as he brought out more case files, a stack of them to be precise. “We suspect that this is one victim from a long line of serial murders.” Even without taking another file to open it, Don could
feel
the negative energy emanating from that.
If the files about these cases are enough to bring that, then how do the crime scenes actually feel like? How bad were the murders?
“This victim is just one of
three
ways that they can be murdered.”
“You mean to say that there’s more?” Colby asked, astonished. “Because with all due respect, this is already pretty bad.”
“This is about as bad as it can get,” Merrick replied. “The ones who handled this case previously had noted that it seems like people were murdered based on the category they were placed in.”
“Category? What kind of category?” It was Megan’s turn to ask, her eyes gaining that glint that told Don that she was starting to psychoanalyze the crime scene.
“No one’s sure yet, all we know is that there’s three. Judging by all of the victim’s surroundings and the notes and scribbles left by the murderer, it seems that people who gain this death are important.”
That was when Don remembered the placement of the victim. “The altar,” he muttered. “The ones who were mangled, they were all put on an altar, weren’t they? That’s why you said they were considered important.”
“Yes. There seems to be some kind of ritual at play. One that no one has managed to understand.” Don instantly racked his brain, his mind running on overdrive.
While this wasn’t the first ritualistic killing that he’s come across, it was one of few that seems to
actually
work. All the others were usually just cheap imitations, empty vessels that couldn’t carry any lick of spiritual power due to how flawed the knowledge was or how bad the execution was. People always go overboard with the theatrics or the brutality, causing everything to neutralize itself. Spiritual power always had purpose and every move was deliberate. Everything in a ritual always leads to an outcome, whether it was to sew spirits inside bodies so that they don’t escape or burning people alive to purify them of evil witchcraft, every single spiritual ritual had its purpose.
One doesn’t really need in-depth knowledge and years of research. What they need is logic and an understanding of how spirits worked, along with maybe a spell or two. Rituals don’t need to be complex or flashy, they just need to be done right.
And judging by the crime scene, it seems that someone managed to do it right.
“Is there anything else you can tell us?” David asked.
“Well there is one more thing. The room that the victim was left in always had something written in blood on the walls, a label of some sorts. It’s how the previous team managed to figure out about the categories and their relations to the deaths.”
“And?”
“When it came to the mangled bodies, there was always the same word written on the walls.”
“What was it?”
Merrick looked at them all, and Don could feel the earth fall beneath his feet as soon as he uttered the exact words that have been haunting him since the day he awakened his ability.
“
Veilkeeper
.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“
What
?” Don croaked out, his voice raised by a few octaves.
“Veilkeeper…” Megan mumbled, trying the foreign words on her tongue as she looked around, gauging to see if anyone else knew what it was. While it’s clear that they all knew what the individual words mean, almost no one understood what they really meant in context.
Everyone except him.
Thankfully, everyone was too engrossed into the new word to pay attention to his
slight
weakness.
Once again, thank god for small mercies.
“The previous team has been trying to find out what it meant,” Merrick said. “Unfortunately, none of them have been successful.”
Don had to suppress a snort.
No kidding, you’d have to be batshit insane to even go down the route that would lead to the answers.
“What are the other categories?” he asked, hoping and praying that this wasn’t what he thought it was. There were two other specific terms that tend to float around the supernatural space, terms used to divide and describe people who are somewhat out of the ordinary.
“You’d have to ask Special Agent Jericho for that,” Merrick replied. “Him and his team were the ones who handled the case before you. They’re the ones with information.”
“Why us?” Don couldn’t help but ask. If it was already handled by another team, why go to them?
Merrick looked annoyed at that, staring at Don with the sort of begrudging respect that he’s come to know. “Because your team is one of the best that we have. Because you and your team have the type of tenacity that’s needed to push through a tough case like this. The previous team had all given up, haunted by what they’ve seen. But I have a feeling that it won’t be the same with you.”
“I see…” he replied tonelessly.
“Look, I know this case is a rough one and if anyone wants to opt out, feel free. But you and your team are the
best
option we’ve got, with
or
without your mathematician brother.”
Don could feel the start of a headache starting to form. A large part of him wants to reject the case, to throw it away as far as he could and run away. To let some other poor agent stumble around, getting farther away from the truth as humanly possible if only to keep the fragile peace around him safe. To dance around the matter like it was his life’s mission, hiding the ugly truth away from the world who will
never
be ready. Nothing good ever came with dealing with the supernatural, at least for him.
But the other side, the agent side of him itched to protect. To prevent more deaths from happening, to prevent helpless potential victims from falling into a gruesome end. Criminal or not, no one deserved to die like that.
And—to be honest, a
small
part of him was curious as well. An urge buried its way underneath his skin, the itch to jump headfirst into the void only to
finally
see what was lurking inside. To go face to face with horrors unknown just to see if his mind was strong enough to withstand them. To
challenge
the darkness within their domain to
do their worst
and come out on the other side intact, relief and victory clinging to him like a protective blanket, a show of strength at what he’s faced. A shield for any future dangers that might come, knowing that they could no longer harm him after he’s stared into the eyes of the void and lived to tell the tale.
Maybe then, he would
finally
know peace.
You can avoid the truth and guarantee your safety and sanity, or risk losing everything you have —and more— to bring the criminals to justice while scratching that curiosity of yours. Which one would you pick?
His hand twitched as if he was physically trying to reach for the answer. As soon as he laid out all of his cards, it was clear which one he would pick.
“Fine, we’ll take it. But I need someone to call over the agent for a briefing. We need all the information we can get.”
Don Eppes was never known for his self-preservation.
Don could feel apprehension and tension trickling out of everyone’s bodies. One of the unfortunate side effects of being the world’s worst unwilling psychic was that he was capable of feeling people’s emotions. Some call it empathy, others call it aura reading. But whatever it was, it was annoying.
At least
most
of his abilities—sans the seeing ghosts thing—have the decency to be toggleable. If he didn’t focus on doing a specific thing, he wouldn’t really process it. It just becomes background noise to him. But in particular instances where people are collectively feeling similar things or if someone’s emotions were
extremely
loud, then he’d have a problem on his hand.
A problem that usually came in the form of the worst hangover worthy headache known to mankind.
This
time though, his powers decided to try something different.
Don had to grit his teeth to keep the stifling feeling of other people’s emotions out of him. Although, with how prevalent the same worries and anxieties were within the room, it was hard. He could feel those wispy tendrils, slowly caressing his skin like leaves in the gentle breeze. But instead of peace, he could feel the chill, the heaviness that came with such anxieties. Emotions were light and airy, but some of them were sharp. Some of them, like the ones the team are feeling right now, had claws.
And they were itching to rip his chest open and sink into his heart.
“Special Agent Jericho, thank you for meeting us on short notice” Don said as he got up, reaching out to shake the hand of the other leader. The man smiled back as he grabbed Don’s hand, his grip firm and unwavering.
Pity, pride, anger, sadness, awe…
Relief.
“The honour is all mine. It’s just unfortunate that we had to meet under these circumstances” he replied, his brown eyes sweeping the room, taking in the boxes balanced precariously on the desk.
“Well you know how it is” Don shrugged. “You take your introductions where you can.” It wouldn’t be the first time Don made friends over crime scenes. Nor would it be the last.
Jericho let out a small huff of amusement. “I’d love to laugh at that, but unfortunately that hits far too close.”
“Hey, as long as it’s not a bullet, I’ll take it.” Jericho laughed again for a moment before slowly growing serious as his eyes caught the board with the newest victim plastered all over.
“Nasty work, huh…?” he mumbled, reaching out to touch the picture.
“Did anyone ever figured out how it happened?” Megan asked, leaning from her chair to stare at the other man.
Jericho shook his head. “No, we never figured out how
anyone
could be capable of disfiguring someone like this. Not without completely breaking something or leaving traces.”
Don looked over the pictures, mentally cataloguing everything.
A regular person? No. Another psychic? Possibly. A spirit? Most likely…
“How about those catalogues and deaths that Merrick said earlier. What can you tell us about them?” David asked this time, pen and paper in hand.
Jericho shrugged as he walked across the room to make space for the projector behind them with Don slowly making his way to the back of the room, his body leant against the clear walls. He was trying to keep as little contact with those emotional tendrils as possible and it seemed that moving around helped. Those annoying wisps now feel more like wind blowing past his body than concrete claws.
“From what we’ve found, there’s only three” the man said before pressing a button on the clicker. The pictures shown were a cluster of victims with similar deaths, but this time their death was different than the ones that Merrick gave. While all of these victims all have their faces contorted in similar expressions of agony—eyes wide and bulging, blood running down their faces, mouths opened in silent screams—this group of victims have their chests ripped open. And yes,
ripped
was the correct term to use judging by the jagged edges of flesh that were still clinging onto the body. It was already clear from the beginning that this wasn’t a clean job. Ribs, white with clumps of blood congealed on them poked out from their original positions, as if someone large had forced its way out of their chests. Their lungs were missing and the only thing left was their heart, shriveled and blackened like it had been decomposing for weeks.
“The lungs are missing,” Colby pointed out. Jericho nodded.
“Yes. For these group of victims, most of their organs have been taken out. While we don’t know why, all we know is that they’re all done post mortem.”
“And the category names?”
Jericho clicked another button and a picture of a word that was written on the wall in blood popped up.
Fraudseer.
Shit…strike two…
Megan leaned forward in a mixture of fascination and horror. “Fraudseer?”
“Yes. Victims that died of this category all have something in common. They’ve all publicly announced that they had psychic powers.”
Don couldn’t help but twitch at that. False psychics were usually a slightly sore spot for him. And surprisingly, it
wasn’t
because they were swindling money from vulnerable people—well, mostly. What
really
bothered him was their lack of respect for the spiritual world and the inherent dangers of meddling with forces beyond comprehension. In a way, these people spat at the pain and suffering of true psychics—people burdened by their powers. These fraudsters prance around, acting as though communicating with spirits was as simple as chanting into a crystal ball, then reducing people to tears on television by claiming their deceased loved ones had sent a message. They couldn’t see the horrors that lie beyond their reality, so they thought that they could shamelessly and freely deceive themselves and others, crafting a watered-down fantasy to appear impressive.
He
hated
that.
All they wanted was the glamour that came with being extraordinary without any of the suffering that came with it. Don knew that some true psychics—veilkeepers— have gone mad because of what they’ve seen. Hell,
he
almost lost his own mind before he managed to wrangle together what small amounts of sanity he had left and hold onto as if his life depended on it, his
entire
mind now patched up with nothing but duct tape and desperate prayers. Fraudseers have never had to grapple with constantly feeling unsafe, phantoms of people long gone clawing and your feet. They’ll never know what it feels like to never be warm again, the constant chill in your bones and feeling of ice down your spine. They’ll never know what it feels like to be terrorized, constantly losing sleep as you try and keep everything together just until the morning comes, praying that your mind is strong enough to keep fear and death at bay for just
one
more moment.
Demons and ghosts, they all have eternity to wait. All it takes is
one
slip up for him to be dragged into the nearest grave, never to be seen again.
Yes he can be considered extraordinary, but all of that came at a heavy cost. One that he didn’t know he had to pay until it was too late.
“-ning theory is that these people are trying to punish fake psychics?” David’s voice rang out, cutting Don from his reverie.
“Yes. That would help explain these group of victims at least.”
“What about the last group?” he asked, heart slightly pounding. If the last category is what he thinks it is, then he might be in for a world of trouble. “The important ones are Veilkeepers and the fakes are fraudseers, how about the last one?”
“Well…” Jericho hesitated for a moment before pressing the button one last time. As soon as the pictures showed up, Don took in a sharp intake of breath. The suffocating feeling of everyone’s emotions grew higher, pressing up against him. It felt like being stuck in a tight sauna, damp and heavy.
With the previous two groups, the victims all had similar screams of pain and fear on their faces. For this group, they’re not capable of doing that, not anymore at least.
Getting your eyes and mouth sewn shut does make it harder to express yourself.
Don could feel the bile rise up in his throat at the sight, the emotions of every single person in the room going up and down like ocean waves which
definitely
didn’t help with his nausea.
His eyes traced over their blackened bodies. But this time, instead of their flesh turning black due to decomposition, these victims turned black because they were burned alive. The scorch marks that were visibly seen over the makeshift pyre was enough to tell them what their most likely cause of death was. Judging by the slight rip on their lips and eyelids, they were sewn shut while they were alive before they were burned.
The notion made Don feel even sicker.
“Sick bastards…” Colby muttered, his anger was visible through his clenched fists. David looked green, like he was going to throw up. Despite working with Don for quite some time now, it still seems that he wasn’t completely used to seeing bodies found in horrific ways. Megan leaned as far back as she could, her eyes trying to take in as much detail as she could without fully processing the bodies. He couldn’t blame her, he wouldn’t look at them too if he could.
There was nothing there but fear and pain.
“Couldn’t agree more,” Jericho said, his grip on the clicker tight. “These last ones, they’re the ones we’re the most confused about.”
“Why’s that?” Megan asked, her blue eyes shifting to look at the agent now.
“As Agent Eppes said, fraudseers are the fakers and veilkeepers are the opposite. So it’s logical for us to assume that means that veilkeepers are people with ‘actual psychic powers’, right?” The sarcasm in those last few words wasn't lost on Don.
Everyone nods.
“But these people…they don’t fit anywhere. Not even their names make sense.”
“What are they called?” David asked, hand on his chin as he tried to rationalize everything that was currently happening.
“They’re called whisperers,” Jericho said simply.
He felt his heart drop at that.
Strike three…
he thought numbly.
I’m a dead man walking.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Fraudseers, Whisperers, Veilkeepers. Three terms that Don never thought he’d hear outside of the agonized wailing of the dead. While he usually avoids most supernatural things like the plague, it didn’t mean that he was completely clueless. He was an FBI agent after all, finding things out through context clues is his daily job. From what he understands, people are separated into three main categories: Number one were the Fraudseers. As stated in the name, these are people who claim to have spiritual power but don’t have them. People who also claim to have spiritual knowledge or fortune tellers also fall under this category. Spirits tend to dislike this type as well if the hissing of contempt whenever he passed by an ad for fake psychics were any indication. Next were the Whisperers. Judging by the reaction of the spirits around him, they occupied the space in between—those with weak spiritual abilities. They could only catch small glimpses or brief bursts of information from the spirit world. This was the kind of power that fake psychics often tried to copy. In terms of spiritual abilities, whisperers have poorer connections to the spiritual realm, like a busted radio—staticky and constantly breaking up, leaving the message muddled beneath the terrible reception. They were usually too weak to see far beyond the safety of the veil but just strong enough to sense that something was off. Additionally, people with spiritual energy or abilities but lack sight also fall into this category.Lastly, the Veilkeepers. The poor bastards who drew the short end of the stick. Himself included. People with so much spiritual prowess that they had to be handicapped by getting constantly hunted down and showed the worst things mankind has ever seen. Most veilkeepers are either dead or have gotten their way into the nearest mental institution, their visions mistaken for something entirely different. Those who don’t? Well…Don’s never ventured that far down the ladder to find out. “-there’s nothing there that indicates what any of these things mean?” Megan’s voice rang out, pulling Don from his thoughts once more. “No. We can make some educated guesses, but nothing entirely concrete.” Once again, I missed an entire chunk of conversation he thought, slightly annoyed at himself. “Is there anything else that we need to know?” Jericho thought for a moment. “Other than the victims labeled ‘Fraudseers’ being people who claimed to have spiritual knowledge, there are a few other similarities.” “Oh? What’s that?” Colby asked. “Well, some of the ones labeled ‘Whisperers’ were also people who said they were psychic, although it wasn’t all of them.” “Wonder what made them different?” David murmured. Actual psychic powers? Don’s mind unhelpfully supplied. Unfortunately, he couldn’t really come out and say it without sounding like a paranoid conspiracy theorist. “There could be something in their history? Maybe they all went to the same grocery store.” “You really think it’s going to be something innocuous like going to the same grocery store?” Colby huffed out, incredulous. Megan rolled her eyes. “At least it’s better than what you’re suggesting. Oh wait, I forgot, you haven’t .” Before Colby could counteract with his own jab, Megan pressed on. “Do you actually have an idea or are you all quips right now because I at least have a few.” Colby opened his mouth before closing it again, doing a particularly accurate impression of a goldfish. “I- I’m working on it” he answered vaguely. “Figures” Megan’s voice was smug. It was clear to Don that she always liked it whenever she could prove Colby’s doubts about criminal profiling wrong. Even with all these months spent working together, it seems like the former military man still had his hangups. “What do you have, Megan?” he asked, he figured that she should at least share it with the class. Megan sat back now, the posture calm and contemplating. She tapped her finger on the table, her blue eyes fixed towards the screen with the laser focus. “Well first of all, there’s definitely an element of radical belief in them although I think we can all see that.” “Gee…wonder what gave it away?” Colby muttered under his breath. The short and simple thwap from David was enough to tell him to shut up for all of them. Megan rolled her eyes. “I’m not finished yet.” Then she gestured towards the pictures, “I have a feeling that the similarities between everyone has something to do with the existence of psychic powers.” Jericho raised an eyebrow at that as Don’s heart skipped a beat. “What? You saying psychic powers exist?” Don scoffed out, trying to hide the panic that threatened to take over his very being. “I’m saying that to the killer, psychic powers exist. Every single person who was put under the Fraudseer category have been people who claimed that they had psychic powers. But, not all of the victims who were known to be ‘psychics’ were put under this category. There had to be a reason why, something that differentiated them from the rest.”“Is this ‘thing’ something that we can figure out?” David asked, his tone doubtful. But unlike Colby, he still held hope. Megan tapped her finger on her chin now, contemplating. “Maybe it’s something in their history? A shared experience that can point us in the right direction?” “Actually, I might be able to help you out with that one” Jericho spoke up. Everyone’s eyes turned to look at him expectantly. He turned to press the button and another slide popped up, this time a collage of all the victims divided by their categories. “As we’ve established, every single person in the Fraudseer category publicly claims to have psychic powers.” “Could it be that the killer seeks out all of these fake psychics before determining which one goes into where?” Don mused, earning an impressed smile from Jericho telling Don that he was right on the money. “Yeah, we had the same conclusion. It seems to be the most logical answer.” “That doesn’t explain the rest of it though…” “Well…” Jericho, “there’s something else.” Catching the attention of everyone once more, he continued. “There is one overwhelming thing that every single veilkeeper and most whisperers have in common.”“That is?” Colby asked, intrigued.“These people have a history of mental illnesses. The severity of it varies, but that’s one similarity across the whole board.” “Interesting. Do you think that there’s some bias involved?” David spoke up, turning to look towards their resident behaviour analyst. “Could be…” Megan muttered under her breath. “Maybe a close family member was affected that hurt them at some point? Could be a catalyst for this.” Don fought the urge to tell them that they were going down the wrong path. That the answer is possibly much more simpler than they first expect. But he tampers it down, instead coming up with possible ideas on how he’s going to skirt around this situation as best he can. He had a feeling that everything was going to turn messy when he least expected it, so he had to keep his guard up just in case. “Good idea Megan, note that down” he said, his body no longer feeling like his own. This entire case had turned surreal so fast, he wasn’t sure if he could keep up. “I think we should break this up since we’re far behind. Colby and David, you two tackle the recent body. See what kind of information you can get. Megan and I will go to the crime scene, get a feel for what happened.” “You might not need that” a voice said, causing everyone to look towards the door. An agent stood there, looking grim. “We just got a report…”
Oh no…
“A new body was found.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Don
really
didn’t want to get within ten feet of the crime scene. Unfortunately, considering his job, he didn’t have much of a choice.
“I’m already regretting this” he grumbled, following the map that would lead him to it. Without even looking at the scene, he already knew that it was going to be rough. “Why did I think it was a good idea to pick this job?” he lamented, slamming his head against the wheel. Even on a normal case, it was hard to look around. Wailing spirits, clawing shadows, there was no place on earth that didn’t have at least
one
person haunting it. Although, if he was lucky, the spirit of the one murdered would still be lingering around. That usually made all of it worth it.
Usually.
This time though, not even getting the answers to the universe is worth walking into the scene.
“It’s going to be okay” he chanted, taking a deep breath as pulled up to the scene. “Just calm down and don’t panic.” He parked his car and got out, taking some calming breaths before he stepped around the car. As soon as he did though, he stepped back in shock, his eyes instantly drawing towards the building.
It was a warehouse, those dilapidated ones that you find on the side of the road or in the middle of nowhere. It was made of bricks, falling apart in some places and moss growing on others. Some windows were broken while the others have years worth of dust and dirt clinging onto them. Graffiti was visible on the side, telling him that at least some people were aware of its existence. But that building wasn’t what made him pause. No, it was something else.
The building was covered in a black mist.
The fog was thick and fluid, curling and swirling around the building like a snake. It acted more like water than anything else, rolling in the air like waves. Don could see a few tendrils holding onto the ruined walls in a vice grip, never letting go despite the mist’s erratic movement. The fog reached high, swirling into some sort of storm that reached into the heavens, tainting the grey sky with its black aura.
Don could
feel
it, its oppressive nature. Something so foreign and unwanted that the nature around them reacted to it. The grass nearby had wilted, the trees stretched and twisted. The sky around them had grown dark, like it was about to rain. Cold wind breezed through, strange considering that they were in LA. Don could see everyone else zipping up their jackets, burying themselves in their clothing to stave off the cold. Mutters of the weather and worries about possible rainfall could be heard despite the fact that the crime scene was indoors. One couldn’t be certain when it came to these old buildings.
Was this the result of that ritual? What the hell was their purpose?
All questions that he didn’t want to try to answer, but ones he knew he had to.
“Walking into what’s possibly a gate to a hellish dimension for a crime scene? Seems like today’s gonna be great” he grumbled underneath his breath, walking up to his team who were standing a few feet away.
“Is it just me, or does this place give you the creeps?” Colby asked, shoving his hands into his pockets.
“I don’t think it’s just you,” David said. “The entire area is dead.”
“Think there’s some chemical leak?” Megan asked, looking concerned.
“Don’t think so” he said as he finally caught up with them. “Someone would’ve said something. Plus, this doesn’t seem like a place you’d store chemicals. Seems more like a storage mechanical parts.”
“Whatever it is, I don’t like it” Colby muttered. “Remind me why we do this?”
“Well it’s definitely not for the pay” Don snorted, causing everyone to grin. “We probably got Stockholm Syndrome-d at some point in Quantico.”
“Don’t we have to get treated well in order to be Stockholm Syndrome-d?”
“Well it’s either that or admit that all four of us are masochists to some degree. And I don’t think any of us are drunk enough to open
that
can of worms.”
“Fair enough,” David replied, smiling.
“I don’t know. I’d like to see Don open that can, maybe that’ll finally explain the constant trips to the hospital” Megan said, elbowing him. His outraged
hey
getting ignored in favour of amused laughter.
“Alright alright, as fun as it has been, we have a job to do and I don’t think I can bail any of us out if Merrick decided that we’ve finally lost it.”
“Bold of you to assume that you’re not first on the chopping block” David grinned, causing Don to shove him playfully.
“Oh don’t worry, I never forgot. I’m just looking out for other candidates.”
“Afraid of losing our ongoing bet on who's gonna snap first?” Colby said from behind them.
“Nah, more like I’m afraid of proving Dad right. With all the times he’s called me insane over the years, I’m pretty sure he’s just counting the days until that comes true.”
“Don’t worry Don, we’ll try and keep his ‘I told you so’ comments until after you’re out” David reassured, patting Don on the shoulder.
Don snorted before looking forward, looking up towards the ominous swirling storm, his apprehension rising every second. With how things were going on right now, he wouldn’t be surprised if the bet ended sooner rather than later. “Yeah…sounds real assuring” he muttered, all the good humour from the teasing leaving him as soon as he
heard
them.
The screams of the dead.
He froze as he heard their agonized screams, all high pitched wailing and howling as the winds whipped around them. It was hard to hear through everything, their collective voices bringing him back to the lowest and most harrowing moments in his career. But, beyond all those voices, Don could barely make out a few words. Words that, once he realized what they were, caused him to pale instantly:
Ŗ̶̭̰̱̤̟̟͖̫̼̳̦̙̮̯̙́̏̓̈́̔̀̅͛̅̍̈͠ų̶̧̛̛͇̰͈̠͉̻̙͔̲̤͑̈́̇̅̉͘͠n̶͙͓̟̱̼̍͆̓̉̌́͑̋̏͆́̚̚͠,̶̨̢̩̞̲̮̱͉̤̰̬̦̈͑͌͒͗͒̐͘ ̵̼̼̟̬͕͎̖̼͚͉̖̗̭͔͙̹̝͙̀̍̓̉̿̓͘͝l̶̡̛̩̼̰̘̦͖̪̎͑͐̂͋́̉̂͂͐̄̀̽̈́͌̎̕i̶͇̘͇͎̱̬̍t̷̡̨̝̝͉̥̻̳̭̏̎̈̔̿́͆́͘͜͝͠ţ̵̧͖͕̪͍̰̥͎̠̭̝̥̠̈́̓͆̃̊͂͌̀͒͋̓̚̕̕̕͝͝͝͝ļ̶̧̧̯̱̳͍̦͉̪̜̟͍̹̦̘͙̺̅̽̏͑̇̌͘ę̷̧̣̠̯͕̙̦̭͙̩̲͎̭̪͇̋̄̎̏̄̏́̅̑̂͋̀͌͠͠ ̶̨̡̦͉̦̻̟̥̜͙̣͈͙̭̣͎̰͑̽́l̷̡̲͉͕̮̞͙͙̼̭̲̬̣̞̞̤̔̀̐͌͆ͅͅi̶̡͓̦͚̞͗̒̔͑̄́̽̀̾̏͘g̴̨̢̧̮͚̣̮̼̠̮̥̪̞͓̦̹͕̲̮͚̓̒̒̏̾̓̃̈̾̈́̏͆̈̅̎̇̈́̅h̵̥̫̲̰̮̄̎̑̆̑̅͐̀̋͝͝ͅṭ̴̛͑̽̀̕͘,̵̛͖͈͓̥̗̫̞̲̦͊͒͗̒̂̓̈́̈͐͛̍̓̈ ̸͎̯͊͆̎̀̐̐̄̈͒b̵̡̛̜̹̳̱͍͔̯͔̝̟̬͕̯̣͔̈̾̓̈́͒͂͌͘͜͜͠ͅȩ̵̗̣̟̮̼̲̟͖̺̖̼̓͗̂̈́͐̊̇̈́̍͒̂̚͝f̵̥̙͔̖̝̄̀̑̔̎͛͜͝ǫ̶̡̨̠̥̱̬͈̩͖͚̞̩̑͛͐͛͐͑̂͒̎́́͒̇̄̅͜͝͝͝r̸̞̬͈̝͚̝̝͇̔̆̎͂̇̎̽̒̆̓̍̽̐̈́̋͝ę̴̣͓̤̝͇͍̲̳͇͆͆̎́̕̚ ̴̡͙̜͔͓̠̝̣̼̪̬̤̳̠̖͙̿̈̊̒́̂̚̕t̸̨̛̛͎̮̘̖̩͔̞͙̮͍̰̗͍̼͉̣͎̪̑̊͋͊̐̉́́̈́̈́͝ͅh̵̢̳̟̯͔͍̼̠͖̹̥̜̖͚̱̰͓̘̟̆̍͂͋̉̀̍̔͛̈́̄̀͗̈̓͘͠ĕ̷͉̜̒͌̋y̵̧̤̫̹̘̪̹̞͖̮̫̮̣̬̼̻̍̒̽͒͒̒̿͛̉̎͛̿̏̈́͘͝͝ͅ ̸̧̡̙͔̘̥̞̎̆͆̏̑͂͌̓̂͝r̵̯̺̻̩̼̺̝̦͈̘̩̱̲̖̓̂̓͒̄͝͠ę̸̨̼͕͉͕̗͍̞͙̞̹̞̦͖͎̻̔̂͌͆̌̉̀̚͜ȁ̶̢̳͎̲̟̠̃̌͑̔̈͒̒̏͜l̵̨͙̺̰̓̽̆̽̀̈́͛̂̈́̑͆͆͊̀̋̕͝͝ị̸͛̋͋̓̂͊̈́̊̍̎̕ẕ̷̢̡̢̢̰͖̲̺͙̹̫̈ͅé̵̢̨̹̯̳̜̘̟͆̈̂͘͜ͅ ̴̹̗͖̘̰̮̥̓̓̓͝y̷̨̡̢͔͙̱̟̟̦̹̬̤̞̮̬͍̾͋̽͝ǒ̸͙̞̫̱̋̂̉̓ų̴̱̙̹̟͍̖͎̼̟̭̔̓̎͑̒͌̉́́̒̐̀̅͌͊̽̑͝'̴̨̱͇̗̞̟̥͉͆͌͋͂́͆̏͝ṛ̷͓̗̥̮̩̹̰͇͚̗͖͎̞͇̻̲̼̽̎̐̐́̏̅͐͐̅̃̀̉̈́̕̚̕̕͘͘é̶̢̡̢͔̫͈̘̖̗͔̪̿̀̕͝ ̵͇̤̙͎͕̻͎̗̃́̄́͗̾̒̑͆͒̏̕͠ͅh̴̢̧̯̲̳̗̺͚̰͙̲͓̪̆̋̓̃è̸̡̧̧͕͈̜̱̣̭̘͉̩̠̤̳̱͐̀̽͑̈́̑̉̒́͑͐̉̋͊͘ͅͅr̷̜̔̄́̀́͑̉̀͋̈́̍̊͊͂̒̎̐͛͐͋ȅ̵̡̪͚̟̙̱̯̀̿̐.̶̡̢͈̦͚̝̼͚̭͔̪̔̂́̄̈́̀̏̐̉͘͝
“Uh guys…I think I’ll survey the perimeter first” he said shakily, shoving his hands inside his pockets in an effort to keep his cool.
“Don, are you okay?” Megan asked, concerned.
“I’m fine, it’s just that something about this doesn’t sit right with me.”
“Are your instincts acting up?” It was Colby this time who asked.
“Yeah. I’ve just got a really bad feeling about this.”
“Don, you can’t back up now. We need you” David urged.
“I’m not backing out. I’m just saying that you guys go first, I’ll talk to the others before I get to you.”
All three of them gave Don a suspicious look, a look that he knew exactly why they were giving him. “Don, you’re always the first person who wants to see the crime scene, why are you running now? Are you scared?”
YES!
“No! It’s just that-”
CRASH!
All four of them jumped when they heard it, a loud sound like something had fallen. Whatever it was, it was heavy. In that instant, the winds picked up and everyone around them grew more frantic, the air growing more oppressive. “What the hell was that?” he shouted at one of the people who ran out of the building, coughing away the dust that had settled over them
“Something collapsed, we just don’t know what or why.”
“The machinery fell! Someone’s injured!”
“Shit!” Don hissed before yelling out. “Megan, call the paramedics! Colby, I need you to round out the witnesses. This could be an attack from the killer. David, go inside and assess the situation, report back to me when you know what’s happened. I’m going to try and keep everything under control, make sure that nothing else is off and that the crime scene isn’t tampered. Got it?”
“Got it!” they said as they nodded in unison before running off to do their own duties.
Don took a deep breath to calm himself down, but he almost choked at the sheer
anxiety
that was permeating through the air. The winds grew louder, whipping around them and carrying, lifting the tarps and markers that were on the ground. The rattling from the windows grew louder, so loud that Don was afraid that they would fall off. People were actively fighting against the elements, the wind growing so strong that it’s pushing people around. But somehow, beyond all the chaos, Don was able to shout loud enough to issue order after order, coordinating with the other teams on what to do.
He ground his feet and gritted his teeth, fighting against the wind that threatened to push him over. The screams of the dead from the massive storm behind him were drowned out by the blood rushing through his ears, the adrenalin overriding any fear he might have at facing the supernatural.
“I need a team to the right and make sure that the outside is stable. Forensics, I need you guys to conserve the evidence as best you can. The three of you need to keep to the road, guide the paramedics and whatever evac crew they have to us. David, what’s the si-”
But once again, before Don could finish his sentence, everything grew still. The only sounds they heard were the sounds of people and items falling onto the floor as the winds drastically stopped, leaving them with nothing but chilling silence. Looking behind them, Don could see that the black mist had stopped swirling and was instead sitting in the air, like it was waiting for something.
“What the hell?” David hissed as he looked around, looking slightly freaked out. “What was that?”
Don was about to answer, when the leaves on the dead trees rustled as small but freezing cold air blew towards them, carrying the voice from the storm into the wind. Voices that formed into a warning as chilly as the air.
Y̴̧̗͔͓̣̖̥̺̳̙̠̩̫͓̣̏͛̆͗͝ò̸̧̢̮̤̱̻͉̮̭̙̜̟̗̲̼͐̐̓͑̓̔̇̈̓̉̌ͅu̸̡͇̖͍̭̰̗͓̹͙̻͇̪̗̠̰͛͒̀̇͗͗̏̏̂̌̔̈́̋̈́̇͘̚'̷̢̜̦̘͙̣͈̭̂̍̈́̂̀͛̑͒̀̕ͅr̸̨͓̯͍̲̞̀͗̄̊̈́̍͌̾̕e̵̢̢̺͍̣͖̹̝̳̿̽͊͌̇͝ ̷̪̈́̒̄̑̈́̾͊̐̍̊̽͆́̉̚̚͝͝͝t̸̢̢̢̗̭̰̻̩̥̾̔̓̊͛͑͋̒́̽͋͋͌̍̓̂̚͠o̵͙̘̦͆̂͘͝o̴̢̧̧͕͕͖̪̗̥̹̘̘͇̦͂̆͐̓͌͐̑̈́͐̔ ̶̛̺̰̞͎̞̙͉͚̮̰͕̫̜̮͇̫̑̅̑̏͛̈́̑̅͗̏͌̽͠͝͝l̷̝̗̳̬̫͔͕̼̰̐̌̓̏͑̽͐̀̓a̶͇͈͈͖̬̲͕̣̭̟̙̺͊̈́͗̅̈́̈́̏̃͘̚͝ͅẗ̸̨̛͈͔̥̫̠̝̣̟̬̗̜̟̹́̓̋́̀́͛͐̆̃͘͜͜͝ͅͅè̴̛͓̦̤̺̬͋̅͛́̌͌̔̐̇̎̑͒̇̋̏̋
T̶̨͎̦̹̲͔͚̺͓̯̞̖̼̖̏̀̽͂̄̏͌̒̑͗h̶̰̫̱̖̦̗̫̐͒̚͜ͅé̸̛̪̩͚͉̭̗̮̰̀̎̎͂̃̂̍̍́͝ỳ̶̡̡̨̢̼̭̩̮̬̖͚̹̥̟̝͚̄̏͊̒͐̂̃̈́́̈́̂͜ͅͅ ̷͉͓̍̈́k̸̢̟͈̺̜̘̗̱̻̺̳̥̣̱̯̫̭̩̳̈́̒̏͆̀̒͋̏̽̐͆̍̌̕̕ͅn̵̡̺͈͕͈̯̣̣̆̈́̅͌͗̂̓͂́̂́́̓̕͜͝͠͝o̷̖̬̠͕̦̍̅̿w̸̮̟̠̱̤̪͇͖͈͔̖̟̠͊ ̸̛̪͓̙̝͙̞̺͑̃̒̀́͆̑̑̾̈́̍̀̂͋͘͘͜ỳ̸͔̥̤͓͍̱͍̠̮̼̳̑̿̀̽̒́͗̉̓̑̌̂̇̔̏̾̔̚͝ó̷̦̦̟̺͚͈̾̍̌u̴̝̖͛̄̓͌̈́̈́̈́̓̑͐̾͂͗̌̕͝'̷̥̮͕͈̩͙͔̮̤͈̫̪͓͋̀̈́̋̅̐̽͂̈͛̾̃̇̀͛̀̕̚͜r̷̘͈͔̫̹̳̠͈͍̝̭̀̈́̍́̓͒̽̋́̐͊͝͝e̸̛̞̲̭̳̮͕̰̥͍̻͍̐̈̈͆͗̾́͋̍͐̈͌̀̔͂͝ͅ ̴͕̜̠̃̆̓͆̀͛̀͆̊̉̀͝h̶̛̛̖̬̤̘͓̩͓̟̝̠́̋̋̽̓̀̉̆̊͌ë̸̬́͌̕ŗ̶̨͙̹̠͈̱̭͊̃̏̌̿͂͗̂̒̈̓̊͒̂̊͌͘̚e̵̫̹̩͛̄͆̓̔͗̈́̇̽̇̿̉̓̃̚̕͠͝ͅ
Y̸̗͇͉̙̊͋͊̿͌̓̐̾̿̈́̔̂̎̈́̾̈̄́͊͜͝ȯ̸͚̻͉̹̲̖͖͈͗̒̉̇̿̐̌̋̏́̓̉͋́̚̕ȗ̷͇̦͎͇͚̠͔̦͈͕͕r̶̨̯̰̱̭̤̦̥̣̥̼̠̳̓̑̿̓̀͂͋̿̐̊̽͋̿̈́̿͝͠͝ͅ ̵̨̙͔̤̭̓́̿̍̔̃̊̓͑̀͘͘͜ͅf̶̩̞͈̮̦͋̇͌̒̂̑̀͆̈́̕a̶̡̧̲̞̘̯̬̍̌̓͂͝ẗ̴̹̹͙̳̻̲̊̿̉͋̉̄̒̃̽̆ẻ̴͚̱̗̹̼̮̺̦̩̳̻̦̤̹̝̹̲̩͂̃͆̅̈̓͌͂̾͝ ̵̛̜͓̜̣̫̹̠̺̦̥̑̈͂̊̔́̿̽̒̅̊͊͘̕̚͝į̷̗͕̥̗͓͍̞̥͎͖̮̭͇̮͉̩̣̄̐̑̉̾̍̑̓̈̽͘͜ŝ̸̱̗͓̖̠̬̤̘͕͖͙̥̈́̈̔̾̌́̽̍̑̓̐̉̂̚͝͝͝͝ ̶̢̢̘̗͙̤̩̙̬͎͓̞͔̪̥͈̪̀̕ͅͅn̵̨̡̠̮̤͓͈͈̮͉͕̰̻̺̐͆̾͐͊͜o̸̧̡̱̤̫͙͇̥̯͕̖̙̥͎͑̋̐͌̿́̑̇̎̃̚͝w̵̨̡̭̜̭̪̗̝̩͛̊̽̓̈́͊͌̆̈͜͝͝ ̵̡̨̧͈̞̗̦͉̩̐̀̀̒s̸̢̛̩̟̙̀̋̌͐̈é̵̠̘͋̉͌̎̿͑̃͛̓̌̆̍̿͌̈͒͘͝ţ̸̺͈͚̊̐͂̈́̚̚ ̴͚̜̼̯̖̯͕͖̩͇͖͍̲̮̦͇̤͓̬͊͐̈́̅̍͛̇̓͌͐̿͝ͅį̸̼̝͍̞̬̯͍̜͖̬̬͓̱̞͍̥̗̈̎͌́͛͌̍͆͐̕͘͝͝͝ͅn̷̨̻̖͔͓͉̖̬̩͙͇͓͕͌͊́̑͆̄͝ ̶̨̳̪͉̙̯͈̻̲̫̻̬̺́̐̃̅̾s̶͖͚͉͙̤͇̻͙̫̗̤͗̈̂͛͆̆̒ͅͅt̴̛̝̜̼̋̋̋̀̅̈́̉̃̔̓́̎̌̾̚͘͠͝ó̷̘͇̥͚̫̂́͑̀̂͗̄͗̈̾̕̚n̷̡̲̩͇̗̱͚̗̩͓͚̻͖̯̏̎̈́́̀̈́͑̉̾̎͛̄͝͠͝ę̵̛̝̪͍͉̥̩̠̹͕͍̝̼̋̊͋͐͂͛͆̃̒̒͝ͅ
T̵̡͓̭̪̟̯͈̥͖̭̠̫̝͉͈̭̔͋̄̅̅̈́́̄̚͝͝h̴̢̡̢̛͙͚͙̭̺̫̻̱̜͖̼̫͇͑̽̎͗̀͗͗͐̿͋͆́̅̀̌́̈́̀͝ͅĕ̵̢̧̛̱̼̜̻͓̹̺̱̻̙̝̮̞̞͈̺̠̼͋̋͐͐́̄͗̅̀͛̂͂̀͂̕ ̸̨̢̙͉̩͔̭̤͊̅̈́̀̋̉͂̃͌̋̿̈́͜͠l̴̡̧̧͉̼͈͚͖̻̦̜̺̭̬̟͚̠̤̒̋̽̃̄͆̉̔́̇̿͜͝à̴̗̝͇͗̍̃̓̃͂͌́̑̀̚͝ͅs̸̟͉̖̪͖͈̆̂̐̍̒̈́ẗ̶̞̰̮̫̓́ ̶̡̖͕̰̬̗͔̥̹̟̬̰̓̾̾͗̈́̉̆͂̄͆̏͐̆̚͠ͅb̵̹̾̿̚͠l̵̮̼̙͖̦͓͚̙͌̈́̏͜o̵̤̪̻̬̠̯̰̊̾̽̕̕͜͝ò̶͍̠̣̙̤̱̠̝̖͇̤̦͚̠̀̆́͂̅͊͘͝͝d̸̡̧̳̙̼̯̖̠̬̫̪͖͈̙̳̭͈̦͖̾̉͌̔͆̉̔͑̽̅̃ ̶̨̢̗̹͈̝̹̝̮̮͕̣̤͖͍̩̫̻͙̯̓̇̽̂̅́̂̂͒͌͑̚t̶̩̱͉̬̼̥̭͈͇͉͔͎͖̙̓̊̾́̀͊̔́̓́̒̕͜͜͝ǫ̸̣͔̭͔͍̹̣̳̦̞̰̯̮̦̼̣̔͌̀̌̇̀̋͘̕͘ͅ ̶̬́͆̄͂͛̃͋͊̐̔͒͋̐̇̕̚̚͝͠͠b̶̢̧̛͔̯͕̞͓̻̻̞̻̦̥̟̻̗̲͙̿̂̃̎̒̂͊̋̄͜͝ͅë̶̖̺̖̞͉͉̩̆̔̉́͛́͌́̋̌ ̵̗͈͔̩̍̎̌̓̑́̌̂́̾̓̈̓̚͝͝ͅs̸̘̳̗̮̥͓̼͖̍͑p̵̱̝͚͔͐̄͆̋̂̅́̈̓̍̅̚͜͠͠͝͝i̵̡̧̮̮̦̠̗̝͕̗̎͌͊̊̈́̏̿̊̓͐͊̅̍͌͘͝ͅl̸̡̡͉̰͙͔͉̰̹̟̦̞̪̎̓̓́̍̄͂͂̈́͌̊̕̕͝ļ̵͙̩̥̫̰̳̭͌̒̐͆̽͛̓̓͝ē̷͖̹̖͔̟̥̦̤̻̳̄̿͜ḑ̶͚̼͖̜͓͓̼͈̜̔́ͅ ̷̡̡̩̻̬̙͔̯̼̯͋̄̄̀̃̈́͛̒̏̈̒̅̄̏͘̚ẅ̷̞̗̤̲́í̸̡͚̺̬̪̖̩̬̫͓̞̰̠͎̽͒̄̀͆̌̋͌̍̊̈͘͜͝l̷̻̥͓̟̫̹͈̱̰̇́̐̑̇͂͑̚l̷̡̧͕̺̰͙̫̩͈̼͔͓̩̤̰͒͜ ̸̧̤̫̹̤̯̈́̄̋́̒͋͒̋̓̓́̒̀́͗͑̍͌̈́͝b̷̢͇͓̦̙̱̤͓̭͙̱̱̮̫̔̊͗̄̓̐̅̿̀̈́̕ȩ̸̢̼̠̯̼̻̹̻̙̺̤̼̪͚̖͎̥̓̆͂̅͊̈̐̀̂̊͂̉͗̈́͜͠ ̸̨̬͚̯͉͖̙̹̩̺̫͇̼̦̣̭̩̠̩͒̋̿̒̉͌̏̾̕y̶̗̗̗͙̋̍͂͋̔͐̏̉̈́͐͌̃̿̐̕͠o̸̧̳̙̥̩̭̦̼̠̠̙̫̭̥̼͙͖͂͐͗̅̍̀̔͒̾̇̂̏͘͜͝ȗ̶̡̞͈̘̭̣͙̲̹̏ͅr̵̮͈̻̮̱̙͒̉̀͒̈́́͐̌̓̑̀̀̃͋͘͜s̸̡̥̦͚͎͍͚̦̹̟̬̰̔͐̅̀͊̈́̊̓̍̋̊́͒̋̏̉̚̕͜͜͝,̵͎̝͈̞̺͕̟̱͎̻̱͒̌̎̀̀̾̓̍̇̐̀̿̿̕͘̕͜͝͝ ̸̗̯̹̩̳͕̲͇̟̲̹̣̰̰͇̠̘͑͐̓́͊͜͜V̷̨͔̝̲͙̪̒͛è̸̫̼̤̱̄̀̔͊͐͆̋̽̀͗̀̀͘͝i̶̭̤̼͎̇̈̃̉̊͋̕͘l̵̰̯͉̱͙̗̳̬̩̱͉͗̎͆͌͗͐̆͗̀͆̈̚̕k̶̞͚̟͉̪͉̗̦̰͍͍̩̩̠͂è̷̱̲͉͇͍̪̬̯̞͜è̵͙̯̦̣̦͎̀̇̌̋̒͌̈̊̚͝͠p̸̨̨̛̮̙̟̺̜̯̭̥̬̙͖̪̟̄̊̂̈͆͝e̷̡͓̻̝̮͙̦̤̗̮̜͈̖̖̳̓̂̊̓̉̈́͛̅́͘͝ͅr̷͙̦̂͘
And with that final line, a sharp pain suddenly struck through Don's head and he shouted in pain before collapsing, the last thing he saw being David with the face of another man behind him, smiling ominously as he whispered:
Remember me, Veilkeeper
.