Samantha smiled at Ace with an adventurous smirk, “Bah, if she's looking for me, we would have fought like Gods. She's just here to smoke is all,” she quipped, “But if she want to fight, I'm right here if she wants to have a bloody nose!” she ended by popping her knuckles, “It wouldn't be the first time I had to kick her butt! That girl is as crazy as hell. However, she proved more to be a great fighter–you know when she's not eating her victims.”

“That still doesn't explain how after you ate a mountain of food, you still look fit,” said the Waitress, “And she does what now?”

“Oh yeah, about that! I'm a werewolf!” she said softly to Searsha's ear but loud enough for Ace to hear, “Well, by blood anyway. I can't transform into one without this!” she points to her Badge of Zeta located on the belt.

She turned to Searsha who offered to pay her food. Samantha smiled.

“Why thanks!” Samantha said, “And I think I left training when I was what? 10? Are you MMA?” she asked with curiosity.

_______________________________________________________

Searsha nodded, not replying as she passed on her way to door after passing the check to Larya. Larya pulled some bills from her clutch purse to pay the waitress.

“Both she, ” she pointed to Searsha who was outside lighting her cigarette. “and I have fought in MMA charity exhibitions several times. We cannot fight for personal gain though.” She patted her own flat stomach. “I have to train constantly to maintain my build and strength.”

“A werewolf, I had hoped you could give me some dieting tips. That apple pie will cost me this afternoon.” She leaned closer to look at the badge. “Searsha and I have researched amulets, that's a Badge of Zeta. Never met a bearer before. Though we have met werewolves and all manner of other–” She paused and looked up as if searching for a word “Beyond-natural beings? That's one of our fields of study.”

“I should introduce myself, Larya Vornasmare. You're a werewolf? I'm a sorceress.”

Samantha was star struck. Though, she tried to keep her composure. Her training with her grandfather and his monks taught her to remain in a constant state of calmness…but being a hyperactive, animated teenage girl with raging hormones could challenge this ancient discipline.

Samantha, though chill, took a deep breath.

“Yeah, they are pretty common. Unlike the ones my mother got involved in, The Three Howlers Clan, I use her badge she stole from the Alpha (not the Alpha Badge users, the hierarchy for werewolves) for good as a self proclaimed superhero!” Samantha bolstered carrying a playful heroic smile reminisce to an innocent child. However suddenly something popped up, “Wait, you're a sorceress? THAT IS SO COOL!”


_______________________________________________________

“Did I hear mention of werewolves?” A somewhat deep but authoritative woman's voice asks. Its owner is a lean woman whose age is hard to determine under the make-up, but she's definitely over 40. She's wearing a smart pant suit, bangle bracelets, and an over-sized pendant. “It's a good start, but it's been done to death without a hook. Werewolf disease? Passed through the ground beef at WalMart? Maybe someone was selling werewolf cubs mislabeled as Goldendoodles?”



She enters the cafe. “Yes, you may stare. I am Martina Russo, star reporter of one of the most widely circulated publications in the WORLD. And no, you probably won't have it in your little vending machines out there. You'll find it in every supermarket's checkout. Maybe I'll give autographs later.”

She eyes all the cafe customers. “This seems like a pretty happening place for gossip. I like this crowd. You look like a good bunch. Interesting lives. Interesting experiences. I followed quite a few leads to get here.”

She sits beside Valentine. “Hey, fella, what's your name?”

He ignores her until she pulls out one of his earbuds. “What?” he asks, annoyed.

“Your name, handsome?”

“Duncan.”

“So, Duncan. You know anything about abductions?”

The word sends Valentine into a minor panic. His hand instinctively reaches toward the hidden Smith & Wesson. But he keeps his composure as calm as possible. “Abductions?”

"Alien abductions,“ Martina clarifies.

Valentine scoffs. ”Sorry lady. You're asking the wrong guy. May I get back to my ball game?“

”Please yourself,“ Martina replies smartly as Valentine replaces the earbuds. She then notices the TV. ”Oh! It's almost time. May I change this?“ she asks while changing the channel and ignoring any reply.

”Hey!“ Valentine stands up. ”I was watching that!“

”It's a rerun, Honey. Spoiler alert. No one believes Wilbur nor do they point out the countless health and safety violations incurred by keeping livestock in a suburb.“ She changes it to a late-night infomercial disguised as a legitimate talk show, where she is interviewing the famed psychic Madame Chloe.

Then she takes a seat near Ace, Samantha, and company. ”Much better entertainment, don't you agree?“ She doesn't wait for an answer. ”Now, were we talking about werewolves? City werewolves? Any other gossip? I met a gentleman a couple blocks over talking about interdimensional portals and time-travelers. Know anything about that?" Okay, so all signs pointed to him being a wino, and he was wearing a tinfoil hat, but Martina doesn't mention that. Trivial details, really.



(Martina is not dressed as pictured. She's in a casual business suit, kind of flashy professional. And she's not from the same story/world as Valentine.)

A tabloid reporter! Larya bit her lip. It was almost too much she had to control herself lest she spit up her coffee and collapse into an hysterical laughing fit.

“Funny, you should mention time travel. My colleague and I are currently involved in a broad multi disciplinary study of the nature of time ” Larya took a deep breath to maintain her composure. “It appears to some we are practicing magic so they call us sorcerers, but just imagine explaining calculus to an ancient Egyptian. It'd look like so much magic.”

“Oh, fantastic!” Martina says, having half-listened to Larya. “What year are you from? Do you have some sort of time travel device you can pose with for a photo? If not, would you mind posing with a napkin dispenser? I can Photoshop it into something more futuristic later.” Then Martina has a flash of inspiration. “Let's do multiple poses. We can put you in some historical images. – Just for dramatic reenactment, of course.”

Ace and Betty look on amused at the newcomer and her antics with Larya, sharing a grin between them.

“What a couple of nuts!” Ace whispers with a grin.
“They're a right ballbag!” laughs Betty Quietly.

Maybe this guy isn't that bad after all, thinks Betty.

Larya fought to retain her composure. ‘Couple of nuts’ was right. “Or trying to explain pounding rivets to a worker on the Parthenon. Or even getting a tabloid reporter to actually listen.”

She took another sip of coffee. It was getting cold. She gestured to the waitress for a refill. “And a touch of cream?”

“Sure hon,” the waitress replied. “Anything else I can get you?”

"Now Ms. Russo, how about if I were to tell you I was actually from your past?" Larya grinned.

“Do go on,” Martina insists. “I love a good story. Oh!” With a spark of inspiration, she jots in her notebook, Sexy Time Traveling Werelions from /Eastern European Country/ “As long as it's not too creative. Middle America doesn't buy creativity, and we aim to move paper.”

She then beckons a server. “Iced tea, please. Unsweetened. None of that ghastly southern sugar water.”

Larya read the title of Martina's notes. She couldn't even get the geography right. “Western Europe, we're from western Europe, though in our time it wasn't even called Europe yet.”

Larya knew she could tell this reporter anything and she'd believe it even without a magical flourish.

But she'd tell the truth as that was unbelievable enough. She'd then make certain to get the paper to delight in how the story would be distorted.

“The exact date is obscured by the passage of time. As best as my colleague and I have been able to determine it's about 15,000 years ago. Researchers and philosophers have always talked of times before civilization arose in Mesopotamia around 6000 years ago. But it was no golden age and where I grew up Atlantis was as much a mythic land to the west as it is for you.”

“Oh, Darling, these notes aren't about you. Eastern Europe is wonderfully mysterious, you see. Vampires and werecreatures usually come from areas like that.” She adds more miscellaneous thoughts to her notes Vampire wolf? Werebats. Middleeastern werecamel? Martina reminds herself not to give away too much in regards to her life as a huckster and literary snake oil salesman. The people she talked to BELIEVED this nonsense. She has to do a better job being… pretending to be one of them.

Martina shorthands the quote from Larya verbatim, she might use a snippet or two in whatever story she concocts later. “Atlantis is incredibly drawing too. And I LOVE the idea that it can be compared to the wild west. Fantastic angle! Do go on.”

Grinning, Betty nudged Ace in the ribs. “Eh, eh, what I tell ya, eh?”
Ace chuckled quietly. They both sat spellbound listening to these two chat away about fantastical things.
What a pair of whackjobs, thought Ace.

“Bet ya $2 accent-lady gets fed up and tells Brenda Star there where to shove her pencil” Betty proposes with a smirk.
“You're on!”
They shake on it and go on watching.

“If it's not about me then why am I talking to you?” Larya shook her head. These frauds.

"As a scholar I can tell you the mythology of Western Europe is just as interesting as Eastern and actually most of it pre-dates Eastern European traditions. An example, vampires don't appear in Eastern Europe until the 17th-18th century whereas Vampires and werewolves were known in France throughout the Middle Ages. Then there's the fact that flying bloodsucking child killing vampires date back into ancient times in Germany, not Hungary or Romania. The strix go back to Ancient Rome and probably the legends originated in Mesopotamia.“ Larya smiled. ”Or at least so goes the legends, though the reality is not too different. Strix were kept at bay by Eastern European shamans until the 17th Century witch trials killed them all.“

The waitress arrived with the ice tea. Larya twirled a finger and the glass fell off the tray onto Martina. To add insult to injury Larya cast another charm to decrease the temperature of the drink to near freezing.

”Oh, “ Larya with another incantation caused the tray to drop onto Martina's head with several other drink refills pouring all over the reporter. Larya stood calmly said to the waitress . ”Poor dear, not your fault Alice, just fetch some warm towels. Such an unfortunate accident. If there's a cleaning bill, I will take care of it."

Larya winked at Betty. There was no way any one watching, other than another sorceress, could have traced the incidents to her actions but Larya still lightly touched the minds of all the witnesses to guarantee it.

Martina coughs and wipes some of the tea from her suit. She smiles a sacharrine smile at the waitress. “It's all right, Sweetie. Clumsiness happens. I can most certainly afford my own dry cleaning bills.” I'll deduct it from my taxes anyway, she thinks.

“I am sorry to upset you with this misunderstanding, my dear,” she says to Larya. “As a writer, I am regularly struck with bits of inspiration, so I write them down to revisit later. I am following quite a number of stories at the moment. Multitasking. I completely understand the misunderstanding. So few people possess that talent.” She flips through her notebook. Wet, but that's why she uses a pencil. She sets it on the counter to dry and takes out her iPad. “I wasn't aware that you were a historian. I've been interviewed for several documentaries that also contained historian interviews. To be perfectly frank, while world history is fascinating, most of my stories are far more local in nature.” My readers couldn't find Europe on a map of France, she thinks.

“Oh! I never asked. Are you locals here? Or, I mean, of course you aren't, being from Atlantis, but have you been visiting long? Do you have family in the area?”

Larya laughed hard. “Family? I'm from 15,000 years ago! With all the generations between then and now you're all my descendants! Under the Edicts of Annah the codex that rules the conduct of sorceresses, we can't visit any who can trace a direct line to us. So we are forbidden to visit our children or grandchildren and the like. After the first ten generations or so It doesn't matter. So we tend to visit farther into the future than not.”

She put her hand on Martina's soaked shoulder. “I'm not an historian, merely one field among many that is studied in the project to understand the nature of time.”

Larya poked her again and there was a slight squish from the shoulder pad of Martina's suit. “You really are soaked, you should consider changing out of that clothing. And I'm not from Atlantis. Too far to travel in my time, months by sea. I'm from another island nation that disappeared in the flood that changed the surface of Theia.”

She put her finger to her mouth. Generally she and Searsha tried to avoid direct references to the place names of their own time. "Theia is what we called Earth back in our day. Over thousands of years Theia became Earth and Rourmarth became Europe. Being that I can not lose my accent, whenever we're here we say we're from Europe. Any magic with adjusting speech would look like one of those badly dubbed movies, so we have to speak the language. And we're never here long enough to get fluent enough to sound as a moedertaal er- native.“

She was talking too much. Because of the laughter and talking so much she was losing track of languages. She was slipping into Dutch. Better then slipping into her native tongue and totally losing them. She had that much discipline.

”Larya,
Qu'est-ce que tu fais? Silencieux. Vous en dites trop!“ Searsha had been watching the girl outside chain smoke but she detected spell casting and had come back inside. Come back to Larya telling her life story to some tabloid reporter that she had drenched with a few small spells. Searsha switched to English, ”Such silliness, Larya you're tired. We've had a long day and should get back to the hotel.“

”Jeu inoffensif“ Larya replied, ”Martina Russo, my colleague Searsha Le Griffe.“

”You must excuse Dr. Vornesmare, Ms. Russo. At times she likes to engage in fantasy. Truth we study the nature of time, and our studies involve the travel, but it is still hypthetical."

“I'm sure it's too technical for my readers.” The inbred, dropout, teen-mom hicks, she thinks.

Martina touches Larya's shoulder in acknowledgement. “I'm gonna pop outside to grab a change of clothes. Don't touch the channel. I need to see how they edited me. These TV studios try to pull fast ones sometimes.” She notes Valentine, who is now slumping over his half-plate of onion rings. “You look terrible, Red. Are you a trucker? I hope you are following all the regulations about how long you can drive without a break. We don't want you out there killing people.”

Valentine turns his head slightly, rubs his eyes, and smiles. “Killing people. Can't have that,” he mumbles. It's hard to tell if he's asleep or awake at this point.

Martina pats him on the back and heads outside to her magenta Porsche.

Grumbling, Ace hands over $2 to Betty, who smiles and pats him on the back.
“Cheer up! Keep an eye out for more sport, you might get your money back yet.” She chuckles.

“What are you doing here anyway? You never said.
”Working on a new warship down at the yards… can't say more. Tell you what, keep an eye on baseball cap there. Bet ya he's gonna fall face first in that plate. 2$?"

They shake on it.

When no one noticed, Samantha had left the Cafe after feeling a bit tired; however, Victoria entered the cafe, a stream a slight cool air splashing in her face as she entered, strode to the back away from everyone. Like Samantha, she had a Badge on her too, but it was black and yellow instead of black and white. Her black and red spandex complimented her body.

She was tired after researching more on the Alpha user, Mopy, and dealing with him and his friend Stringy (Samantha). She could have used her her Kappa Fire Attack to blast her, but this was not the time or place, not was she strong enough to last to emit her own attack.

Her cellphone vibrated. She took a look at the ID. She answered the call.

“Speak to me,” she began.

“Where are you?” asked an intimidating man on the phone with a deep voice.

“At the cafe getting bite to eat. It seems quiet. Samantha was here so…”

“So you let her go?”

“If I fired my Kappa Energy on her, I would have been out of commission after my attack. I would be paralyzed for weeks,” she said with a monotonous tone.

“Where'd she gone to?” he asked.

“Out,” she said, “Why are you so worried about her anyway? It's Mopy you want right?”

“I want them both,” said the man, “Anyone associated with the little shit is dead–including her,” he growled.

“Not that I am complaining, but unlike Mopy, Stringy can take on 25 of your guys no problem. Mopy should be your target,” Victoria said.

“And guess what happens if I just go after Mopy? More will come. They will notice and I will get a headache if ANYONE finds out! The best way to kill a target, is to unwoven the web of connection. And if one survives, if one link remained to be chained, I'll kill you before I kill it. Do you understand? said the man.

”Loud and clear,“ she said.

The man hung up the phone and Victoria growled, hiding her anger. Her Badge started to glow. Victoria tried to keep herself calm, ”Pieprzony kawałek gówna! Radzenie sobie z Samem to jedno, ale teraz to? (Fucking piece of crap! Dealing with Sam is one thing, now this)“she mumbled.

A waiter tapped on her shoulder, spooking her, ”Hi, um…can I get you anything ma'am?“ he asked in fear.

”Coffee and cream with sugar,“ Victoria said without looking at the Waiter.

”Sure, on the way!" he said.



_______________________________________________________

Martina reenters the cafe carrying a garment bag. She stands in front of the TV to watch the end of her interview. “Looking fabulous, as always,” she remarks before heading to the restroom.

The channel goes into an ad break and is quickly interrupted. “The police are issuing an Amber Alert for 17-year-old…”

Valentine bolts upright. “SHUT THAT OFF!” He is gripping his dinner knife so tightly that his knuckles are white. In his sleepless drowsiness he made an error, and he suddenly realizes it. “I mean…” He takes his seat. “Please turn the TV off. No one is watching it, and I have a headache.”

It couldn't be about him anyway. The last one was weeks ago.

“Miss,” he beckons his waitress. “I am sorry for the outburst. May I have another black coffee.”

“Sure.” She turns down the TV volume.

Valentine figures that would probably be okay. It's the wrong hour for national news, and he's not a local threat. Besides, he doesn't want to draw any more attention to himself.

“Damn!” Betty hands Ace back his $2
“I could have sworn he'd faceplant, the bastard.”
Ace chuckled.
“Bet you he's a serial killer.” Betty says slyly.

“What makes you say that?” Ace looks surprised.

“Eh, nothing… Just a bit too jumpy and turns on the charm too easy.”

“Ha! What would you know anyway?” Ace snickers

“I can't seem to face up to the facts, I'm tense and nervous and I can't relax…” Betty sings quietly

“I can't sleep ‘cause my bed’s on fire. Don't touch me I'm a real live wire!” Ace joins in

“psycho killer! Qu'est-ce que c'est!
Fa-fa-fa-fa-fa-fa-fa-fa-fa-far better…
Run run, run run run run away oh OH AIYEEE-OH!” They sing together in harmony, finishing loudly, drawing attention, before bursting into mad laughter.

Valentine grimaces. They can't know. They are just making jokes about his reaction. When the waitress brings his coffee, he speaks quietly but loud enough to be heard by others. “I am sorry for my reaction. It's a bit embarrassing. You see, my ex-wife had custody of our daughter, and she went missing…” He wipes his eye and looks down. “Sorry. It's just… There was this whole thing. It's hard to talk about.”

“'Sokay,” the waitress says. “You don't need to explain.”

“You are an angel.” He touches her shoulder. “Thanks for the coffee.”

Martina, wearing a similar but different colored suit, returns from the restroom and sits near Ace and Betty. “I am famished. Do you have anything on the menu that isn't fried?”

The server says, “The soup–”

“Ugh,” Martina replies. “Probably from a can.”

“Actually–”

With a dismissive wave, Martina says, “A grilled fish sandwich is fine. No sauce on it. And no bread. I'll have a bottle of water, in the bottle, glass on the side. And a lemon.”

“Good move.” Betty says to Martina.
At her confused look she continues “Avoiding the soup and keeping your water in a bottle. You can't have too many changes of clothes left.” Betty smiles blandly . “Nice suit by the way. Stylish! You think I can get one in my size?”
Betty pats her stomach and flexes a bicep.

“Quit showing off you oaf!” Ace teases her.

Searsha and Larya picked up their shopping bag and made for the exit.

“Hotel and massage, here we come,” Larya grinned and nodded to Martina. “Have a good morning Ms. Russo. Pleasure to meet you. Maybe one day we can speak again when you're more willing to listen.”

Once out into the early morning air, Searsha sighed. “Badge bearers, tabloid reporters, serial killers. Quite an interesting group.”

“Which one was the serial killer?”

“The guy I blew up at. All women are sluts – profile for a killer of women.” In answer to Larya's worried expression , “I notified the Sisterhood. If regular law enforcement don't get him, they will.”

“We're going to walk it? It's quite a distance, Central Park ” Larya pointed to a street sign.

“Just want a bath and my massage.” Searsha extended one gloved hand and arced her arm down opening a seam in space. She stepped through the glowing rent in space, “Coming?”

“Better camouflage it better than last time, that drunk– ”

“All anyone will see are the headlights of a delivery truck.”

Larya stepped through the seam which closed behind them and they were gone.

“Ah,” Martina replies to Betty. “Well, yes. Poor clumsy thing. Don't want to set her up for failure.” She doesn't mention that this is how she often orders so she doesn't get ripped off by canned soup and tap water. “As to the outfit, I have all my clothes professionally-tailored. That off-the-rack stuff makes ghastly shapes. Would they make a standard cut to fit you? Of course not, dear. But they don't fit ANYONE. Throw a little cash the right way, and you can have whatever you like.”

Valentine, becoming more uneasy with his situation and less sure the various stories he's told and names given all fit together, makes a phone call. “Hello, I was there earlier and you said you had some customers who might be checking out. Do you have any rooms available now? I have got to get a couple hours… Oh? That's fantastic. The name is Bennett.” What was that name he gave Martina? It was a “D” name, one of his regular ones… “Dale Bennett.” Was it Dale? Eh. She seems ditsy and flighty. She'll never remember. “I don't have a card. Afraid it was stolen. I'll be using cash.”

He calls the waitress over. “Hey, Cutie. A hotel room finally opened up. You've done such a good job taking care of me.” He hands her another 50. Be sure you stay sweet. Okay?“

”I can't accept–“ she starts.

”I won't let you refuse.“ Valentine smiles broadly. ”You earned it. And I'm sure enough people have stiffed you for tips.“ Then he whispers. ”The ice queen over there with her breadless fish sandwich will definitely under-tip you. Mark my words. Women like that are entitled monsters. She probably never had a boyfriend and is going to die alone on luxurious satin sheets."

The waitress doesn't know how to respond, so she smiles uncomfortably as Valentine taps her on the nose and heads outside to his vehicle.

“Soon as I save up a bit from the shipyards I MIGHT just get me a tailor-made suit!” Betty says
“Hey, what do you think about that guy that just left? Gots the crazy eyes? Full of crap? C'mon, tell us! Dying to hear what your reporter's instincts are tellin' you.” Says Betty with a grin.

“What about the babe in spandex that just walked in?” said Ace

“Eh, I saw her outside, chain smoking or something. Obviously a hooker. You should go and chat her up Acey! Looks to be your type.” Betty smirks.

“Hey hey hey! Come on. What would Cc say?” Ace protests.

Betty holds her nose and speaks in an imperious voice “'Why wasn't I invited?!'”

They both burst out laughing

“I might go and chat to her after all.” Says Ace getting up.

Betty turns back to Martina. “So spill! That guy that left: Verdict?”

“Red?” Martina doesn't think much of people in general aside from profiling them enough to milk a story. Still, she gives it a miment's consideration. “He's not a rural guy. He was flirting rather shamelessly and effectively with the waitress. Rather charming, but definitely practiced, maybe a playboy. I'd let him buy me a drink, but I suspect he's a cradle-robber, if you get my drift.”

She pours a glass of water and squeezes lemon into it. “He seemed edgy when I first saw him, so I thought he might have an alien abduction story. But I think maybe he's a CEO trying to go incognito with common folks for a while.” She sips her water. “I didn't think he had crazy eyes. He seemed to be a self-important type, used to getting his way. So, CEO. Or maybe heir to a fortune. Playboy. Skeptic. Honestly, the last thing is all that matters as far as a I'm concerned. No sense wasting time with people like that.”

“As for Spandex girl,” she adds. “Cosplayer, obviously. She might have an alien story. Definitely more in the realm of space than of ghosts. Ghost story people have an entirely different look.”

“I find most people have some sort of unexplained encounter. Even Mr. Playboy, although that type would never talk about it. How about you? Ever see something strange at work? Odd sounds? Unidentifiable animals?”

Victoria was waiting for her coffee for the past few minutes–however, this didn't bother her. What bothered her was the call she received from her boyfriend Richard, the son of the infamous mob boss, Big Tony. She sat in the table bored and frustrated.

She took out her Badge, the Badge of Kappa, a black and yellow badge she wore as a belt buckle and stared at it. She was pretty bored and pissed off.

She turned her head to the TV where she saw Samantha saving a few folks in a strip club someone recorded on a smartphone on the news.

“And today'sm bulletin, a strange, supernatural occurrence today at Five and Shine! Witnesses say that a 17-year-old girl literally flew in and stopped the would-be robbers. However local police officers are still on the lookout on the vigilante, The Stringy,” said the anchorman.

She looked back at her badge and saw it glow. She tried to calm herself down. She put the badge down and continued to watch the news only for her to see a young man walking towards her. He looked friendly enough, she needed friendly company.

_______________________________________________________

“Is this seat taken?” Asked Ace. The lady inclined her head a fraction, Ace took it for ascent and sat down next to her.

“I noticed your outfit from across the room, it's very striking! I used to work with the ICN, Imperial Crimean Cavalry, they wore the same kind of getup… tight black and red combo. Are you a soldier?”


“Unidentifiable animals?” Betty seemed to consider. “Only this pink haired shrew I work with. Crazy, nasty woman! Wild mane of bright pink hair, terrible dress sense.” She laughed. “There's a candidate for alien abduction if ever there was one!”
“Do you meet many crazies in your line of work?? What did you think of the accent ladies?”

Victoria shrugged. She had never heard of any woman with a wild mane but she had come across a couple of crazies in her line of work–especially in regards to the two teenagers, she would encounter.

“I have my fair share of crazies,” she said in a Polish accent, “At this point, you could call me a soldier. And if you are talking about the pink woman, I guess I ran across her a few times. Funny girl, what was her name again? Cc? Yeah, she wanted to know where the next town was so I showed her the way. It's kind of strange the way of how she defined her work though? She said she worked for the ICN, I guess that's what she said, I don't remember though. She seems pretty badass. ”

_______________________________________________________

“Oh, I try not to use the ‘c’ word. I have interviewed many colorful folks. Eyewitnesses in rural areas tend to be… salt-of-the-earth types. Although I am finding more interest in areas with universities as well. The 20-somethings love an urban legend. They are some of the best because their beliefs are born not of fear and ignorance but of sheer boredom. They like to find ghosts and look for monsters, want to feel like they are special.” Martina picks at her fish. What kind of fish is anyone's guess.

“I interview paranormal experts sometimes, usually book authors or managers of those little roadside museums. Sometimes I talk to college professors. Talk long enough, and I can pick out a usable quote. Astro-physicists are fantastic because they are so imaginative. Evolutionary biologists can be good too. Their work falls so much into the hypothetical that they can make any monster plausible and find it a place on a diagram.”

“My initial impression of the ladies in here earlier were some eccentric types. Spiritualists. Maybe even self-proclaimed mediums. But it seems they were probably foreign graduate students dicking around – or locals pretending to be foreign.”

“As for you and your friend,” she adds. “Armed forces? Ex-military? I hope you haven't got a touch of PTSD, although it certainly lends to the type of mindset for many people I talk to. Come to think of it…” She prods her drying-out notebook. “I wonder if I was mistaken about Red. His paranoia could be PTSD… No no. That doesn't wash. He was too well-dressed and with too much cash and confidence to be military. Even if he was, no one with money ever sees action.”