Tainted Lenses Part 1

Chapter 4 - The Condor and the Crow

 Wilmer picked up his lamp and began with haste to crawl up the latter. Things were starting to fit in place within my mind, Terry seemed to have everything to do with it.

I began to poke around the empty cellar, looking for the reason I had come down there in the first place.

Soon enough I found them, two piles of Terry and Haven's various objects.

I began to look through the piles, looking for everything, anything that could help me. These two clearly had been onto something before they had died.

Then it struck me. What if they had died because they were onto something? What if this was so terrible that it was causing us to drop one by one? Sure it could be blamed on the disease, but Wilmer had hinted that there was a murderer about. But how would he know?

I ruffled through piles of dusty clothes, and other objects relating to each person.

I was soon awarded for my efforts in Terry's pile finding some dirty gloves with a strange aura it felt. When I picked them up, I felt myself flood with hope.

In Haven's pile I found a piece of paper, and tucked it in my pocket to read later. I began to resume my search when I heard a scream from above me.

Thoughts of Wilmer flooded my mind. Anyone who seemed to be poking around on the case of the dead seemed to suddenly die themselves. Something might be happening to Wilmer.

I pulled myself up and out of the trapdoor and rushed to the front room where there was a commotion. Everyone was leaving the room as Foxton sat on the floor screaming. Blood was pouring out of him from a massive wound on his back.

But no one had noticed.

I hesitated, staring at his thrashing figure when Minka screamed from across the room.

"What are you doing you idiot? Get out of here before he touches you!"

"What?"

"He's got the disease!"

I began to follow them out, but Foxton looked at me with pleading eyes. I felt terrible to see such a strong man crippled on the floor, all his power drained out of his eyes.

"Help me," he choked out as all light passed from his eyes. He lay dead on the floor.

A man stepped out of the shadows, carrying a large blood coated scythe. He was A tall and seemingly youthful figure, commanding attention with his towering stature. Black wings, reminiscent of a decaying vulture, unfurled from his back, casting an unsettling shadow. Despite the fear he inspired, his blonde hair flowed casually to the nape of his neck, adding an unexpected touch of warmth to his appearance.

Dressed predominantly in black, his attire exuded an air of authority, giving the impression of a young adult going about his daily business. The dichotomy of his friendly demeanor and fear-inducing aura created an intriguing complexity, leaving an indelible mark on those who crossed his path.

I stared, startled at his sudden appearance as he casually bent down and picked up the body, hoisting it onto his shoulder.

Foxton's body spilled blood down his nice suit, staining a portion red. But the man didn't seem to notice, or care.

"Who are you?" I asked, pleasantly. I wasn't going to be rude to someone who had apparently murdered someone without anyone noticing for a moment.

"You know who I am." He turned back towards me.

"I'm afraid I can't recall ever making your acquaintance before."

"We've met."

"When and how?"