Scenario III (Leads & Lead)
Orrin Hull and the Catastrophe at Boston State Hospital
The Afternoon and Evening of May 16th 1981
While the others interview with Publius, Orrin Hull checks himself into the E.R. at Boston State Hospital for the horrific grease burn on his arm.
Eventually, Hull is seen, and, after an extraordinary wait for the entirety of the afternoon, he is finally treated (3rd degree burns) bandaged and assigned to a room in general care.
Exhausted, but not ready to sleep, Hull picks up a newspaper beside his bed in the quiet (save for the occasional ambient beeping of medical equipment) shadowy hospital room. Nothing he hasn’t heard about, more stories about the assassination of the president last month, another story about ‘Game 5, The Game of Horrors,’ The Pope’s assassination the night earlier and, an ad for concert tickets for a rock show that’s going to be in town, a ‘Shanna Daly’ . . .
His concentration on the paper is broken when he hears a low voice form beyond the curtained wall of the room . . . a patient on the other side . . . a disembodied voice . . . in a near whisper . . .
“Explorers . . .”
A few hours later, after dozing off awhile, Hull awakes back in his hospital bed. He decides it best he checks himself out. He collects himself and removes an I.V. from his arm. Before leaving the room, he takes another look behind the curtain at Zadok. Still unconscious.
Hull pauses and thinks a moment in the dark room. Then steps in, bends over and grabs Zadok’s documents on a rack at the foot of his bed. ‘Where’s this guy from? . . . No, can’t be . . .’ The charts reveal Zadok Allen is a Chilean? . . . from Cape Horn.
Sunday May 17th 1981
The next morning, Hull and Hartwood return to the Boston Public Library hitting the card catalogues (Jason isn’t working today). Hull decides to look for anything related to ‘explorer’s,’ a ‘society of explorers,’ etc.
Nothing on the nose but, Hull comes across some material about early sixteenth century Spanish explorer Ponce de Leon, famous for exploring the coasts of Florida but, also known for his obsessive and doomed search for The Fountain of Youth. Hull also finds his interest captured by some tomes about the sixteenth century Castillian conquistador Hernan Cortes who led an expedition that caused the fall of the Aztec Empire.
Hartwood’s attention is meanwhile drawn to topics related to radio . . . pirate radio signals, signal jamming, etc. but, what catches his attention most, is how, in the early part of the twentieth century most popular music, including, most of what is now heard on radio broadcast transmissions was changed from 432 Hz to 440 Hz such that, if you were listening to popular music prior to the 1940’s you were most likely hearing music and musical instruments tuned to keys in 432 Hz whereas after that period of time, it was all tuned to 440 Hz. Hartwood’s intrigued, he looks on . . . why the change? Nothing . . . he can’t find anything.
While waiting for Hartwood, Hull also looks for any information about the coordinates from Rod’s pocket that pointed towards Salem. Though there is plenty of occult books about the late seventeenth century Witch Trials, he is able to deduce little more than merely confirming that they are, in fact, a location just offshore, directly in the center of, Salem Harbor.
Hartwood returns from the shadowy neighboring aisles of the labyrinthian book depository to where Hull stands immersed in tomes, now paging through one about Sir Walter Raleigh’s search for El Dorado and the Lost City of Gold, Hartwood interrupts:
“I found some Yellow Pages . . . there’s a scuba shop nearby where we’ll be able to rent some scuba equipment.”
A Scuba Lesson
The Evening of Sunday May 17, 1981
The group gathers in time to take a bus reaching Salem the same day. It’s evening when the three finally arrive after the trip and, by the time they make it to the wharf area, it’s just before sunset.
Hartwood begins rifling through a bag of scuba equipment rented from a shop in Boston.
A few minutes more getting himself into the suit with, what he believes, would be the correct fitting (“You look good” Hull continues jesting) Hartwood scans the wharf looking for someone who . . . might have a boat.
“Hey. I think they’re turning over this way. Those are coastguard boats. I think they’re telling us to stop.”
“No, no, you can’t stop.”
Hartwood has no choice, slinks toward the transom where a tarp covers some rope and pulls it over himself and lays down under it trying not to breathe.
“Were they looking for you?” The annoyed seaman looking down at him.
“I don’t . . . think so but, some people back in Boston were . . . I didn’t want to take any chances.”
“Never had to deal with anything like that in all my life on the water.” The captain still grumbling angrily. “And what kind of coastguard men wear purple!?” A cold chill runs down Hartwood’s spine at the words.
Salem Harbor Under The Green Moon
Night – Sunday May 17, 1981
The Oscillate Warehouse at Salem Harbor - Sunday Night May 17, 1981
Hull pages through some of the documents pulled off the office desk. Shipping contracts, cargo inventories, manifests, references to the ammonium nitrate but, also, various types of minerals, gems and crystals, lapis stones, red spinels, graphene oxide, obsidian, quartz crystals, barium, aluminum and, some other elements and compounds. Hull continues going through the documents to determine where the material is being shipped to. Destinations all over. A lot of it going to the West Coast, a notable amount to Los Angeles, but, also, significant amounts going to New York City and New Jersey and, a notable number of destinations in the Midwest, particularly, Detroit.
“Let’s get back to the motel.” Madison. We’ll head back to Boston tomorrow after getting some rest and follow-up at the University’s lab.
The Best Western
The Morning of May 18, 1981
She looks at Madison, looks down, reaches into her apron, Madison’s eyes widen in anticipation as she begins pulling something out but, only retrieves what looks to be a small black flower and holds it out, passing it to Madison. Madison slowly takes it by the stem. She then looks down the terrace back in the direction of Hull and the Oscillate beyond, looks upset, and runs off.
Madison peers out the door after her looking down the terrace past Hull and sees the Oscillate. The Oscillate appears to spitter, snarl and make contorted expressions at Madison before making a run for it.
“What the hell was that?” Hartwood interrupts Madison’s baffled thoughts indicating the flower. Madison slowly looks back down at it pondering.
“I don’t know.” He stares at the black orchid. It’s unlike any plant he’s ever seen, strange and intricate mesmerizing textures cover the leaves, veins in the pedals that seem to glow with a violet or magenta iridescence. Almost alien looking.
The Biology Lab at Boston College
Evening - May 18, 1981
“Well,” Madison responds, searching for a way to explain, “I’m hoping you can tell me. I have this goo and, I was hoping to have it analyzed to learn if it’s organic, synthetic, or what I’m dealing with here.”
Madison pulls out the stoppered magazine clip with the goo from Rod’s basement and places it on the table next to the microscope in front of McGuiness before grabbing a slide and placing some on it for McGuiness to examine.
Madison puts his bespectacled eye up to the eyepiece. It is a geometric pattern . . . kaleidoscopic, iridescent magentas and purples but, it also moves. “Fascinating,” Madison thinks out loud then has an idea and moves the lapis stone on the table closer to the specimen . . . it starts to kaleidoscopicly writhe and move more energetically.
