If you have not watched Daredevil S2 and Punisher S1 on Netflix, this will probably contain a spoiler or two. Also, I'm going to talk about my life a bit more than I normally do, ever. You've been warned,
I had a slight bit of struggle with where I wanted to post this, and given that I've been relatively inactive on the Union City front (I have about seven drafted posts as of this writing), it kind of seemed the place. Plus, one of the greatest things about the Netflix Marvel shows is that you can use them as a World of Darkness inspiration. No, really, I'm serious. I mean, if you take away the over the top action sequences or, like, Luke Cage being bulletproof, the ambience is there and the character drama is pretty great as well.
"Fandoms" can be some seriously negative spaces where people slam on each other for different interpretations of character traits or little nit picky bullshit arguments will erupt over nothing at all and, as a result, I tend to avoid any such things. But I would consider myself a fairly huge Punisher fan. In addition to owning enough Punisher tee-shirts to wear a different one every day of the week, as well as a massive Punisher belt buckle, I've been off and on with the comic books since reading Punisher War Journal in my early days. Even the craptacular Dolph Lundgren movie was an early favorite of mine, just because it was nice seeing the character get some recognition.
Jon Berenthal is Frank Castle. Like, Lundgren was just Lundgren, Tom Jane was alright, and Ray Stevenson was comic booky, but Berenthal is the embodiment of the character on screen. I hated him as Shane in The Walking Dead and when it was announced he was cast as Frank, I was a little skeptical that he would pull it off. Holy fucking shit was I wrong.
Guess I'm kind of late to the game on the Netflix Marvel. It took forever for me to get into Jessica Jones and I haven't had any interest in Daredevil since Batfleck made that one movie. I think it was called Gigli. Oh, wait, no, I meant the Daredevil movie, with the terrible Elektra that then got her own movie. What was anyone thinking green lighting that garbage? As an aside, I'm not much of a DC guy as it is, and Affleck as the Bat guarantees I'll never watch BvS or Just-us League.
Uh, that's off topic. So, yeah, I had no intention of watching Daredevil until the Punisher announcement. The very first "One Batch, Two Batch, Penny and Dime" trailer had me tyrannosaurus rekt in anticipation, so I had to go through and watch Daredevil S1 to get ready. Much to my surprise, I actually really enjoyed it. The casting was fairly on point and it's still the viewing benchmark that Netflix measures every other Marvel endeavor to (I imagine Iron Fist was booty compared to it, and I know The Defenders was a disappointment to them, but that's again off topic).
So S2 of Daredevil. Right away, first episode, bad people are getting butchered by gunfire and you know, you KNOW, that it's just a start of things to come. Had Berenthal walked in, fucked shit up, and walked out, he would have been fine as the Punisher. But that isn't how they wrote him and that isn't how Berenthal played the role. Rather than be cartoony, they took the archetype, they went back to who Frank Castle is - a tortured soul that has seen some shit and is dealing with the loss of his family in the only way he knows how/in the way he was trained: by killing fucking everyone.
But they didn't take the cop out and go "this is a vet suffering PTSD and that is why he is unhinged." In fact, in DD S2, Berenthal's Castle makes it a point to say "don't do that" because he felt, rightly so, that using that as a defense trivializes individuals that truly are suffering from PTSD. Frank Castle isn't, at least at that point, overwhelmed with his military actions. They took a man, a military man sure but still just a man, who has experienced this gut-wrenching tragic loss and humanized him. He has a code. He doesn't hurt the innocent. He doesn't indiscriminately kill people via bombs, seeking to make any sort of political point. He has a chance to kill Daredevil, numerous chances in fact, which would have removed an obstacle to his course, but that would have been wrong as DD is a good man. Berenthal gets that point across without being just a gun-toting caricature as Punisher is normally portrayed.
It's the cemetery scene though, that I constantly come back to. Frank Castle is truly well and fucked, and for that one moment, we see the weakness, as he connects with Daredevil and truly opens up. Not a "chick flick" moment, just a guy that has lost everything and is ready to bleed out on top of someone else's grave, giving a "last confession" to a man dressed as the devil. Berenthal pulls no punches with the way he delivers Frank's story, his regrets, his sheer exhaustion at still being alive. If you have absolutely zero interest in Netflix Marvel and can't see yourself ever watching any of their shows, please, for me, go to YouTube and search for "Daredevil Season 2 graveyard scene" because it will make you a believer in how well this guy can make your heart hurt for a fictional character.
Which brings me to Punisher S1. The teasers and the trailers and all the build up that has gone into it this past year, kind of worried me. When Iron Fist dropped, I binge watched it because I was trying to stay caught up and it was alright. It wasn't great, but I had no attachment to the character and didn't matter if it was good or bad. The Defenders was basically the same thing. It wasn't great, was barely decent despite the build up, but I binge watched it all. And, afterwards, I started to worry that Netflix would take everything that made DD S2 great & just flush it away on some stupid storyline. I don't think I've ever had my worries proven to be unfounded as hardcore as I did yesterday, watching 12 solid punishing hours of television.
P-S1 begins with Punisher finishing what he started in Daredevil - wiping out the last survivors of the three gangs, and then walking away from the vigilante life. The ghosts won't let him be and it hurts the heart to watch him relive his last wake up with his wife over and over again. But, New York isn't a peaceful place and it isn't too long before he is put back into a kill or be killed situation, where he can silence the voices for a few moments by doing what he does best.
But again, Netflix resisted the two-dimensional approach. The Punisher is a killing machine, true. Unlike comic characters like Batman, he has zero reticence against putting a bullet into the head of an adversary. But Frank Castle... Man, this guy... This guy hurts you. You see it on Berenthal's face through the entire show. The only time he isn't in pain is, ironically, when he is physically hurt. But, as he explains later to his new buddy pal Micro, physical pain isn't the true torture, time is.
From the opening guitar scene, aided by Berenthal's gruff performance and brilliant cinematography, there is never a moment that you don't ache for Frank Castle. He tries to avoid connecting with people, to keep anyone from getting close to him, because as he explains "happy is a kick in the balls waiting to happen." But you know, deep down, that the connections he has are all that keep him going. From the kinship he feels with military friend Curtis to the romantic tension with Karen, he can't bring himself to be an emotionless killing machine. Torn to pieces with regret over so many things, you can always see a little of yourself in him as a character and I don't think any other Punisher actor has achieved that.
One of the (many) things that I loved about the show is the depiction of veterans trying to put their lives back together, and the disenfranchisement many feel towards an America that sends them off to fight & die and that then tosses them away when they return. I've known many vets in my life (I'll expand on that later) and not a small amount of them have expressed the same frustrations. There is even a "stolen valor" individual that typifies the kind of person that would lie about a military career. Or the extent of it at least. Few things make me angrier than someone that claims to be a vet/claims combat deployment to get some benefit or for handouts. Just pisses me off.
So, Ben Barnes, who is himself a really talented actor, was cast as Billy Russo. I love that even people who know nothing about the backstory aren't entirely shocked when he turns on Castle, because anyone that suave and smooth must be a bad guy, right? Of course, if you're read any of the comics, you'll know right away that Russo is Jigsaw, the Joker to Punisher's Batman, as it were. Looks like IMDB even lists the character as Jigsaw instead of Billy Russo under casting, so, uh, yay for spoilers there? You want to like Russo though. Even though you know that pretty boy is working an angle, even before the reveal, he is charismatic and seems to be caring of the plight of his former military comrades. Of course, that makes his utter douchiness even better later on. And when he is killing Homeland Security personnel, or abusing Dinah Madani's trust (by the by, again great casting, Amber Rose Revah pulls off the "I'm a total bad ass but also hot as fuck when I'm sweaty but don't objectify me because I'm not some weak victim chick" vibe super well), it's easy to forget that you liked him in the first place.
The wife isn't really a fan of action movie-type shows. She didn't like Iron Fist at all and I think she made it through a couple of Daredevil episodes. She sat and watched eight solid Punisher episodes. Eight. Solid. True, I paused it a few times for a beer run and cooking, but otherwise, I was amazed that she was so pulled in by the show and that, more than anything I can say, is a testament to Berenthal's acting and the level of writing for the show. And the amount of empathy that you can't help but to feel. Which brought up some other stuff, and I'm going to end this before moving on by saying, 5/7 perfect score, watch Daredevil if you haven't and then binge Punisher because it is so, so, so worth the watch.
---end Punisher stuff/start personal stuff---
In DD S2, the Kurgen himself, Clancy Brown, plays Frank Castle's old commanding officer, and tells about how Castle saved his life in Afghanistan. The Punisher actually shows how that battle mentioned played out, and as we're watching the scene, Rachel asks why anyone would join the military knowing that they might face that possibility. Then she specifically asked me why I was going to enlist. I... Didn't really have an answer at that moment, so I just shrugged, but I've been thinking about it since, and I want to give an answer now. So, if you've read this far & will permit me, I have to go into some backstory that most people know/are aware of, but that might not have been expressed in its entirety before.
I was a very angry child. My parents divorced early in my life & that would have been fine, except that my mother had/has terrible taste in men and every time a new one was in her life, it always meant more bullshit for me to deal with. From legit being homeless, to sleeping with a knife every night, to not being able to control my desire to smash faces, I never really had a positive outlet for all that anger, nor any real positive role models in my life, except for a couple of stand out examples.
I come from kind of a military family. My grandfather was a DI and recruiter for the Army, other grandparent figures served, uncles, so on and so forth. These were people that I looked up to, the only people I had to look up to as a constant, when I was younger. I lost my father when I was 12 and whatever anger I had prior to that was magnified a hundredfold and junior high was super rough for me, so when I was 14, I ended up going to live with my grandmother and her husband, who was military as well as a retired correctional officer. To give me structure and discipline and whatnot. I dunno how well that ended up (boy, can I tell you some of the shit that happened that summer...) but the most positive outcome is that, when I started high school, I decided to enroll in JROTC.
My two instructors were amazing individuals. I learned more from them than from probably any one else, not just in the sense of military history and protocol, but in what it takes to be a good person. A combat engineer and a pilot/Ranger, both combat vets, influenced me to be less of an asshole (despite the crowd of people I hung around) and to think about what I could do in service of my country. Now, I want to freeze on that and strongly emphasize that whilst they were super influential on me, I was and am my own person. JROTC isn't some recruiting conspiracy and many people that take the classes never join the military. But you learn a lot about citizenship. And that's important.
So my junior year of high school rolled around. I was JROTC staff - our battalion S-2 "security and intelligence," which was more people logistics than either of those two things, but it was a job that I did very well and took fairly seriously. And, then it came time to take my ASVAB as all juniors do. My scores were pretty good. Out of my friend group, all individuals planning on enlisting, I outscored all but one person. That made me kind of cocky, I guess.
Anyway, I had this grand plan of enlisting in the National Guard (not for fear of deployment, but because I wanted to be able to do stuff around my state) when I turned 17 in '98 (for the record, I was the first of my friends to go and enlist, contrary to how some people might act ala calling me a coward and whatnot). I had this recruiter, Sgt Rich Hagedorn, that was so far up my ass about joining, that it didn't even occur to me until way later how aggressive recruiters can be for their numbers. Actually, it's a lot like used car salesmen that will say anything to make a sale. But I didn't need the snowball convincing BS, I was down. Not saying that Hagedorn lied to me about anything - he was (and I assume is) a really stand up guy, it's just that in hindsight, I can see how thick it was laid on. So this was my plan - enlisting NG, knock out basic between my junior and senior years, then do AIT after graduation (airborne infantry), push to go to Ranger school (thanks to my JROTC SAI, that was kind of my dream, since I can't be a pilot), finish a contract with the NG and go reg Army.
I made it as far as MEPS. See, one of the things recruiters tell you is that they're going to throw these forms at you and tell you if you lie on them or don't fully disclose everything, well, you get a massive fine and prison time, but don't worry about it because they don't check anything. Problem is, that didn't sit well with me and, well, I was a fat & out of shape kid, so I was given an inhaler just in case. Not that I ever needed it, never had asthma, just poor physical activity, but between that and the fact that my feet are flat as fuck, I was medically DQed. I heard later on that Hagedorn told some other recruits I pissed a dirty UA, which I found fucking hilarious since I've never done any drugs in my life, but since I didn't hear it from the horse's mouth, I don't know if that's actually true.
So that wrecked me for a bit. When the letter came from the MEPS Dr (Hyde? I think), saying I was black-balled, I lost my shit. Now, I am hella book smart, but I hadn't planned on college and whatnot, at least not right after high school, because I wanted to focus on the military. And... It was absolutely amazing how quickly the way my friend group changed the way they looked at me. Almost all the guys that I was super close to back then went on to serve in more or less successful military careers (I think only one is still active duty, but I'll elaborate later) and the friend that was with me the day I got the letter (who was hardcore going to be a Marine, and all other branches are fucking weak as shit, except when they wouldn't take him and no one else would until the Navy finally got him in and then the Navy was the best branch ever and everyone else is fucking bullshit and it's cool if you lie about your time in Iraq since no one can double check on it) had this absolutely disgusting look of pity, not sympathy or empathy or "man, dude, bro, I am so sorry," but total "welp, sucks for you, I'm gonna go get my enlistment bonus now."
I'd never been close to anyone in my life the way I was with that group of friends and that letter really changed a lot of things for me. As we got older and everyone left town for their military careers, I was basically just adrift. Not begrudging them their successes. I want that to be clear. I love and respect (most of them) more than words can say, but it killed me inside. I mean, I had some fucking AMAZING adventures that a military career would not have allowed for in the years since, but that killed me so much, One actually did go Marines, two went Army, then of course the one that went Navy. Of them, the Marine was my friend for the longest, and I wasn't really the best friend to him for a lot of our time, but he was the closest thing I had to a brother (I mean, I have a half brother, but we aren't close), and only one of the two that went Army is still a part of my life.
So the 9/11 attacks happened, and a lot changed. Suddenly, we were invading other countries and on a huge wartime footing with people enlisting in record numbers.
I love those guys. I truly do. But, the Army that I'm still in contact with, his mom passed away and he came home and we got some jobs working together and we're really super close for the longest. 9/11 and the aftermath saw a change in military policy and a few years down the road, he was called back up to be deployed. And I thought, fuck it, maybe with the changes...
I spent a couple years getting doctor notes and shit like that saying I have no traces of asthma and my feet were suitable for combat and whatnot, and getting shot down. But, 9/11 meant that the military was taking almost anyone for the meat grinder, so I hooked up with an Army recruiter and said "hey, this is what happened, what can we do?" and the recruiter said "hey, you can be blind and deaf and we could probably get you in right now!" So they scheduled me to retake the ASVAB since my scores were old and I hit the 99th percentile. I have the aptitude for any job in the military beyond cryptology and piloting. Because glasses. It didn't pan out in the end, but meh...
I guess... Everyone that joins the military does so for their own reason. If I'm being entirely honest with myself, I think I always felt obligated, but more importantly, I saw it as a way to work through my anger by shooting at an enemy. I mean, you grow up on war movies and hear enough vets talk about the brotherhood and bonds you form, you don't stop to think about the psychological consequences or that you might actually get maimed/killed. Hell, I'm still not convinced of my own mortality.
What I'm saying is, that I never really had a great reason to join the military beyond anger, a sense of obligation instilled by familial and friend relationships, and absolutely no clue what to do in life otherwise. I still really have no idea what I want to be "when I grow up" and I'm so old now, I'm practically dead, but I keep pushing forward and moving.
That's part of why I love Frank Castle so much. Even if the path is different, I understand that soul-sucking feeling of helplessness when you see all your plans come crashing down around you & you don't know what else to do but to fight on. Right or wrong, I truly believe that any action is better than inaction and The Punisher personifies that ideal. He has a code and is quick to beat a mother fucker with another mother fucker and I just really respect that.
Dulce et decorum est. Pro patria mori. - It is sweet and proper to die for one's country. Wilfred Owen wrote this as a poem during World War I. Sigfried Sassoon also notably wrote about the war, and then died at a stupidly young age. Owen called it "the old familiar lie" and now that I'm older, I can see it. Patton posited that it's better to make the other guy die for his country, and maybe that is more proper.
War is merely the continuation of politics by other means. Von Clausewitz. Also, war cannot be avoided, it can only be postponed to the advantages of others. Machiavelli.
I fully, 100% support my brothers and sisters in the military, and veteran communities. I'm not a pacifist and understand that war truly is inevitable between the nations of man. It's what we do. We're an angry and warlike species. Just... Now that I've had years to age and gain experience, I'm less struck by nationalist fervor or the desire to cause injury and death to others. Usually.
Monday, November 20, 2017
Wednesday, September 27, 2017
Lay of the Land: Grand Meadow Psychiatric Institute
"Sanitarium, just leave me alone..."
Grand Meadow? Well, yeah, I brought it up, but why would ya wanna know about the place? I guess, the place is just creepy. It has too much history and there're too many stories up North Side involving it. Ya sure ya want all this background, its kind of a lot? Alright, it's on ya then.
Not Even a Twinkle in the Eye
So back before UC was even a consideration, the most ya could find out this way was some plains, a river, and a whole mess of angry natives. The Otoe counted the area north of North Side as their lands, but avoided the space around where Grand Meadow is. "Ancient burial grounds"? Nah, or if it is, it wasn't their burial grounds. Ya'd have to track down a scholar in that sort of thing. All I ever heard was talk of mounds that they didn't go near.
Europeans came through earlier but it wasn't until the 1790s that any of them settled near Union City. A few outposts and river crossings sprung up, and that's what brought James Teesdale here. Rumors follow the rich and powerful and by all accounts, he was both. A supposed occultist, Teesdale built a mansion or hunting lodge, local history isn't exactly clear on it, not far from the river, close to the Otoe's mounds, despite all of their warnings to the contrary. So it isn't real surprising that the house burned to the ground in 1812. No one knows what started the fire, but only his eldest son escaped it, with both his wife and daughter away at the time.
The Teesdale homestead sat there untouched for almost 40 years, before it was purchased by a preacher man, Reverend Benjamin Bodycombe. Like Joseph Smith, he claimed visions led him to the place and he started a commune to practice his branch of Protestantism. History says it was all communal wives and vegetarianism. Sounds like a real party. Union City officially became a city not long after that, and Bodycombe's people weren't too popular with the townsfolk. Within a couple of years, they cut all ties and communication with UC. That's when it gets tragic. See, summer of 1857, Reverend Bodycombe and almost all of his followers committed mass suicide. The Reverend himself swallowed the barrel of a rifle. Only two little girls were found alive, but they didn't live much longer.
Foundation and Early Days
Yeah, ya think there's some rocky stuff back then, hold on. The land went up for auction, and a doctor from the East Coast, Ignatius Hopper, bought it. For a dollar. Ya can still find the submission of the plans for a sanitarium to be built there, using something called the "Kirkbride Plan." No idea what that actually means. Sounds fancy. Meadow Sanitarium, as it was called back then, was complete in 1862. We weren't a state during the Civil War but the fighting sometimes spilled over this way, and the government made use of the place as a military hospital. It wasn't until 1866 that Hopper was back in charge. He was as much a businessman as he was a doctor, and he pulled big money from back east to add to the sanitarium's grounds, building a bunch of extra housing units. They're still there, Hampden House, and all of that. If ya ever end up there, ya can see them.
Running a sanitarium must take a lot out of a guy 'cause Dr Hopper took a year long sabbatical in 1870, putting Dr Albert Cave in charge of the place until his return in 1871. Newspapers from back then have picture of the good doctor looking like he aged ten years in the space of one. Anyway, during Cave's tenure as Deputy Director, the sanitarium begins specializing in clinical insanity ahead of anything else. He's also the first to institute, see what I did there? a tier program for rich patients to get amazing care while the poor and wretched were often neglected. Unfortunately for him, he was trampled to death by a horse in 1881. Dr Edward Brake was tapped to be his replacement.
Brake became the Director when Hopper died in 1898, and one of his first acts was to have a statue of Hopper sculpted. Last time I was there, I swear the statue was watching me. What? No, I was visiting, not a resident. I'm not that crazy, yet.
Brave New Century
Things went great, I assume, until they didn't. Ya probably heard about the 1906 riot? No? It made national headlines back then. A handful of abused patients started an uprising in the East Wing of the sanitarium, killing three people and then setting a fire which killed another 130 or so.
Brake was the "turn a frown upside down" type of guy, and took the opportunity to improve the facilities. He had the burnt out wing demolished so that a newer, more modern one could be built. Rumor is that he connected the basements of the East Wing to the tunnels that already existed under the grounds, but I've never met anyone brave enough to check it out.
In 1908, two of Brake's staff were charged with negligence that led to the patient deaths from the fire. It was argued that by leaving the mentally ill strapped to beds, they had no way to save themselves. Justice was a fickle thing back then, however, and the staffers were acquitted of all charges.
1917 saw the death of Dr Brake by hanging suicide in his East Wing office. His successor, Donald Roe, found out that Brake had put the hospital into a poor financial position, and made plans to fix it. His plans were almost as short lived as his tenure, because he was strangled by a patient in 1920. Yeah, I know, a lot of Directors have died in the course of Grand Meadow's history. It doesn't stop there though.
The Dark Ages
The Nazis are best known for their eugenics program, but most of their ideas, they took from Americans. Of course, we got them back when German science aided us in building a-bombs and cruise missiles. Ah, so, Farnsworth Weaver became the next Director. He led a drug company back then, and wasn't a doctor himself, so he hired the now-infamous Dr Matthew Gorlay to be his head of medicine. Yeah, -that- Gorlay.
Then I probably don't have to tell you about the hundreds of patients that died from his experiments into lobotomy and sensory deprivation and extreme torture techniques. Did you know that Guantanamo Bay still uses some of the tricks he devised on terrorism suspects? That's what I've heard.
1933 was a bad year for the hospital. That's when Thomas Werner uncovered Gorlay's experiments and, over Weaver's objections, brought them to a medical ethics committee. The whole sordid affair has been made into numerous movies and I'm pretty sure a season of that murder story show. Gorlay was arrested for his medical fraud and Weaver ended up in prison for embezzlement. Of course, Gorlay committed suicide in his cell and Weaver died of stomach cancer years down the road. Thomas Werner was practically a hero back then, but no hospital administrator wanted to hire him. Probably because they had their own dirty laundry.
World Wide War
After Weaver died, the hospital went through a bit of an upheaval, since he owned the majority share of it. Werner stepped in and purchased it when no one else would, for one dollar. I know, that is a crazy coincidence.
During the war, in 1944, Werner pushed for the facility, simply Meadow Hospital, to be reopened with a focus on helping returning military men get right in the head. War is Hell and Werner recognized that many soldiers with "exhaustion," the term for PTSD back then, would need a facility that understood their mental struggles. It was a short term solution though, and the hospital only stayed open for a couple of years.
Werner received the Key to Union City back then, going into the '50s. And another award for public service. because of that, he was able to gather up enough funding to get the hospital opened back up for general use in '52.
He retired back in 1954 and the Board of Trustees, his group of investors, named Jeremiah Moorcock as the new Director. After Werner died in 1955, this guy worked the Board into returning Meadow to its old ways as a facility for the medically and criminally insane.
Moorcock reopened most of the East Wing and by '57, there weren't any more patients there for medical care. The same year, the name was changed to Grand Meadow Psychiatric Institute. Right, because it was such a place of learning, ya know? As a nod to that idea though, Moorcock built an addition to the medical center and named it after Werner, the Thomas Werner Annexe.
With the TWA dedicated to his "studies," Moorcock performed hundreds of lobotomies and electroconvulsive therapy experiments in the name of science. Yeah, electroshock. Never heard of that helping anyone, either. He kept meticulous notes that you can find if you know what books to look up. It came to a boil in '68 when he performed a lobotomy on a girl that was just tripping on acid. Her parents sued, he won, but it brought more scrutiny back to the hospital and someone eventually decided to act the role of karma in '73, when Moorcock was lobotomized by an assailant that they never found.
Ultra Modern Times
Johnathan Sendak took over after that, and did his best to clean the Institute up. Lobotomies and ECT was thrown into the trash heap as not conducive to true scientific advancement. There are still some bitter locals from back then, as Sendak fired a good portion of the staff and hired out-of-towners as replacements. He even convinced the Board of Trustees to sell a large portion of their share in Grand Meadow to a Japanese firm called Teijin in the late 70s, just ahead of the "Japanese Invasion" craze of the 80s. Teijin jumped into things on the condition that they chose the Deputy Director of the facility, and Sendak hired Dr Thomas Bateman on their recommendations.
About a year after the Teijin purchase, Sendak talked the Board into divesting themselves of their remaining interests, and the shares were split between Eisai and Mitsubishi Tanabe, two of Teijin's rival Japanese pharmaceutical manufacturers. Yeah, I'm old enough to remember the waves that caused in town, since Union City has never had a large Japanese population. Well, I'll show ya Chinatown, but that isn't the same. Sorry, I know some people think all "slant eyes" are the same. Not implying anything. Ya look like a good person.
The struggle between the companies made it harder for Grand Meadow to treat its patients, but when Bateman became the Director after Sendak's retirement, he worked hard to bring modern psychiatric techniques into the forefront of the Institute. He even made some documented breakthroughs with therapy techniques, all while dealing with ongoing pay disputes. The hospital continually lost money through the 80s, and Teijin was eventually able to buy out their competitors, even if they stopped looking at Grand Meadow as a profitable venture.
Ready for another tragic turn? In 1991, Bateman murdered his assistant and ran off with as much money from the hospital as he could. Ironically, he claimed temporary insanity and could never explain why he did it. Almost as ironically is that he was killed in prison by a former Grand Meadow patient. After his arrest, Dr Bridget McClusky became the first female Director hired on. Hey. women can do anything. And I guess she did a good job, since Grand Meadow mostly stayed out of the news, until she stepped down in 2006. The stress of the job would get to anyone with that kind of history to deal with.
Dr Kumiko Noguchi, a stunning lady from Kyoto City and yes, I sure do like seeing her picture in the papers, runs the facility now. I still wouldn't want to be locked up in the place, and if ya ever have to visit anyone, make it a short visit, but I sure wouldn't be mad if she wanted to spend time in a padded room with me, if ya know what I mean.
Yeah, every now and then there is a big to-do about someone famous going there for treatment, and kids make up urban legends about escapees killing whole families in the park near it, but I wouldn't dwell on that too much if ya go North Side. Just, stay off the bridge across the river late at night. It's for the best.
----Jon De Luca, $5 tour guide
Grand Meadow Timeline
< 1790s - Otoe Natives consider the area their territory, but shun it due to supersition of underground mounds in the vicinity
1794/1795 - first European settlements in the area
1798 - James Teesdale arrives, builds mansion/hunting lodge to the north on Otoe land, despite warnings
1799 - Completion of the Teesdale Mansion
1803 - Louisiana Purchase, area becomes US territory
1812 - War with Britain, Teesdale Mansion burns to the ground, most of the family dies
1822 - Bellevue becomes first NE town
1833 - Moses Merril Mission built southwest of Bellevue, US govt relocates the remaining Otoe in the region there, none remain north of UC by 1841
1851 - Benjamin Bodycombe purchases the land from the remaining Teesdale descendants, establishes a commune
4 July 1854 - Union City officially founded
(Jan) 1857 - Issues with UC cause Bodycombe and his followers to withdraw from "polite society," neither he nor his adult followers are seen alive again|
(July) 1857 - Bodycombe and his followers commit mass suicide. Only two survivors, seven year old girls, are found. They're dead within a year.
1861 - Dr Ignatius Hopper purchases the land at auction for $1, and submits plans to the City Council for a sanitarium based on the Kirkbride Plan, he designs the place with help of local architect Jonathan Teesdale, who adds personal touches like the sculpting of six saints on the front face of the main building
28 Feb 1862 - Meadow Sanitarium is complete amidst spillover fighting from the Civil War
9 June 1862 - The US government makes use of the sanitarium as a military hospital
1866 - Dr Hopper regains full control of the hospital
1868 - With a series of shrewd business deals and investors, Hopper is able to expand the grounds of the facility, and secure prestigious East Coast patients. Hampden House, Whitehall House, Brochardt House, and Maxwell Gymnasium are all built at this time and named after Hopper's investment partners, with his own offices in the East Wing of the main building.
1870 - Dr Hopper experiences a breakdown and takes a leave of absence from the hospital, as Dr Albert Cave takes over as interim Director
19 Jan 1871 - Dr Hopper returns, names Dr Cave as as Deputy Director. Local papers speculate on his leave of absence as he returns looking aged a decade. Dr Cave transitions the hospital towards a specialization in the insane
27 Mar 1876 - Meadow Sanitarium is renamed Meadow Asylum for the Insane. Dr Cave institutes a heavier "pay for treatment" plan wherein the rich are basically given top tier medical care in private suites whilst the poor are subjected to beatings, loss of human comforts, and isolation
1881 - Building of Chesterton Hall and Platte House, massive barn renovations
16 June 1894 - Albert Cave is trampled to death by carriage horse transporting wealthy patient, no report of what spooked the horse, Dr Edward Brake takes his place as Deputy
1898 - Dr Hopper dies in his office of an apparent heart attack, Dr Brake becomes Director of Meadow Asylum. He commissions a statue of Dr Hopper sculpted by Frank Teesdale, to be erected at one side of the main drive. It still stands there.
10 Nov 1906 - Patients from the lower wards (the "poor wards") revolt against their treatment, attacking staff and attempting to escape the hospital. Three staff are killed in the attempt and a blaze erupts in the East Wing, gutting it, and causing the loss of 17 more staff, along with 116 patients, before it is contained.
1907 - Brake starts a renovation of the hospital, beginning with the demolishing of the East Wing. Plans for a more modern facility are drawn up with the aid of Frank Teesdale, utilizing preexisting tunnels for the buildings sub-basements. When the building is complete, however, Dr Brake orders the sub-basements to be sealed.
16 Jan 1908 - Two faculty members, accused of being responsible for the deaths of so many patients in the East Wing, are acquitted of all charges
1917 - Brake's body is found hanging by his belt from a light fitting in his office, Dr Donald Roe takes control of the facility and discovers Brake over-leveraged the hospital's finances during reconstruction, he works on plans to fix the situation
1919 - Six patients are found dead from starvation in a basement room, no staff is ever investigated for the incident
23 Oct 1920 - A patient suffering from delusional psychosis strangles Dr Roe in his office, then slits his own throat with a scalpel. Afterwards, the Board of Trustees finally see the dire financial straits of the hospital
(March) 1921 - Following months of uncertainty, Farnsworth Weaver, president of Weaver Pharmaceuticals, is appointed as Director. Not a doctor himself, he hires Dr. Matthew Gorlay to be Head of Medicine
1922 - Weaver renovates Hampden House, which had gone unused for a decade, to be used as his private offices. The East Wing office space is turned into apartments for wealthy patients. Dr Gorlay, a fan of eugenics-based pseudo science, begins to conduct experiments on patients
1927 - An orderly is arrested and tried for running an illegal still. The booze created causes blindness in at least half a dozen patients.
1930 - A patient riot in the lower East Wing, much smaller than the 1906 incident, occurs, leading to the death of 17 patients and five staff members. It is allegedly incited by one of Gorlay's test subjects
1933 - James Sercombe, a 21-year diagnosed with "Mongolian idiocy" (now known as Downs Syndrome) dies of a brain hemorrhage. Dr Gorlay is out of town at the time and the autopsy duties fall to Dr Thomas Werner, a new appointee to the staff. Dr. Werner discovers that Sercombe was subjected to 14 different surgeries prior to his death, the last of which directly caused the fatality. Though ordered to cover up the findings by Weaver, Dr Werner goes to the AMA Ethics Committee. In the course of investigation, its found that Gorlay covered up the deaths of over 300 patients in the course of 12 years, and the needless maiming of another 100. His is arrested for medical fraud, and Weaver, aware of his practices, is arrested for embezzling hospital funds. Sentenced to only five years in prison, Gorlay nevertheless commits suicide within two weeks of being sentenced. Meadow is shut down and even those doctors, like Werner, not charged with a crime, have trouble finding work through the Depression.
1939 - Weaver dies from stomach cancer whilst in prison. With no heirs, his assets are liquidated and the closed hospital is sold to Thomas Werner at auction for $1.
1944 - Werner pushes for the facility, now Meadow Hospital, to be reopened as a veterans care facility. With a grant from the US Army, the West Wing of the hospital is dedicated to those returning from World War II and suffering from "exhaustion" (PTSD), Union City refers to the hospital as "The Purple Heart" for this, a name that sticks into the '70s.
1946 - With the end of the war and the need for veteran mental care (falsely) believed to be extraneous, the hospital once again closes due to funding. Werner is awarded the Key to the City by UC's mayor, Alexander Teesdale. A month later, Werner receives the Commander's Award for Public Service. With his reputation restored, he begins a campaign to bring investors back to "his" hospital
1952 - This sterling reputation pays off, as Werner secures funding to reopen as a hospice and long term care facility for the developmentally disabled
1954 - Werner retires and whilst technically the owner of the hospital, the Board of Trustees names Dr. Jeremiah Moorcock as his successor, despite his objections. Moorcock is a firm believer in psychosurgery and retrieves as many of the old asylum files from the County Clerk as possible
(April) 1955 - Thomas Werner dies of a heart attack. Moorcock convinces the Board to return Meadow to its days as an institute for the insane. Within five years, it once again becomes the kind of place that people send their afflicted family members to forget about
1956 - Moorcock reopens three wards in the East Wing and expands the Medical Center
1957 - The last solely medical patient is transferred from the hospital, renamed the Grand Meadow Psychiatric Institute after all of the expansions
1959 - Moorcock adds a small extension to the Medical Center, called the Thomas Werner Annexe. It is dedicated to psychosurgery and ECT, and Moorcock will perform more than 500 lobotomies there
1968 - Alison Purchase, a 19 year old Southern California native, is brought to the hospital by police after suffering a bad LSD trip. Once the drug has passed through her system, she (rightfully) protests that she doesn't belong at Grand Meadow. After causing hundreds of dollars in damages to her ward, Moorcock performs a frontal lobotomy that leaves her docile, but incontinent. Her parents file a lawsuit, which he successfully defends himself against
1 Aug 1973 - Dr Moorcock receives a transorbital lobotomy from person or persons unknown
1974 - After spending considerable time and assets to keep Moorcock's fate out of the press, the Board of Trustees appoints an outsider, Dr Johnathan Sendak, to the Directorship. Appalled at Moorcock's techniques, he systematically fires many of the individuals involved and demolishes the Thomas Werner Annexe, in an attempt to make the hospital far more progressive in treatment
1977 - Sendak convinces the Board to sell half of the hospital's assets to Teijin, a Japanese pharmaceutical company, to make up for expenses occurred during Moorcock's administration. Teijin encourages Sendak to hire Dr Thomas Bateman as his assistant
1978 - Against Bateman's advice, Sendak convinces the Board to divest their remaining interest in the hospital to pharma companies Eisai and Mitsubishi Tanabe, themselves Teijin competitors. These leads to numerous power plays between the three which impact the hospital's ability to treat the insane
1980 - Sendak retires, Bateman becomes Director. Due to a pay dispute, his relationship with Teijin worsens. He embarks on an ambitious program to ultra modernize the facilities, including reopening the entirety of the East Wing. He repurposes Brochardt House into a school house, and Whitehall House as a dorm for visiting interns. Profits plummet over the next ten years. Whilst the pharmaceutical firms return control, they soon lose interest in Grand Meadow as a money making venture.
(April) 1991 - Dr Bateman murders his assistant, Dr Zachary Teesdale, with a scalpel, and absconds with the previous years profit. Investigations reveal that the plummet in profits was partially attributed to Bateman's embezzlement
(June) 1991 - Police apprehend Bateman
(January) 1992 - Bateman pleads guilty to murder and embezzlement, but under diminished faculties. He claims that he doesn't know why he killed his assistant, only that he felt compelled to do so. He is sentenced to 26 years in a county correctional facility. Dr Bridget McClusky is appointed Director of Grand Meadow, the first woman in its history to hold the title
4 March 1993 - Adam Barker, a former patient of Grand Meadow, beats Bateman to death in prison
2006 - Citing extreme exhaustion and stress, Dr McClusky retires. Teijin, now the sole backers of the facility, transfers in Dr Kumiko Noguchi from their Kyoto City branch. She brings Grand Meadow into the new millennium with multiple technology advances
Grand Meadow? Well, yeah, I brought it up, but why would ya wanna know about the place? I guess, the place is just creepy. It has too much history and there're too many stories up North Side involving it. Ya sure ya want all this background, its kind of a lot? Alright, it's on ya then.
Not Even a Twinkle in the Eye
So back before UC was even a consideration, the most ya could find out this way was some plains, a river, and a whole mess of angry natives. The Otoe counted the area north of North Side as their lands, but avoided the space around where Grand Meadow is. "Ancient burial grounds"? Nah, or if it is, it wasn't their burial grounds. Ya'd have to track down a scholar in that sort of thing. All I ever heard was talk of mounds that they didn't go near.
Europeans came through earlier but it wasn't until the 1790s that any of them settled near Union City. A few outposts and river crossings sprung up, and that's what brought James Teesdale here. Rumors follow the rich and powerful and by all accounts, he was both. A supposed occultist, Teesdale built a mansion or hunting lodge, local history isn't exactly clear on it, not far from the river, close to the Otoe's mounds, despite all of their warnings to the contrary. So it isn't real surprising that the house burned to the ground in 1812. No one knows what started the fire, but only his eldest son escaped it, with both his wife and daughter away at the time.
The Teesdale homestead sat there untouched for almost 40 years, before it was purchased by a preacher man, Reverend Benjamin Bodycombe. Like Joseph Smith, he claimed visions led him to the place and he started a commune to practice his branch of Protestantism. History says it was all communal wives and vegetarianism. Sounds like a real party. Union City officially became a city not long after that, and Bodycombe's people weren't too popular with the townsfolk. Within a couple of years, they cut all ties and communication with UC. That's when it gets tragic. See, summer of 1857, Reverend Bodycombe and almost all of his followers committed mass suicide. The Reverend himself swallowed the barrel of a rifle. Only two little girls were found alive, but they didn't live much longer.
Foundation and Early Days
Yeah, ya think there's some rocky stuff back then, hold on. The land went up for auction, and a doctor from the East Coast, Ignatius Hopper, bought it. For a dollar. Ya can still find the submission of the plans for a sanitarium to be built there, using something called the "Kirkbride Plan." No idea what that actually means. Sounds fancy. Meadow Sanitarium, as it was called back then, was complete in 1862. We weren't a state during the Civil War but the fighting sometimes spilled over this way, and the government made use of the place as a military hospital. It wasn't until 1866 that Hopper was back in charge. He was as much a businessman as he was a doctor, and he pulled big money from back east to add to the sanitarium's grounds, building a bunch of extra housing units. They're still there, Hampden House, and all of that. If ya ever end up there, ya can see them.
Running a sanitarium must take a lot out of a guy 'cause Dr Hopper took a year long sabbatical in 1870, putting Dr Albert Cave in charge of the place until his return in 1871. Newspapers from back then have picture of the good doctor looking like he aged ten years in the space of one. Anyway, during Cave's tenure as Deputy Director, the sanitarium begins specializing in clinical insanity ahead of anything else. He's also the first to institute, see what I did there? a tier program for rich patients to get amazing care while the poor and wretched were often neglected. Unfortunately for him, he was trampled to death by a horse in 1881. Dr Edward Brake was tapped to be his replacement.
Brake became the Director when Hopper died in 1898, and one of his first acts was to have a statue of Hopper sculpted. Last time I was there, I swear the statue was watching me. What? No, I was visiting, not a resident. I'm not that crazy, yet.
Brave New Century
Things went great, I assume, until they didn't. Ya probably heard about the 1906 riot? No? It made national headlines back then. A handful of abused patients started an uprising in the East Wing of the sanitarium, killing three people and then setting a fire which killed another 130 or so.
Brake was the "turn a frown upside down" type of guy, and took the opportunity to improve the facilities. He had the burnt out wing demolished so that a newer, more modern one could be built. Rumor is that he connected the basements of the East Wing to the tunnels that already existed under the grounds, but I've never met anyone brave enough to check it out.
In 1908, two of Brake's staff were charged with negligence that led to the patient deaths from the fire. It was argued that by leaving the mentally ill strapped to beds, they had no way to save themselves. Justice was a fickle thing back then, however, and the staffers were acquitted of all charges.
1917 saw the death of Dr Brake by hanging suicide in his East Wing office. His successor, Donald Roe, found out that Brake had put the hospital into a poor financial position, and made plans to fix it. His plans were almost as short lived as his tenure, because he was strangled by a patient in 1920. Yeah, I know, a lot of Directors have died in the course of Grand Meadow's history. It doesn't stop there though.
The Dark Ages
The Nazis are best known for their eugenics program, but most of their ideas, they took from Americans. Of course, we got them back when German science aided us in building a-bombs and cruise missiles. Ah, so, Farnsworth Weaver became the next Director. He led a drug company back then, and wasn't a doctor himself, so he hired the now-infamous Dr Matthew Gorlay to be his head of medicine. Yeah, -that- Gorlay.
Then I probably don't have to tell you about the hundreds of patients that died from his experiments into lobotomy and sensory deprivation and extreme torture techniques. Did you know that Guantanamo Bay still uses some of the tricks he devised on terrorism suspects? That's what I've heard.
1933 was a bad year for the hospital. That's when Thomas Werner uncovered Gorlay's experiments and, over Weaver's objections, brought them to a medical ethics committee. The whole sordid affair has been made into numerous movies and I'm pretty sure a season of that murder story show. Gorlay was arrested for his medical fraud and Weaver ended up in prison for embezzlement. Of course, Gorlay committed suicide in his cell and Weaver died of stomach cancer years down the road. Thomas Werner was practically a hero back then, but no hospital administrator wanted to hire him. Probably because they had their own dirty laundry.
World Wide War
After Weaver died, the hospital went through a bit of an upheaval, since he owned the majority share of it. Werner stepped in and purchased it when no one else would, for one dollar. I know, that is a crazy coincidence.
During the war, in 1944, Werner pushed for the facility, simply Meadow Hospital, to be reopened with a focus on helping returning military men get right in the head. War is Hell and Werner recognized that many soldiers with "exhaustion," the term for PTSD back then, would need a facility that understood their mental struggles. It was a short term solution though, and the hospital only stayed open for a couple of years.
Werner received the Key to Union City back then, going into the '50s. And another award for public service. because of that, he was able to gather up enough funding to get the hospital opened back up for general use in '52.
He retired back in 1954 and the Board of Trustees, his group of investors, named Jeremiah Moorcock as the new Director. After Werner died in 1955, this guy worked the Board into returning Meadow to its old ways as a facility for the medically and criminally insane.
Moorcock reopened most of the East Wing and by '57, there weren't any more patients there for medical care. The same year, the name was changed to Grand Meadow Psychiatric Institute. Right, because it was such a place of learning, ya know? As a nod to that idea though, Moorcock built an addition to the medical center and named it after Werner, the Thomas Werner Annexe.
With the TWA dedicated to his "studies," Moorcock performed hundreds of lobotomies and electroconvulsive therapy experiments in the name of science. Yeah, electroshock. Never heard of that helping anyone, either. He kept meticulous notes that you can find if you know what books to look up. It came to a boil in '68 when he performed a lobotomy on a girl that was just tripping on acid. Her parents sued, he won, but it brought more scrutiny back to the hospital and someone eventually decided to act the role of karma in '73, when Moorcock was lobotomized by an assailant that they never found.
Ultra Modern Times
Johnathan Sendak took over after that, and did his best to clean the Institute up. Lobotomies and ECT was thrown into the trash heap as not conducive to true scientific advancement. There are still some bitter locals from back then, as Sendak fired a good portion of the staff and hired out-of-towners as replacements. He even convinced the Board of Trustees to sell a large portion of their share in Grand Meadow to a Japanese firm called Teijin in the late 70s, just ahead of the "Japanese Invasion" craze of the 80s. Teijin jumped into things on the condition that they chose the Deputy Director of the facility, and Sendak hired Dr Thomas Bateman on their recommendations.
About a year after the Teijin purchase, Sendak talked the Board into divesting themselves of their remaining interests, and the shares were split between Eisai and Mitsubishi Tanabe, two of Teijin's rival Japanese pharmaceutical manufacturers. Yeah, I'm old enough to remember the waves that caused in town, since Union City has never had a large Japanese population. Well, I'll show ya Chinatown, but that isn't the same. Sorry, I know some people think all "slant eyes" are the same. Not implying anything. Ya look like a good person.
The struggle between the companies made it harder for Grand Meadow to treat its patients, but when Bateman became the Director after Sendak's retirement, he worked hard to bring modern psychiatric techniques into the forefront of the Institute. He even made some documented breakthroughs with therapy techniques, all while dealing with ongoing pay disputes. The hospital continually lost money through the 80s, and Teijin was eventually able to buy out their competitors, even if they stopped looking at Grand Meadow as a profitable venture.
Ready for another tragic turn? In 1991, Bateman murdered his assistant and ran off with as much money from the hospital as he could. Ironically, he claimed temporary insanity and could never explain why he did it. Almost as ironically is that he was killed in prison by a former Grand Meadow patient. After his arrest, Dr Bridget McClusky became the first female Director hired on. Hey. women can do anything. And I guess she did a good job, since Grand Meadow mostly stayed out of the news, until she stepped down in 2006. The stress of the job would get to anyone with that kind of history to deal with.
Dr Kumiko Noguchi, a stunning lady from Kyoto City and yes, I sure do like seeing her picture in the papers, runs the facility now. I still wouldn't want to be locked up in the place, and if ya ever have to visit anyone, make it a short visit, but I sure wouldn't be mad if she wanted to spend time in a padded room with me, if ya know what I mean.
Yeah, every now and then there is a big to-do about someone famous going there for treatment, and kids make up urban legends about escapees killing whole families in the park near it, but I wouldn't dwell on that too much if ya go North Side. Just, stay off the bridge across the river late at night. It's for the best.
----Jon De Luca, $5 tour guide
++++
Grand Meadow Timeline
1794/1795 - first European settlements in the area
1798 - James Teesdale arrives, builds mansion/hunting lodge to the north on Otoe land, despite warnings
1799 - Completion of the Teesdale Mansion
1803 - Louisiana Purchase, area becomes US territory
1812 - War with Britain, Teesdale Mansion burns to the ground, most of the family dies
1822 - Bellevue becomes first NE town
1833 - Moses Merril Mission built southwest of Bellevue, US govt relocates the remaining Otoe in the region there, none remain north of UC by 1841
1851 - Benjamin Bodycombe purchases the land from the remaining Teesdale descendants, establishes a commune
4 July 1854 - Union City officially founded
(Jan) 1857 - Issues with UC cause Bodycombe and his followers to withdraw from "polite society," neither he nor his adult followers are seen alive again|
(July) 1857 - Bodycombe and his followers commit mass suicide. Only two survivors, seven year old girls, are found. They're dead within a year.
1861 - Dr Ignatius Hopper purchases the land at auction for $1, and submits plans to the City Council for a sanitarium based on the Kirkbride Plan, he designs the place with help of local architect Jonathan Teesdale, who adds personal touches like the sculpting of six saints on the front face of the main building
28 Feb 1862 - Meadow Sanitarium is complete amidst spillover fighting from the Civil War
9 June 1862 - The US government makes use of the sanitarium as a military hospital
1866 - Dr Hopper regains full control of the hospital
1868 - With a series of shrewd business deals and investors, Hopper is able to expand the grounds of the facility, and secure prestigious East Coast patients. Hampden House, Whitehall House, Brochardt House, and Maxwell Gymnasium are all built at this time and named after Hopper's investment partners, with his own offices in the East Wing of the main building.
1870 - Dr Hopper experiences a breakdown and takes a leave of absence from the hospital, as Dr Albert Cave takes over as interim Director
19 Jan 1871 - Dr Hopper returns, names Dr Cave as as Deputy Director. Local papers speculate on his leave of absence as he returns looking aged a decade. Dr Cave transitions the hospital towards a specialization in the insane
27 Mar 1876 - Meadow Sanitarium is renamed Meadow Asylum for the Insane. Dr Cave institutes a heavier "pay for treatment" plan wherein the rich are basically given top tier medical care in private suites whilst the poor are subjected to beatings, loss of human comforts, and isolation
1881 - Building of Chesterton Hall and Platte House, massive barn renovations
16 June 1894 - Albert Cave is trampled to death by carriage horse transporting wealthy patient, no report of what spooked the horse, Dr Edward Brake takes his place as Deputy
1898 - Dr Hopper dies in his office of an apparent heart attack, Dr Brake becomes Director of Meadow Asylum. He commissions a statue of Dr Hopper sculpted by Frank Teesdale, to be erected at one side of the main drive. It still stands there.
10 Nov 1906 - Patients from the lower wards (the "poor wards") revolt against their treatment, attacking staff and attempting to escape the hospital. Three staff are killed in the attempt and a blaze erupts in the East Wing, gutting it, and causing the loss of 17 more staff, along with 116 patients, before it is contained.
1907 - Brake starts a renovation of the hospital, beginning with the demolishing of the East Wing. Plans for a more modern facility are drawn up with the aid of Frank Teesdale, utilizing preexisting tunnels for the buildings sub-basements. When the building is complete, however, Dr Brake orders the sub-basements to be sealed.
16 Jan 1908 - Two faculty members, accused of being responsible for the deaths of so many patients in the East Wing, are acquitted of all charges
1917 - Brake's body is found hanging by his belt from a light fitting in his office, Dr Donald Roe takes control of the facility and discovers Brake over-leveraged the hospital's finances during reconstruction, he works on plans to fix the situation
1919 - Six patients are found dead from starvation in a basement room, no staff is ever investigated for the incident
23 Oct 1920 - A patient suffering from delusional psychosis strangles Dr Roe in his office, then slits his own throat with a scalpel. Afterwards, the Board of Trustees finally see the dire financial straits of the hospital
(March) 1921 - Following months of uncertainty, Farnsworth Weaver, president of Weaver Pharmaceuticals, is appointed as Director. Not a doctor himself, he hires Dr. Matthew Gorlay to be Head of Medicine
1922 - Weaver renovates Hampden House, which had gone unused for a decade, to be used as his private offices. The East Wing office space is turned into apartments for wealthy patients. Dr Gorlay, a fan of eugenics-based pseudo science, begins to conduct experiments on patients
1927 - An orderly is arrested and tried for running an illegal still. The booze created causes blindness in at least half a dozen patients.
1930 - A patient riot in the lower East Wing, much smaller than the 1906 incident, occurs, leading to the death of 17 patients and five staff members. It is allegedly incited by one of Gorlay's test subjects
1933 - James Sercombe, a 21-year diagnosed with "Mongolian idiocy" (now known as Downs Syndrome) dies of a brain hemorrhage. Dr Gorlay is out of town at the time and the autopsy duties fall to Dr Thomas Werner, a new appointee to the staff. Dr. Werner discovers that Sercombe was subjected to 14 different surgeries prior to his death, the last of which directly caused the fatality. Though ordered to cover up the findings by Weaver, Dr Werner goes to the AMA Ethics Committee. In the course of investigation, its found that Gorlay covered up the deaths of over 300 patients in the course of 12 years, and the needless maiming of another 100. His is arrested for medical fraud, and Weaver, aware of his practices, is arrested for embezzling hospital funds. Sentenced to only five years in prison, Gorlay nevertheless commits suicide within two weeks of being sentenced. Meadow is shut down and even those doctors, like Werner, not charged with a crime, have trouble finding work through the Depression.
1939 - Weaver dies from stomach cancer whilst in prison. With no heirs, his assets are liquidated and the closed hospital is sold to Thomas Werner at auction for $1.
1944 - Werner pushes for the facility, now Meadow Hospital, to be reopened as a veterans care facility. With a grant from the US Army, the West Wing of the hospital is dedicated to those returning from World War II and suffering from "exhaustion" (PTSD), Union City refers to the hospital as "The Purple Heart" for this, a name that sticks into the '70s.
1946 - With the end of the war and the need for veteran mental care (falsely) believed to be extraneous, the hospital once again closes due to funding. Werner is awarded the Key to the City by UC's mayor, Alexander Teesdale. A month later, Werner receives the Commander's Award for Public Service. With his reputation restored, he begins a campaign to bring investors back to "his" hospital
1952 - This sterling reputation pays off, as Werner secures funding to reopen as a hospice and long term care facility for the developmentally disabled
1954 - Werner retires and whilst technically the owner of the hospital, the Board of Trustees names Dr. Jeremiah Moorcock as his successor, despite his objections. Moorcock is a firm believer in psychosurgery and retrieves as many of the old asylum files from the County Clerk as possible
(April) 1955 - Thomas Werner dies of a heart attack. Moorcock convinces the Board to return Meadow to its days as an institute for the insane. Within five years, it once again becomes the kind of place that people send their afflicted family members to forget about
1956 - Moorcock reopens three wards in the East Wing and expands the Medical Center
1957 - The last solely medical patient is transferred from the hospital, renamed the Grand Meadow Psychiatric Institute after all of the expansions
1959 - Moorcock adds a small extension to the Medical Center, called the Thomas Werner Annexe. It is dedicated to psychosurgery and ECT, and Moorcock will perform more than 500 lobotomies there
1968 - Alison Purchase, a 19 year old Southern California native, is brought to the hospital by police after suffering a bad LSD trip. Once the drug has passed through her system, she (rightfully) protests that she doesn't belong at Grand Meadow. After causing hundreds of dollars in damages to her ward, Moorcock performs a frontal lobotomy that leaves her docile, but incontinent. Her parents file a lawsuit, which he successfully defends himself against
1 Aug 1973 - Dr Moorcock receives a transorbital lobotomy from person or persons unknown
1974 - After spending considerable time and assets to keep Moorcock's fate out of the press, the Board of Trustees appoints an outsider, Dr Johnathan Sendak, to the Directorship. Appalled at Moorcock's techniques, he systematically fires many of the individuals involved and demolishes the Thomas Werner Annexe, in an attempt to make the hospital far more progressive in treatment
1977 - Sendak convinces the Board to sell half of the hospital's assets to Teijin, a Japanese pharmaceutical company, to make up for expenses occurred during Moorcock's administration. Teijin encourages Sendak to hire Dr Thomas Bateman as his assistant
1978 - Against Bateman's advice, Sendak convinces the Board to divest their remaining interest in the hospital to pharma companies Eisai and Mitsubishi Tanabe, themselves Teijin competitors. These leads to numerous power plays between the three which impact the hospital's ability to treat the insane
1980 - Sendak retires, Bateman becomes Director. Due to a pay dispute, his relationship with Teijin worsens. He embarks on an ambitious program to ultra modernize the facilities, including reopening the entirety of the East Wing. He repurposes Brochardt House into a school house, and Whitehall House as a dorm for visiting interns. Profits plummet over the next ten years. Whilst the pharmaceutical firms return control, they soon lose interest in Grand Meadow as a money making venture.
(April) 1991 - Dr Bateman murders his assistant, Dr Zachary Teesdale, with a scalpel, and absconds with the previous years profit. Investigations reveal that the plummet in profits was partially attributed to Bateman's embezzlement
(June) 1991 - Police apprehend Bateman
(January) 1992 - Bateman pleads guilty to murder and embezzlement, but under diminished faculties. He claims that he doesn't know why he killed his assistant, only that he felt compelled to do so. He is sentenced to 26 years in a county correctional facility. Dr Bridget McClusky is appointed Director of Grand Meadow, the first woman in its history to hold the title
4 March 1993 - Adam Barker, a former patient of Grand Meadow, beats Bateman to death in prison
2006 - Citing extreme exhaustion and stress, Dr McClusky retires. Teijin, now the sole backers of the facility, transfers in Dr Kumiko Noguchi from their Kyoto City branch. She brings Grand Meadow into the new millennium with multiple technology advances
Just a few minutes from I-680
(From World of Darkness: Asylum)
(OON - World of Darkness: Asylum is one of the best books in my collection. Grand Meadow is a version of Bishopsgate intertwined with the history of Union City. The book version was definitely written to be placed within the original colonies, so I had to move the timeline up a hundred years to fit with real world settlements in what eventually became Nebraska, but once I got there, it was pretty easy to slide it into the narrative. It follows so many horror movie tropes and cliches that it is almost impossible not to love the idea.)
Saturday, September 9, 2017
Drowning Sorrows
"Shape shift, nose to the wind..."
Smell. It's the hardest thing for me to put into words. Take tension, for example. It has a stink to it. No, I don't mean the way people sweat when they're tense. I mean the tension in the air, the thing people describe as "thick enough to cut with a knife." I can smell the normal musky scents of my pack, sure, but there's the bitterness of the tension overlaying it, an odor kind of like the way a penny tastes. That's not exactly it, of course, since there is the tang of burning ozone as well, but you get the picture.
It's the latest rash of violence in the city that has everyone on edge. Not the normal gang violence or robberies, those tend to come and go. Arson, a mass shooting, flayed bodies dumped in a stream, that sticks out. Alex Mei, Bone Shadow and our Ithaeur, her tension smells the strongest right now. See, every time some big shit happens, it stirs up spirits in the area. Our darlin' Alex, she gets to deal with the little fish caught up in the wake. Me? I'm double dosed with badassness; Blood Talon Rahu. Give me something to fight and to kill, and I'm a happy camper. Too much dealing with spirit courts makes me twitchy.
"Look, it's close enough to our territory that we should probably check it out." Alex has finally stopped her pacing to argue the point. She does that. A lot. Pace and argue.
"Alex, 'close enough' doesn't make it OUR territory. And murders are a problem for the police." That's Kelvin Lange. Iron Master, Elodoth. He usually gets stuck playing devil's advocate, comes with the arbiter territory, but he likes to argue just as much as Alex. Knows the ins and outs of the city better than anyone. Also a complete asshole. Also the closest thing I have to a best friend.
"A random shooting is a problem for the police. Three bodies getting pulled from a stream without a strip of flesh left in the space of a month, that sounds like Pure. Suffering like that leads to Wounds. That is OUR problem." Her point is valid. Fuck the Anshega.
"Honor your territory in all things. It means 'don't go looking for problems when they're already knocking on your door,' kiddo." Okay, he's an asshole, but his point is just as valid. "Besides, nothing says the Pure are involved in any way."
"Don't fucking 'kiddo' me, Kel. I KNOW there isn't anything in the story that screams 'Pure.' That's why I want to take a look."
That brings us back to the tension. Quick poll of the rest of the room by scent and body language says Deb, that's Deborah Hutmacher, our Irraka, also Iron Master, is going to side with Kelvin. Like normal. Old Man Puck Arnold, Hunter in Darkness Cahalith, looks thoughtful, which means he can go either way, but the fucker is so quiet when he gets lost in thought, unless prodded.
"Hey, Old Man, whachu thinkin' about this?" There, prodding.
He stares blankly at the wall for a moment, probably dredging up some half-forgotten piece of lore. Puck is like that. Knows his shit, just takes a bit to find it through the random garbage.
"Could be... That Kel is right. Human killer that the police will catch sooner or later. But... It does remind me of something that happened back in the 80s..."
I look to Alex, and I know she's suppressing a groan just as much as I am. Puck isn't just the oldest member of our pack, he's one of the oldest Uratha in Union City. Between spirits, other werewolves, and uncountable things in the dark, we don't tend to lead long lives, unless we're exceptionally lucky. Or cowards, but that isn't Puck.
"The Brethren War was just starting to settle. There was an Ivory Claw... No... No, she was a Predator King. That's right. There was a Ninna Farakh that came down from the Dakotas. It was a bloody time back then, as you all know, but even our enemies had those they considered 'too extreme.'" His eyes lose focus, so I know he's pulling this information from somewhere deep and unpleasant. "She was brutal, vicious, every bit as primal as Dire Wolf. She would skin our kinfolk alive, and leave the bodies in places where we were sure to find them as a taunt, to get us to enter into Kuruth. It took an entire pack to face her in the Hisil, and only one survived to tell the tale to the rest of us..." He trails off and I know that means there is more to the story.
When he doesn't continue, I prod some more. "So she's dead?"
Puck shakes his head, slowly. "The survivor was Blood Talon, Suthar Anzuth like you, and he told us that she was defeated. I always took that to mean 'dead,' but if these murders are connected, I'm not so sure."
At that, Kelvin returned to his argumentative stance. "If this Predator King was so powerful, and still alive, why would she wait almost 30 years to kill someone in a way that would draw our attention? This isn't the Brethren War anymore; the Pure will always be a threat, but we aren't distracted like packs were back then. And if the victims were kinfolk, one of the People would surely have sounded the alarm."
Best thing about being pack alpha is that when you get tired of the arguing, you can just make a decision, one way or the other. Before I have a chance to do so, Deb pipes up.
"I agree with Kel." As Alex starts to speak, she holds her hands up in pacification. "But, we should still look into it. Alex is right as well. Anything that is stirring up the spirit courts enough to put it on her radar can't really be ignored."
Alright, time to step in. "That settles it. Kel and Deb can put some feelers out with the other packs, have them check on their kin, just in case. Me, Alex, and Puck will hit up the Keystone, track down some spirits, see what they're saying."
Kelvin shrugs and Alex looks pleased. If only everything life were as easy as pack politics.
The Little Papillion Creek is a glorified run off stream in the north-central part of Union City that joins up with the (average sized) Papillion Creek before meeting the Missouri River south of the city. I imagine it looked peaceful and serene a couple hundred years ago. Now, it has the Keystone Trail running along its length; a concrete foot and bike path that covers more than ten miles of distance through town. Sure, it's nice, if you're a soccer mom that needs to find some "me time" or a pet owner that needs some place for their animal to shit.
We park a couple miles north from where the bodies were found. The sun is already setting but low light isn't much of a problem for us. Besides, the less people can look at us, the better.
Puck shifts into Urhan, the wolf form of Uratha, as Alex gains a little bit of hair and mass going into the near-human Dalu. As long as we're not in direct light, we could pass for a couple just out walking their dog. Maybe we should put Puck on a leash.
His lips curl back in a snarl and I think its from reading my mind for a moment, before I realize that he's picked up the scent of something. Trotting up the path, Alex and I flank him at a slight distance, keeping careful watch of our surroundings. Half a mile later at a brisk pace and we're at a small y-intersection of the stream. Even without shifting, the smell of rot hits me in the face like a sledgehammer. It's like a skunk sprayed musk all over itself, was eaten by a coyote with stomach issues, then was shit back out and left in the sun to bake. As strong as it is, I'm surprised that I didn't smell it sooner. I... Should have.
Sure, yeah, I'm not the swiftest on the uptake. By the time I shift into Dalu and pick up the new scent, I'm already rolling down the hilly embankment towards the creek. So much for my double dose of badassness, The massive tan wolf tumbles after me, snapping its slavering jaws toward my face. I can hear the sounds of my packmates engaging as we go down. Pushing its mouth away with one hand and clawing at its eye with the other, I get it to back off enough to stand. Out of the corner of my eye, I see wolf-Puck squaring off with a thick-built Hispanic man in flannel. Can't see her, but I hear the usual grunts and growls of a fighting Alex behind me.
Fucking Pure. The Urshul form of Uratha looks a lot like an Ice Age dire monstrosity. This one is big, bigger than most, but not bigger than me. I feel bones and sinew pop and realign as I match forms with it. My majestic brown and gray pelt is a hunter's wet dream. I throw back my head and let loose an ear-splitting howl that clearly intimidates the tan, as it backs off and whines. My packmates pull themselves away from their own fights to join me. A quick glance around and yep, I'm the biggest badass in this.
My body tenses as we rush into the interlopers. I see Alex's knives flash in the glow of streetlights when she does what I've affectionately referred to as "death yoga," twisting and contorting her body to strike at Puck's flannel guy. Puck, snarling, leaps at a ragged young lady in Dalu, probably not even a year past her First Change. The tan wolf comes at me like a bolt of lightening, but I'm ready for it this time and I go low, catching one of its front paws in my teeth with a sickening snap of bone. It yelps as I shake my head from side to side, trapping it like a vise.
Puck is getting slow in his old age. The little girl has him down. I don't smell silver, and nothing is on fire, so he'll heal if he lives. I just have to make sure that happens. The Mother gives each of us gifts according to our natures, and the greatest thing She ever gave me was pure unadulterated Rage. I let the dam burst and slip into the war-form, the nightmare-inducing Gauru. It's like being paralyzed, deaf, and blind, then suddenly having the abilities of an Olympic athlete. Any bruise, scratch, or cut sustained rapidly disappears as my entire body is filled with a desire for carnage. Towering over these fucksticks, I grab the girl off of Puck by the back of her neck and hurl her a dozen feet into a tree with an almost comical crunching sound.
It's taboo to use Gauru in pack challenges or against allies, as it's difficult to stay in control and not become a whirling engine of death towards friends, so maybe I'm reveling in this a little too much as I scoop up the injured tan wolf and slam it back down into the concrete. I can tell it wants to shift as well, but I'm not about to give it a chance. Not that I'm afraid, of course, it's just smarter to defeat an opponent before they can defeat you.
Guess this one realizes it, too. It croaks out some words in the First Tongue, a language that we all instinctively know from the spirit half of our nature. "Silih’mamu firha!" Uh, it's rough to translate to English, but basically I take it as "fuck, I yield." It's kind of sad, actually. Usually Pure fight us until one side or the other is dead or fleeing. Returning to Hishu, my normal dashingly handsome human self, I take stock of our situation. Tree girl is still laying in the grass. Flannel guy is torn up about as bad as Puck, which isn't great but also not terrible, and fucking Alex looks like she just took a completely normal stroll through the park. The tan wolf returns to human as well, a beat to hell dishwater blonde that is as scraggly as tree girl.
"We didn't see any markings. We'll leave."
I stare at her, uncomprehending, adrenaline is a bitch for conversation. Alex mutters to herself and then speaks loudly enough for the rest of us to hear. "What's your Tribe, girl?"
She shakes her head. "No Tribe." Ghost Wolves. Thihirtha Numea. Forsaken, like us, not Pure, but antisocial fence-sitters where the rest of us are pack and Tribe oriented.
Tree girl stumbles back to the rest of us. They're all just kids, really. A bunch of omegas without the brains to tell them not to attack their betters. "So what are you doing here?" Alex continues.
Blonde girl shrugs. "We didn't see any markings so we thought this area was unclaimed territory. Just looking for a place to rest for a bit."
Puck coughs. Calmed, or close enough to it, I take over from Alex. "It is. Unclaimed. You just picked a real bad time to squat here." We make introductions and I bring them up to speed. Climaco is flannel guy. Tanika is tree girl, and she sure is mad at me if the glare is any indication. Ella is their pack alpha, as much as they have one. Like I said, kids.
"So that's the deal. You attacking us when we're looking out for Pure is shit luck."
"Yeah." Ella says, slowly. "We've only been here a day, but you're the first of us we've seen. The spirits are really quiet here, too, which is why we thought we could rest."
Something in that triggers Alex. She tilts her head and vanishes from view. No one else in our pack can cross the divide between the physical and spirit realms like Alex can, inside or outside of a Locus. She's our poster child for good spirit relations, even if we have to hunt them more often than anything else.
Ella looks to her packmates and to us, but before she has a chance to ask anything, Alex reappears.
"We need to go, now!"
"What?" It's all I can get out before she is pulling me.
"Questions later. Let's go." She motions for the Ghost Wolves to follow us as well.
"It's a mess." She talks to the rest of us like we've never been in the Shadow wherever spirit courts are concerned. Whatever. I'm more interested in hunting and pulling Gifts from them than being their best friend. "Puck, did your Predator King skin victims in the place where she killed them?"
He thinks for a moment. "No. If I recall correctly, they were all butchered in the Ninna Farakh's lair north of town and dropped close to Loci that we controlled."
"Okay?" I'm driving, so that's the most I can contribute at the moment.
"The bodies they pulled from the creek, they were killed there. And before you ask 'how do you know?' the Hisil is filled with pain and murder spirits, way more than I've ever seen in one place. Way more than the stream chorus native to the area. The deaths must have attracted them like shit attracts flies, or they were born from it. Either way, I'm betting they're why our new friends were in such a hurry to attack us over territory that they don't control."
The trio look pretty crestfallen. Not really their fault that they bit off more than they can chew. Failure is a good lesson though, so maybe next time, they'll do better.
"Alright, so even if it wasn't a Pure tactic, we're still stuck with someone killing people and bad mojo spirits fucking with the locals on a busy walkway." My ability to rapidly assess a situation is legendary.
"That reminds me of the stockyard fights in the '90s..." Puck begins.
Thankfully, we're pulling into home before he can go on for too long, and it looks like Kelvin is here as well. Deb usually works nights, but we can fill her in later. We haven't even stepped into the house before Kel is launching into a diatribe from the kitchen.
"Told you they weren't kinfolk. Just skimming the police reports shows nothing to link any of the victims together and none of my contacts have heard of anyone tied to us going missing. So it's not Puck's big bad Predator King and not really our problem, like I said."
"Um, Kel." Alex clears her throat. "I hate to have to correct you, once again..."
He comes out of the kitchen and stares at our guests. "Shit."
To be perfectly fucking clear, my house isn't a flop for homeless Uratha. I want to throw that out there just in case anyone is planning on coming by for an extended stay. I already have a constantly pissed off ex-wife and two kids that I support without needing more mouths to feed. As a one time exception to that policy, given the circumstances, I invited Ella and her folks to crash in my spare room. Hey, I get what you're thinking, but we can't fuck each other. Bad shit comes from that. And it's not like I think they're worth much in a fight. Just eight werewolves can clear out unwanted spirit problems a lot easier than five, even if three are pups. Besides, it'll do them all some good to see me in combat and not be fighting for their lives at the time.
Alex starts the train,"going in and wiping them out won't work." Two days later and we're still stuck on the same debate. In an ironic and sort of nauseating turn of events, Alex and Kelvin are on the same side of the argument for this one.
"We get rid of the out of place spirits and bring balance back to the creek, all well and good until the next murder starts the process over." Kelvin pulls it into the station.
"But that buys time for the cops, right?" Tanika chimes in. She's a Half Moon, like Kelvin, and he has been mentoring her these past couple of days. Probably because he hasn't sired any offspring, she serves as a surrogate for his paternal instincts. Or he needs to get some hobbies.
"Eh... UCPD is overworked and understaffed. If the FBI stepped in like the serial killer shows on TV, yeah, it might be enough to bandage things for now. I ain't got much faith in that happening." I respect law enforcement as much as the next guy who can turn into a ten foot hairball, which isn't enough for me to give them the benefit of the doubt here. "But a band-aid beats active bleeding."
"Whatever we can do to help, we're down. No one enjoys being manipulated." I feel for Ella. She isn't used to someone else calling the shots. It's been a while but I remember how shitty that used to be.
"What about a pact with the spirit of the Little Papio? It can't be happy about the situation." Hm, Deb might have an idea.
My head starts pounding like the onset of a migraine, except migraines aren't something we have to worry about. It's Hammerin' Jack, our pack's totem. Like the jackhammer it embodies, it isn't a subtle spirit. <SMASH IT!> It practically yells in our heads. Ella, Climaco, and Tanika are spared by not being a part of the pack. <CRUSH! CRUSH! CRUSH!> Really, It's a great totem when you're in a fight and need to call upon some extra destructive force, but for fuck's sake, does It want to attack first and ask questions later all of the time.
I cringe. "Kel? Think that would help?" <GRIIIIIIIIIIIIND!>
"It's still a temporary solution, not a permanent fix, but yeah. Yeah, short term, that could work. If we can take care of what don't belong, and if these three oath bind to patrol the creek for more, we could probably get the spirit to aid us." Alex nods in agreement, as does Ella's pack. <BREAK! BREAK! BREAK!>
"The Little Papillion... Yes. There is a bridge not far to the south of where we fought that the Gauntlet is weak and we can find the spirit." Good old Puck. Might not be the best in a fight anymore, but he knows his shit. Our totem falls silent. We'll have to destroy something later to make it happy again.
"Works for me. Let's get things together and head back down at nightfall. Longer we sit on this, the more time the pain and murder spirits have to spawn."
"That... Is kind of disturbing." We're under the bridge Puck mentioned in the middle of town, all staring at the graffiti on the support wall. Tanika just says what we're all thinking.
"This is the right place, yeah Puck?" His expression is concerning me more than the mural. Even when things go entirely to shit, he is the solid foundation of our pack's stability.
"This is the place, but it isn't right. This has been desecrated." He reaches out to touch the concrete surface and as his fingertips make contact, his entire body goes rigid, like from being electrocuted. He slumps forward and hits the ground hard, eyes open, mouth slack. His body writhes and contorts in front of us.
"Puck!" I'm not sure who yells it. Could have even been me, for all of my focus on shifting. Making a spirit pact becomes a secondary concern to protecting our packmate and confronting his attacker. Without the need to communicate or coordinate, we all reach across the Gauntlet. Puck was correct about the weakness in the separation of physical and spiritual here.
It looks like a fucking warzone. The Hisil has weird colors compared to what you get used to in the realm of flesh, but these colors are off from even that. There should be spirits for all the concepts that you would expect with the creek and the running trail. Instead, it's all the negative shit that Alex mentioned, and more. Blazing lights and shapes of hate spirits, knife-edged murder spirits, hyperactive concepts of insanity and mania, all attempt to dominate their lessers. They all pale compared to the spirit of the Little Papillion itself. Those shit zombie flicks could learn a thing or two from it. Tall and emaciated, with blue-tinged skin and brackish water oozing from sores, its mouth drooling foul ichor, it's almost impossible to look at. The other spirits orbit it like tiny planets, or those fish that hang off the mouths of sharks, waiting for a meal of essence. It makes horrible squishy sounds and the other spirits swarm us.
"It's a goddamned Magath!" Alex shouts as a warning to everyone. A bastardized hybrid of multiple incompatible spirit groups, these things are abominations in the eyes of any right thinking Uratha. Kelvin especially hates them, as beings that defy balance. It explains the desolation of the Shadow, and the ease with which people are provoked into violence. Magath are spiritual Wounds waiting to happen.
Hammerin' Jack's desires are still screaming in my brain when the spirits surround me. Fighting ephemeral entities is a lot less satisfying than feeling flesh tear and bone snap when ripping apart a pack of Pure, but it is a great way to satiate the spirit half of Uratha nature. The four of us move with precision and grace, shifting forms as needed to better rip into the Little Papio, while our three allies harry the smaller threats.
Deb's claws shred through one of its arms, covering her in slime and gore. She's such a neat freak normally that I'm not surprised when she spazzes out about it. Kelvin and Alex circle it in Urshul relentlessly, diving in and biting where they can, trying to keep it from returning to the water. If it were still anything resembling a normal creek spirit, its mercurial nature would make that impossible, but for whatever else this thing is, it's relatively solid and unchanging. And insane. Incredibly insane.
It slams the shards of its shredded arms through Deb's midsection applying the same electric effect that dropped Puck, flinging her into Ella's group. They momentarily go down in a pile of spirits, but the rest of us are quick to take up the slack and help them back into the fight. Spirits of concepts involving conflict are more difficult to defeat in combat, and bring much more glory when they are, so of course I'm not shying away from the attack. The boon that Hammerin' Jack gives us ensures that we hit hard and fast,
Unfortunately, the momentary break allows the Magath to kick away from us and land back into the Shadow reflection of the stream. Even if its fundamental nature has changed, it still retains enough of the original to be a bigger threat in the water than on land. Still, more dangerous or not, it needs to be contained and we follow, keeping to the hillside as it rapidly moves up the stream.
It doesn't travel far, stopping at the y-intersection that Puck originally led us to. The cause of the rotten meat smell becomes evident as the place that is merely a darkened branch off in the physical world more accurately resembles a slaughterhouse in the Hisil. This is clearly where the bodies had been flayed down to the muscle, as the tattered meat hangs in strips from immobile tree spirits. The stench of taint and decay permeates and overwhelms the senses, blocking out everything else. Kelvin and Tanika swell up into Gauru and Hulk out on all of the spirits in the area. The Magath and its attendants are so much stronger here, however, as they're able to easily bat aside the attacks.
"Ella, Alex, we need to split its attention. Ignore everything else and keep striking from the sides!" I hate yelling orders when I should be chomping the hell out of something, but without the pack bond, I can't communicate as well with the rest of them. The biggest concentration of pain spirits all converge on Tanika and she howls in torment as her Rage overcomes her ability to think. Gauru is a dangerous gamble. If you lose your shit, friend and foe no longer make a difference. Climaco is fighting too close to her and she slams her jaws down into his shoulder. Even in Dalu, an Uratha's body can't handle that kind of damage and as she pulls away, his right arm comes with her.
His screams shock her to her senses and she shifts back into the human form, devastated from attacking her packmate. We don't have the luxury of going to either of their aid. The Magath is stronger in this place but it has used much of its strength fighting so many of us that it is starting to slow.
Alex and Ella's distraction allows Kelvin to bury his claws in its spine. With the ladies throwing themselves onto each of its legs, and a mostly-healed Deb protecting me from the pain and murder spirits, I sprint towards it, shifting into Urshul in motion to ram into it with as much force as possible. Kelvin pulls downward as I impact, Alex and Ella yank outward and between the four of us, we pull the Magath apart. I drain its remaining essence, erasing any trace of its existence. The last of the spirits cease fighting against us, offering us boons in supplication.
Tanika is gone. Climaco's body lay still, his wounds unhealed. She must have realized he was going to die and fled from the Shadow. There are punishments, incredibly brutal ones at that, for turning on a packmate in Kuruth, Death Rage, but they are survivable. To not only kill a member of one's pack but to also run from it, and a battle, in cowardice... She will be hunted by all Forsaken.
We travel back to the bridge and return across the Gauntlet to the physical. Puck looks almost peaceful, were it not for the twisted expression frozen on his face. A long life of wars fought and enemies slain, we don't mourn the end of his life as much as we mourn the hole his passing leaves in ours. Raising our voices to Mother Luna, we howl his praises so that She may remember a valiant son.
A week passes swiftly, with Puck's funeral, a meet up with the other local Forsaken to share the news, and the initiation of Ella into our pack. No one could ever replace him, but she has begun to gather as much lore as she can to try, starting by joining the Hunters in Darkness.
No new murders have occurred at the creek. We are sharing patrol duties with other packs, giving the area nightly checks to make sure more batches of murder and pain spirits aren't spawned. Puck's sacrifice ensures that we'll continue to do that much at least.
Tanika successfully escaped Forsaken judgement. She ran into a pack of Pure as she tried to leave Union City. Fire Touched may have recruited her, but the Ivory Claws that she met were more interested in removing her head than gaining a new follower.
For now, I have to take it that we did good, and not focus on the cost. There's a shit storm brewing in this town and my pack is gonna see it through.
Werewolf: the Forsaken Wiki
Smell. It's the hardest thing for me to put into words. Take tension, for example. It has a stink to it. No, I don't mean the way people sweat when they're tense. I mean the tension in the air, the thing people describe as "thick enough to cut with a knife." I can smell the normal musky scents of my pack, sure, but there's the bitterness of the tension overlaying it, an odor kind of like the way a penny tastes. That's not exactly it, of course, since there is the tang of burning ozone as well, but you get the picture.
It's the latest rash of violence in the city that has everyone on edge. Not the normal gang violence or robberies, those tend to come and go. Arson, a mass shooting, flayed bodies dumped in a stream, that sticks out. Alex Mei, Bone Shadow and our Ithaeur, her tension smells the strongest right now. See, every time some big shit happens, it stirs up spirits in the area. Our darlin' Alex, she gets to deal with the little fish caught up in the wake. Me? I'm double dosed with badassness; Blood Talon Rahu. Give me something to fight and to kill, and I'm a happy camper. Too much dealing with spirit courts makes me twitchy.
"Look, it's close enough to our territory that we should probably check it out." Alex has finally stopped her pacing to argue the point. She does that. A lot. Pace and argue.
"Alex, 'close enough' doesn't make it OUR territory. And murders are a problem for the police." That's Kelvin Lange. Iron Master, Elodoth. He usually gets stuck playing devil's advocate, comes with the arbiter territory, but he likes to argue just as much as Alex. Knows the ins and outs of the city better than anyone. Also a complete asshole. Also the closest thing I have to a best friend.
"A random shooting is a problem for the police. Three bodies getting pulled from a stream without a strip of flesh left in the space of a month, that sounds like Pure. Suffering like that leads to Wounds. That is OUR problem." Her point is valid. Fuck the Anshega.
"Honor your territory in all things. It means 'don't go looking for problems when they're already knocking on your door,' kiddo." Okay, he's an asshole, but his point is just as valid. "Besides, nothing says the Pure are involved in any way."
"Don't fucking 'kiddo' me, Kel. I KNOW there isn't anything in the story that screams 'Pure.' That's why I want to take a look."
That brings us back to the tension. Quick poll of the rest of the room by scent and body language says Deb, that's Deborah Hutmacher, our Irraka, also Iron Master, is going to side with Kelvin. Like normal. Old Man Puck Arnold, Hunter in Darkness Cahalith, looks thoughtful, which means he can go either way, but the fucker is so quiet when he gets lost in thought, unless prodded.
"Hey, Old Man, whachu thinkin' about this?" There, prodding.
He stares blankly at the wall for a moment, probably dredging up some half-forgotten piece of lore. Puck is like that. Knows his shit, just takes a bit to find it through the random garbage.
"Could be... That Kel is right. Human killer that the police will catch sooner or later. But... It does remind me of something that happened back in the 80s..."
I look to Alex, and I know she's suppressing a groan just as much as I am. Puck isn't just the oldest member of our pack, he's one of the oldest Uratha in Union City. Between spirits, other werewolves, and uncountable things in the dark, we don't tend to lead long lives, unless we're exceptionally lucky. Or cowards, but that isn't Puck.
"The Brethren War was just starting to settle. There was an Ivory Claw... No... No, she was a Predator King. That's right. There was a Ninna Farakh that came down from the Dakotas. It was a bloody time back then, as you all know, but even our enemies had those they considered 'too extreme.'" His eyes lose focus, so I know he's pulling this information from somewhere deep and unpleasant. "She was brutal, vicious, every bit as primal as Dire Wolf. She would skin our kinfolk alive, and leave the bodies in places where we were sure to find them as a taunt, to get us to enter into Kuruth. It took an entire pack to face her in the Hisil, and only one survived to tell the tale to the rest of us..." He trails off and I know that means there is more to the story.
When he doesn't continue, I prod some more. "So she's dead?"
Puck shakes his head, slowly. "The survivor was Blood Talon, Suthar Anzuth like you, and he told us that she was defeated. I always took that to mean 'dead,' but if these murders are connected, I'm not so sure."
At that, Kelvin returned to his argumentative stance. "If this Predator King was so powerful, and still alive, why would she wait almost 30 years to kill someone in a way that would draw our attention? This isn't the Brethren War anymore; the Pure will always be a threat, but we aren't distracted like packs were back then. And if the victims were kinfolk, one of the People would surely have sounded the alarm."
Best thing about being pack alpha is that when you get tired of the arguing, you can just make a decision, one way or the other. Before I have a chance to do so, Deb pipes up.
"I agree with Kel." As Alex starts to speak, she holds her hands up in pacification. "But, we should still look into it. Alex is right as well. Anything that is stirring up the spirit courts enough to put it on her radar can't really be ignored."
Alright, time to step in. "That settles it. Kel and Deb can put some feelers out with the other packs, have them check on their kin, just in case. Me, Alex, and Puck will hit up the Keystone, track down some spirits, see what they're saying."
Kelvin shrugs and Alex looks pleased. If only everything life were as easy as pack politics.
*****
The Little Papillion Creek is a glorified run off stream in the north-central part of Union City that joins up with the (average sized) Papillion Creek before meeting the Missouri River south of the city. I imagine it looked peaceful and serene a couple hundred years ago. Now, it has the Keystone Trail running along its length; a concrete foot and bike path that covers more than ten miles of distance through town. Sure, it's nice, if you're a soccer mom that needs to find some "me time" or a pet owner that needs some place for their animal to shit.
We park a couple miles north from where the bodies were found. The sun is already setting but low light isn't much of a problem for us. Besides, the less people can look at us, the better.
Puck shifts into Urhan, the wolf form of Uratha, as Alex gains a little bit of hair and mass going into the near-human Dalu. As long as we're not in direct light, we could pass for a couple just out walking their dog. Maybe we should put Puck on a leash.
His lips curl back in a snarl and I think its from reading my mind for a moment, before I realize that he's picked up the scent of something. Trotting up the path, Alex and I flank him at a slight distance, keeping careful watch of our surroundings. Half a mile later at a brisk pace and we're at a small y-intersection of the stream. Even without shifting, the smell of rot hits me in the face like a sledgehammer. It's like a skunk sprayed musk all over itself, was eaten by a coyote with stomach issues, then was shit back out and left in the sun to bake. As strong as it is, I'm surprised that I didn't smell it sooner. I... Should have.
Sure, yeah, I'm not the swiftest on the uptake. By the time I shift into Dalu and pick up the new scent, I'm already rolling down the hilly embankment towards the creek. So much for my double dose of badassness, The massive tan wolf tumbles after me, snapping its slavering jaws toward my face. I can hear the sounds of my packmates engaging as we go down. Pushing its mouth away with one hand and clawing at its eye with the other, I get it to back off enough to stand. Out of the corner of my eye, I see wolf-Puck squaring off with a thick-built Hispanic man in flannel. Can't see her, but I hear the usual grunts and growls of a fighting Alex behind me.
Fucking Pure. The Urshul form of Uratha looks a lot like an Ice Age dire monstrosity. This one is big, bigger than most, but not bigger than me. I feel bones and sinew pop and realign as I match forms with it. My majestic brown and gray pelt is a hunter's wet dream. I throw back my head and let loose an ear-splitting howl that clearly intimidates the tan, as it backs off and whines. My packmates pull themselves away from their own fights to join me. A quick glance around and yep, I'm the biggest badass in this.
My body tenses as we rush into the interlopers. I see Alex's knives flash in the glow of streetlights when she does what I've affectionately referred to as "death yoga," twisting and contorting her body to strike at Puck's flannel guy. Puck, snarling, leaps at a ragged young lady in Dalu, probably not even a year past her First Change. The tan wolf comes at me like a bolt of lightening, but I'm ready for it this time and I go low, catching one of its front paws in my teeth with a sickening snap of bone. It yelps as I shake my head from side to side, trapping it like a vise.
Puck is getting slow in his old age. The little girl has him down. I don't smell silver, and nothing is on fire, so he'll heal if he lives. I just have to make sure that happens. The Mother gives each of us gifts according to our natures, and the greatest thing She ever gave me was pure unadulterated Rage. I let the dam burst and slip into the war-form, the nightmare-inducing Gauru. It's like being paralyzed, deaf, and blind, then suddenly having the abilities of an Olympic athlete. Any bruise, scratch, or cut sustained rapidly disappears as my entire body is filled with a desire for carnage. Towering over these fucksticks, I grab the girl off of Puck by the back of her neck and hurl her a dozen feet into a tree with an almost comical crunching sound.
It's taboo to use Gauru in pack challenges or against allies, as it's difficult to stay in control and not become a whirling engine of death towards friends, so maybe I'm reveling in this a little too much as I scoop up the injured tan wolf and slam it back down into the concrete. I can tell it wants to shift as well, but I'm not about to give it a chance. Not that I'm afraid, of course, it's just smarter to defeat an opponent before they can defeat you.
Guess this one realizes it, too. It croaks out some words in the First Tongue, a language that we all instinctively know from the spirit half of our nature. "Silih’mamu firha!" Uh, it's rough to translate to English, but basically I take it as "fuck, I yield." It's kind of sad, actually. Usually Pure fight us until one side or the other is dead or fleeing. Returning to Hishu, my normal dashingly handsome human self, I take stock of our situation. Tree girl is still laying in the grass. Flannel guy is torn up about as bad as Puck, which isn't great but also not terrible, and fucking Alex looks like she just took a completely normal stroll through the park. The tan wolf returns to human as well, a beat to hell dishwater blonde that is as scraggly as tree girl.
"We didn't see any markings. We'll leave."
I stare at her, uncomprehending, adrenaline is a bitch for conversation. Alex mutters to herself and then speaks loudly enough for the rest of us to hear. "What's your Tribe, girl?"
She shakes her head. "No Tribe." Ghost Wolves. Thihirtha Numea. Forsaken, like us, not Pure, but antisocial fence-sitters where the rest of us are pack and Tribe oriented.
Tree girl stumbles back to the rest of us. They're all just kids, really. A bunch of omegas without the brains to tell them not to attack their betters. "So what are you doing here?" Alex continues.
Blonde girl shrugs. "We didn't see any markings so we thought this area was unclaimed territory. Just looking for a place to rest for a bit."
Puck coughs. Calmed, or close enough to it, I take over from Alex. "It is. Unclaimed. You just picked a real bad time to squat here." We make introductions and I bring them up to speed. Climaco is flannel guy. Tanika is tree girl, and she sure is mad at me if the glare is any indication. Ella is their pack alpha, as much as they have one. Like I said, kids.
"So that's the deal. You attacking us when we're looking out for Pure is shit luck."
"Yeah." Ella says, slowly. "We've only been here a day, but you're the first of us we've seen. The spirits are really quiet here, too, which is why we thought we could rest."
Something in that triggers Alex. She tilts her head and vanishes from view. No one else in our pack can cross the divide between the physical and spirit realms like Alex can, inside or outside of a Locus. She's our poster child for good spirit relations, even if we have to hunt them more often than anything else.
Ella looks to her packmates and to us, but before she has a chance to ask anything, Alex reappears.
"We need to go, now!"
"What?" It's all I can get out before she is pulling me.
"Questions later. Let's go." She motions for the Ghost Wolves to follow us as well.
*****
It isn't until we're in the car and moving, and thankfully I drove my Suburban, 'cause fitting everyone in Puck's hatchback or Alex's Camry would have been impossible, when she starts dropping information."It's a mess." She talks to the rest of us like we've never been in the Shadow wherever spirit courts are concerned. Whatever. I'm more interested in hunting and pulling Gifts from them than being their best friend. "Puck, did your Predator King skin victims in the place where she killed them?"
He thinks for a moment. "No. If I recall correctly, they were all butchered in the Ninna Farakh's lair north of town and dropped close to Loci that we controlled."
"Okay?" I'm driving, so that's the most I can contribute at the moment.
"The bodies they pulled from the creek, they were killed there. And before you ask 'how do you know?' the Hisil is filled with pain and murder spirits, way more than I've ever seen in one place. Way more than the stream chorus native to the area. The deaths must have attracted them like shit attracts flies, or they were born from it. Either way, I'm betting they're why our new friends were in such a hurry to attack us over territory that they don't control."
The trio look pretty crestfallen. Not really their fault that they bit off more than they can chew. Failure is a good lesson though, so maybe next time, they'll do better.
"Alright, so even if it wasn't a Pure tactic, we're still stuck with someone killing people and bad mojo spirits fucking with the locals on a busy walkway." My ability to rapidly assess a situation is legendary.
"That reminds me of the stockyard fights in the '90s..." Puck begins.
Thankfully, we're pulling into home before he can go on for too long, and it looks like Kelvin is here as well. Deb usually works nights, but we can fill her in later. We haven't even stepped into the house before Kel is launching into a diatribe from the kitchen.
"Told you they weren't kinfolk. Just skimming the police reports shows nothing to link any of the victims together and none of my contacts have heard of anyone tied to us going missing. So it's not Puck's big bad Predator King and not really our problem, like I said."
"Um, Kel." Alex clears her throat. "I hate to have to correct you, once again..."
He comes out of the kitchen and stares at our guests. "Shit."
*****
To be perfectly fucking clear, my house isn't a flop for homeless Uratha. I want to throw that out there just in case anyone is planning on coming by for an extended stay. I already have a constantly pissed off ex-wife and two kids that I support without needing more mouths to feed. As a one time exception to that policy, given the circumstances, I invited Ella and her folks to crash in my spare room. Hey, I get what you're thinking, but we can't fuck each other. Bad shit comes from that. And it's not like I think they're worth much in a fight. Just eight werewolves can clear out unwanted spirit problems a lot easier than five, even if three are pups. Besides, it'll do them all some good to see me in combat and not be fighting for their lives at the time.
Alex starts the train,"going in and wiping them out won't work." Two days later and we're still stuck on the same debate. In an ironic and sort of nauseating turn of events, Alex and Kelvin are on the same side of the argument for this one.
"We get rid of the out of place spirits and bring balance back to the creek, all well and good until the next murder starts the process over." Kelvin pulls it into the station.
"But that buys time for the cops, right?" Tanika chimes in. She's a Half Moon, like Kelvin, and he has been mentoring her these past couple of days. Probably because he hasn't sired any offspring, she serves as a surrogate for his paternal instincts. Or he needs to get some hobbies.
"Eh... UCPD is overworked and understaffed. If the FBI stepped in like the serial killer shows on TV, yeah, it might be enough to bandage things for now. I ain't got much faith in that happening." I respect law enforcement as much as the next guy who can turn into a ten foot hairball, which isn't enough for me to give them the benefit of the doubt here. "But a band-aid beats active bleeding."
"Whatever we can do to help, we're down. No one enjoys being manipulated." I feel for Ella. She isn't used to someone else calling the shots. It's been a while but I remember how shitty that used to be.
"What about a pact with the spirit of the Little Papio? It can't be happy about the situation." Hm, Deb might have an idea.
My head starts pounding like the onset of a migraine, except migraines aren't something we have to worry about. It's Hammerin' Jack, our pack's totem. Like the jackhammer it embodies, it isn't a subtle spirit. <SMASH IT!> It practically yells in our heads. Ella, Climaco, and Tanika are spared by not being a part of the pack. <CRUSH! CRUSH! CRUSH!> Really, It's a great totem when you're in a fight and need to call upon some extra destructive force, but for fuck's sake, does It want to attack first and ask questions later all of the time.
I cringe. "Kel? Think that would help?" <GRIIIIIIIIIIIIND!>
"It's still a temporary solution, not a permanent fix, but yeah. Yeah, short term, that could work. If we can take care of what don't belong, and if these three oath bind to patrol the creek for more, we could probably get the spirit to aid us." Alex nods in agreement, as does Ella's pack. <BREAK! BREAK! BREAK!>
"The Little Papillion... Yes. There is a bridge not far to the south of where we fought that the Gauntlet is weak and we can find the spirit." Good old Puck. Might not be the best in a fight anymore, but he knows his shit. Our totem falls silent. We'll have to destroy something later to make it happy again.
"Works for me. Let's get things together and head back down at nightfall. Longer we sit on this, the more time the pain and murder spirits have to spawn."
*****
"That... Is kind of disturbing." We're under the bridge Puck mentioned in the middle of town, all staring at the graffiti on the support wall. Tanika just says what we're all thinking.
"This is the right place, yeah Puck?" His expression is concerning me more than the mural. Even when things go entirely to shit, he is the solid foundation of our pack's stability.
"This is the place, but it isn't right. This has been desecrated." He reaches out to touch the concrete surface and as his fingertips make contact, his entire body goes rigid, like from being electrocuted. He slumps forward and hits the ground hard, eyes open, mouth slack. His body writhes and contorts in front of us.
"Puck!" I'm not sure who yells it. Could have even been me, for all of my focus on shifting. Making a spirit pact becomes a secondary concern to protecting our packmate and confronting his attacker. Without the need to communicate or coordinate, we all reach across the Gauntlet. Puck was correct about the weakness in the separation of physical and spiritual here.
It looks like a fucking warzone. The Hisil has weird colors compared to what you get used to in the realm of flesh, but these colors are off from even that. There should be spirits for all the concepts that you would expect with the creek and the running trail. Instead, it's all the negative shit that Alex mentioned, and more. Blazing lights and shapes of hate spirits, knife-edged murder spirits, hyperactive concepts of insanity and mania, all attempt to dominate their lessers. They all pale compared to the spirit of the Little Papillion itself. Those shit zombie flicks could learn a thing or two from it. Tall and emaciated, with blue-tinged skin and brackish water oozing from sores, its mouth drooling foul ichor, it's almost impossible to look at. The other spirits orbit it like tiny planets, or those fish that hang off the mouths of sharks, waiting for a meal of essence. It makes horrible squishy sounds and the other spirits swarm us.
"It's a goddamned Magath!" Alex shouts as a warning to everyone. A bastardized hybrid of multiple incompatible spirit groups, these things are abominations in the eyes of any right thinking Uratha. Kelvin especially hates them, as beings that defy balance. It explains the desolation of the Shadow, and the ease with which people are provoked into violence. Magath are spiritual Wounds waiting to happen.
Hammerin' Jack's desires are still screaming in my brain when the spirits surround me. Fighting ephemeral entities is a lot less satisfying than feeling flesh tear and bone snap when ripping apart a pack of Pure, but it is a great way to satiate the spirit half of Uratha nature. The four of us move with precision and grace, shifting forms as needed to better rip into the Little Papio, while our three allies harry the smaller threats.
Deb's claws shred through one of its arms, covering her in slime and gore. She's such a neat freak normally that I'm not surprised when she spazzes out about it. Kelvin and Alex circle it in Urshul relentlessly, diving in and biting where they can, trying to keep it from returning to the water. If it were still anything resembling a normal creek spirit, its mercurial nature would make that impossible, but for whatever else this thing is, it's relatively solid and unchanging. And insane. Incredibly insane.
It slams the shards of its shredded arms through Deb's midsection applying the same electric effect that dropped Puck, flinging her into Ella's group. They momentarily go down in a pile of spirits, but the rest of us are quick to take up the slack and help them back into the fight. Spirits of concepts involving conflict are more difficult to defeat in combat, and bring much more glory when they are, so of course I'm not shying away from the attack. The boon that Hammerin' Jack gives us ensures that we hit hard and fast,
Unfortunately, the momentary break allows the Magath to kick away from us and land back into the Shadow reflection of the stream. Even if its fundamental nature has changed, it still retains enough of the original to be a bigger threat in the water than on land. Still, more dangerous or not, it needs to be contained and we follow, keeping to the hillside as it rapidly moves up the stream.
It doesn't travel far, stopping at the y-intersection that Puck originally led us to. The cause of the rotten meat smell becomes evident as the place that is merely a darkened branch off in the physical world more accurately resembles a slaughterhouse in the Hisil. This is clearly where the bodies had been flayed down to the muscle, as the tattered meat hangs in strips from immobile tree spirits. The stench of taint and decay permeates and overwhelms the senses, blocking out everything else. Kelvin and Tanika swell up into Gauru and Hulk out on all of the spirits in the area. The Magath and its attendants are so much stronger here, however, as they're able to easily bat aside the attacks.
"Ella, Alex, we need to split its attention. Ignore everything else and keep striking from the sides!" I hate yelling orders when I should be chomping the hell out of something, but without the pack bond, I can't communicate as well with the rest of them. The biggest concentration of pain spirits all converge on Tanika and she howls in torment as her Rage overcomes her ability to think. Gauru is a dangerous gamble. If you lose your shit, friend and foe no longer make a difference. Climaco is fighting too close to her and she slams her jaws down into his shoulder. Even in Dalu, an Uratha's body can't handle that kind of damage and as she pulls away, his right arm comes with her.
His screams shock her to her senses and she shifts back into the human form, devastated from attacking her packmate. We don't have the luxury of going to either of their aid. The Magath is stronger in this place but it has used much of its strength fighting so many of us that it is starting to slow.
Alex and Ella's distraction allows Kelvin to bury his claws in its spine. With the ladies throwing themselves onto each of its legs, and a mostly-healed Deb protecting me from the pain and murder spirits, I sprint towards it, shifting into Urshul in motion to ram into it with as much force as possible. Kelvin pulls downward as I impact, Alex and Ella yank outward and between the four of us, we pull the Magath apart. I drain its remaining essence, erasing any trace of its existence. The last of the spirits cease fighting against us, offering us boons in supplication.
Tanika is gone. Climaco's body lay still, his wounds unhealed. She must have realized he was going to die and fled from the Shadow. There are punishments, incredibly brutal ones at that, for turning on a packmate in Kuruth, Death Rage, but they are survivable. To not only kill a member of one's pack but to also run from it, and a battle, in cowardice... She will be hunted by all Forsaken.
We travel back to the bridge and return across the Gauntlet to the physical. Puck looks almost peaceful, were it not for the twisted expression frozen on his face. A long life of wars fought and enemies slain, we don't mourn the end of his life as much as we mourn the hole his passing leaves in ours. Raising our voices to Mother Luna, we howl his praises so that She may remember a valiant son.
*****
A week passes swiftly, with Puck's funeral, a meet up with the other local Forsaken to share the news, and the initiation of Ella into our pack. No one could ever replace him, but she has begun to gather as much lore as she can to try, starting by joining the Hunters in Darkness.
No new murders have occurred at the creek. We are sharing patrol duties with other packs, giving the area nightly checks to make sure more batches of murder and pain spirits aren't spawned. Puck's sacrifice ensures that we'll continue to do that much at least.
Tanika successfully escaped Forsaken judgement. She ran into a pack of Pure as she tried to leave Union City. Fire Touched may have recruited her, but the Ivory Claws that she met were more interested in removing her head than gaining a new follower.
For now, I have to take it that we did good, and not focus on the cost. There's a shit storm brewing in this town and my pack is gonna see it through.
Werewolf: the Forsaken Wiki
Friday, August 25, 2017
Four-Nine
"'Cause we hunt you down without mercy, hunt you down all nightmare long..."
The glory days of St. Stanislaus had passed decades ago, but a shadow of its former self still remained in the majesty of its vaulted ceilings and the intricacies of its stained glass windows. Regardless of the lowered attendance at mass or the general decline of the neighborhood, the church was like a second home to Witold "Vee" Chodkiewicz. He was baptized there, served as an altar boy, attended countless weddings and funerals, and was a Sunday staple for the majority of his 45 years of life, excepting only his military years. It was there, on his 18th birthday, that Father Barczak had taken him into the sacristy, where his father and two older brothers met them, and he learned the truth of the darkness in the world.
He was initiated into their lifestyle, a lifestyle he sought to escape by joining the Army. The things he saw during his enlistment, in the States and on deployment during the first Gulf and Bosnian Wars, forced him to face the error of his ways, and he returned home, only to find that his father and eldest brother, Józef, had been killed. His middle brother, Andrzej, had disappeared. Father Barczak had long since retired by that time, but Vee was able to track him down and get the truth about what had happened to his family.
Nearly 20 years had passed since then, and whilst Vee had worked numerous leads regarding Andrzej's whereabouts during his service to the neighborhood, none had panned out. The shifting demographic of South Side brought with it new challenges, but also new information, and insights. It, moreso than even his unwavering faith in the Catholic Church, kept him coming back to St. Stanislaus. He picked up Spanish as a third language and worked the church's community outreach program to stay abreast of unfolding situations. He found that a terrified mother was more likely to speak to a familiar face from church than a member of the UCPD when her son was involved with something shady. Being someone that the neighborhood could count on gave his life purpose far beyond just living for the sake of existing.
"<Vee, do you have a moment?>" The deep bass rumble of perfect Polish came from Kasper, the oldest member of Vee's Bronić cell, and the only remaining member from his father's days. Too old to be an active participant in the cell's activities, he was nevertheless a font of old world knowledge and someone that the dwindling South Side Polish community looked to as a leader.
Setting aside his forms and paperwork, he looked up and responded in kind. "<Of course, brother. Please, have a seat. What can I do for you?>"
Slowly sitting in the offered chair, Kaspar took a few breaths to order his thoughts before speaking again. "<It's about Andrzej. There has been a... sighting... of it.>"
Vee knew that his face must have displayed every ounce of shock that he felt. Standing quickly, he almost shouted. "<What? Where? Tell me everything!>"
"<Calm yourself, my friend. I said a sighting. At The Subterranean, two nights past. It has not been confirmed.>"
"<Still...>" Vee began to pace the room. "<Why now? Nothing concrete in more than a decade. Not even a whisper of a lead in more than five years. And I trust the source is reliable?>"
"<I mentioned it was not confirmed, yes? But the source is Miguelo, and you know better than I that he would not bring it to the cell's attention without cause.>"
Vee knew the truth in what Kaspar said. Miguelo Salazar had been a local problem child, a heart attack for his parents waiting to happen, until a chance encounter with a beast at Riverview Park brought him into the cell's sphere of contacts. Whilst he had not stopped being a handful, he had become hyper-aware of the strange and unexplainable during his pursuits, and was quick to tell a
Bronić member if something went beyond the norm. His intuition had thus far been spot on.
"<He would not, no. If he believes he saw my brother, I have no reason to doubt him.>"
"<Witold. This thing that Andrzej has become... You know it is no longer your brother. It hasn't been since the night we lost your father and Józef.>"
"<No matter what he has become, he is still my brother, Kaspar. That will not save what remains of his body, but I have to believe God will take mercy upon his soul. Once I set it free.>"
Kaspar cocked his head and looked sidelong at Vee. "<Then I imagine you will want to see to this personally? It has been a long while since I've been out, but if you require assistance, the rest of us will be at your disposal.>"
"<Thank you, but this is my burden to bear. Please tell the others, in case I don't return.>"
Rising as slowly as he sat, Kaspar nodded his understanding. Protection of the neighborhood required a joint effort by those that had been exposed to the secret terrors of Union City, but every member of
Bronić had personal demons that no other could be allowed to confront. For Vee, it was a matter of honor and responsibility. Only if he should fall, would the candle need to be taken up by another. Embracing as family, the two men said their goodbyes, leaving Vee alone with his thoughts.
Watching cars roll along rain-slicked cobblestone streets in Union City's Historic district, Vee spent his third night sitting in a coffee house across the way from The Subterranean. For a man that hated the taste of the drink as much as he did, it was an extra special kind of Hell that he would need it to blend in. A grey turtleneck and horn-rimmed glasses completed his "hipster" camouflage. Sipping his detested beverage, he observed the foot traffic in and out of the club, noting which patrons were likely normal (if the appellation could accurately be applied to some of the more goth individuals, with their fetish gear and latex outfits) and which could possibly be something else. It could take years of exposure to pick up on the subtle cues but once one knew what to look for, they stood out dramatically.
It was whilst nursing his fifth cup of the evening that Vee saw him. Built ursine large like all
Chodkiewicz men, Andrzej stood almost a full head above the entourage with which he arrived. Dressed in an obviously well tailored, and expensive, casual suit, he cut an intimidating figure. The club's doorman didn't hesitate to allow his group the quickest possible entry into The Subterranean. Finishing his cup and tossing it into a nearby wastebasket, Vee left the coffee house and jogged across the street.
"Yo, 'oldies night' is Wednesday, pops!" Vee ignored the club goers waiting in line for admittance.
"Sir, you'll need to get to the back of the line." The doorman was professional, if nothing else, as a bouncer glowered at Vee.
"Ah, yes. I would, but I was told Andrzej wanted to see me right away."
The doorman's eyes glassed over hard. Vee wondered if he had overplayed his hand, or if Andrzej was even still using his real name. The bouncer coughed and the doorman snapped out of it.
"I understand, sir. I apologize for the delay." He stepped aside and allowed Vee access to the club.
Inside, he was greeted by a blaring cacophony of noise that only vaguely resembled music to his ears. The crowd seemed to enjoy it. With low lights and the general demeanor of the goths, he couldn't be entirely sure. Shouldering his way to the bar, he ordered an appropriately strong double shot of top shelf whiskey, overpaid with a decent tip, and scanned the place, noting the exits and which people were paying too much attention to him. Andrzej and his group occupied a large, roped off alcove, which several small groups approached and departed after brief conversations.
He waited until things settled and Andrzej's entourage was deep in discussion to make his move. He had played out several scenarios in his mind over the years, from group ambush to guns blazing, but he threw them all to the wind as he calmly stepped to the satin rope.
"Ah, Andrzej. You're looking quite well, for 20 years dead." The table full of pretty corpses stopped speaking and, as one, turned to stare at him. For a moment, he felt the way a mouse must feel when trapped in a room full of cats, but he just smiled at them in return. Two heartbeats passed as slow as an eternity before the big man guffawed loudly at him.
"And you got old, little brother! You, leave us." He waved dismissively at his compatriots.
Sneering at Vee, one of the monsters unclipped the partition and the group filed past him, mingling with the mortals of the club like sharks in a sea of minnows.
"You should not have come here, Witold. There is nothing in this place for you but death."
"And you should have died with father and Józef, yet here we both are."
Andrzej glared at him, but made no move to stand or correct him. With a shrug, he responded, "I do not dispute that. But had you been there, had you done your duty, maybe they would be alive still. Maybe we all would be."
"If you regret what you've become, you could repent your sins, return to the Church, and be purified."
At this, Andrzej laughed again. "Regret? Oh, little brother. Didn't the old priest tell you? I CHOSE this. As the others lay dying, I was given the opportunity to join them, or become something much more than a tool of the Hammer. It was easy, really."
Vee broke eye contact as he dropped his chin towards his chest and reached into his pocket. "I had thought Father Barczak mistaken, but what he and the others said was true. You are lost."
The mirth at the situation was impossible to miss upon Andrzej's features, inflaming Vee's anger. "Lost? Of course not." He stood swiftly. "I could show you. You could learn the truth of power that those doddering old fools in the Church deny."
Taking a step back, Vee pulled a small white object from his pocket and started muttering to himself. Andrzej's eyes narrowed and his amusement slowly drained away, as he realized, too late, what was about to happen.
"Blessed is Saint Ignatius, who brings light to the darkest of places, who brings warmth to the coldest of hearts, who reminds even the dead of the grace of God!" As Vee raised his voice on the last words, a brilliant glowing ball of pure radiance expanded rapidly from the object in his hand; the knuckle bones of a canonized nun. The club was quickly awash in the illumination, to the concern of the patrons and the horror of the dead.
The screams of the latter, including Andrzej, as they attempted to flee from the light drowned out the shouts of the mortals, but over the din, Vee heard someone yell a question towards one of the monsters, followed by a chorus of deafening shotgun blasts. The herd mentality of the club took over, and he was swept toward the front of The Subterranean. The pushing and shoving of dozens of hands was crushing as everyone tried to escape the gunshots. Breaking glass and shrieking voices assailed Vee as he was able to make it outside. Glancing around, he saw no sign of his brother or any of the other creatures he marked inside. He pulled away from the throngs of club goers and onlookers, intent on reaching his car. He had the answers that he needed, and even without the actions of the gunman, a war had been started. He would need to tell his cell, and their superiors in the Malleus Maleficarum, and prepare...
Kaspar threw the spent shotgun in his trunk, its barrel warped from the incendiary shells he had used. He knew that Witold, like every other member of the Witch's Hammer he had known, would use half measures. Not him, though. The Sources had told him about Andrzej. Telling Vee would lead him to the club, to cause a distraction, to create a weakness Kaspar could exploit. He had asked the question, "who is Cain?" as he was bid, and he had shown no hesitation in striking the demons down. He did not get them all, unfortunately, but he would, in time. Of course, Vee would never know what had happened to his brother, and that would keep him focused on the hunt.
No other threat was as important as the vampires, and Kaspar would use every tool he had to destroy them.
The glory days of St. Stanislaus had passed decades ago, but a shadow of its former self still remained in the majesty of its vaulted ceilings and the intricacies of its stained glass windows. Regardless of the lowered attendance at mass or the general decline of the neighborhood, the church was like a second home to Witold "Vee" Chodkiewicz. He was baptized there, served as an altar boy, attended countless weddings and funerals, and was a Sunday staple for the majority of his 45 years of life, excepting only his military years. It was there, on his 18th birthday, that Father Barczak had taken him into the sacristy, where his father and two older brothers met them, and he learned the truth of the darkness in the world.
He was initiated into their lifestyle, a lifestyle he sought to escape by joining the Army. The things he saw during his enlistment, in the States and on deployment during the first Gulf and Bosnian Wars, forced him to face the error of his ways, and he returned home, only to find that his father and eldest brother, Józef, had been killed. His middle brother, Andrzej, had disappeared. Father Barczak had long since retired by that time, but Vee was able to track him down and get the truth about what had happened to his family.
Nearly 20 years had passed since then, and whilst Vee had worked numerous leads regarding Andrzej's whereabouts during his service to the neighborhood, none had panned out. The shifting demographic of South Side brought with it new challenges, but also new information, and insights. It, moreso than even his unwavering faith in the Catholic Church, kept him coming back to St. Stanislaus. He picked up Spanish as a third language and worked the church's community outreach program to stay abreast of unfolding situations. He found that a terrified mother was more likely to speak to a familiar face from church than a member of the UCPD when her son was involved with something shady. Being someone that the neighborhood could count on gave his life purpose far beyond just living for the sake of existing.
^^^^^
"<Vee, do you have a moment?>" The deep bass rumble of perfect Polish came from Kasper, the oldest member of Vee's Bronić cell, and the only remaining member from his father's days. Too old to be an active participant in the cell's activities, he was nevertheless a font of old world knowledge and someone that the dwindling South Side Polish community looked to as a leader.
Setting aside his forms and paperwork, he looked up and responded in kind. "<Of course, brother. Please, have a seat. What can I do for you?>"
Slowly sitting in the offered chair, Kaspar took a few breaths to order his thoughts before speaking again. "<It's about Andrzej. There has been a... sighting... of it.>"
Vee knew that his face must have displayed every ounce of shock that he felt. Standing quickly, he almost shouted. "<What? Where? Tell me everything!>"
"<Calm yourself, my friend. I said a sighting. At The Subterranean, two nights past. It has not been confirmed.>"
"<Still...>" Vee began to pace the room. "<Why now? Nothing concrete in more than a decade. Not even a whisper of a lead in more than five years. And I trust the source is reliable?>"
"<I mentioned it was not confirmed, yes? But the source is Miguelo, and you know better than I that he would not bring it to the cell's attention without cause.>"
Vee knew the truth in what Kaspar said. Miguelo Salazar had been a local problem child, a heart attack for his parents waiting to happen, until a chance encounter with a beast at Riverview Park brought him into the cell's sphere of contacts. Whilst he had not stopped being a handful, he had become hyper-aware of the strange and unexplainable during his pursuits, and was quick to tell a
Bronić member if something went beyond the norm. His intuition had thus far been spot on.
"<He would not, no. If he believes he saw my brother, I have no reason to doubt him.>"
"<Witold. This thing that Andrzej has become... You know it is no longer your brother. It hasn't been since the night we lost your father and Józef.>"
"<No matter what he has become, he is still my brother, Kaspar. That will not save what remains of his body, but I have to believe God will take mercy upon his soul. Once I set it free.>"
Kaspar cocked his head and looked sidelong at Vee. "<Then I imagine you will want to see to this personally? It has been a long while since I've been out, but if you require assistance, the rest of us will be at your disposal.>"
"<Thank you, but this is my burden to bear. Please tell the others, in case I don't return.>"
Rising as slowly as he sat, Kaspar nodded his understanding. Protection of the neighborhood required a joint effort by those that had been exposed to the secret terrors of Union City, but every member of
Bronić had personal demons that no other could be allowed to confront. For Vee, it was a matter of honor and responsibility. Only if he should fall, would the candle need to be taken up by another. Embracing as family, the two men said their goodbyes, leaving Vee alone with his thoughts.
^^^^^
Watching cars roll along rain-slicked cobblestone streets in Union City's Historic district, Vee spent his third night sitting in a coffee house across the way from The Subterranean. For a man that hated the taste of the drink as much as he did, it was an extra special kind of Hell that he would need it to blend in. A grey turtleneck and horn-rimmed glasses completed his "hipster" camouflage. Sipping his detested beverage, he observed the foot traffic in and out of the club, noting which patrons were likely normal (if the appellation could accurately be applied to some of the more goth individuals, with their fetish gear and latex outfits) and which could possibly be something else. It could take years of exposure to pick up on the subtle cues but once one knew what to look for, they stood out dramatically.
It was whilst nursing his fifth cup of the evening that Vee saw him. Built ursine large like all
Chodkiewicz men, Andrzej stood almost a full head above the entourage with which he arrived. Dressed in an obviously well tailored, and expensive, casual suit, he cut an intimidating figure. The club's doorman didn't hesitate to allow his group the quickest possible entry into The Subterranean. Finishing his cup and tossing it into a nearby wastebasket, Vee left the coffee house and jogged across the street.
"Yo, 'oldies night' is Wednesday, pops!" Vee ignored the club goers waiting in line for admittance.
"Sir, you'll need to get to the back of the line." The doorman was professional, if nothing else, as a bouncer glowered at Vee.
"Ah, yes. I would, but I was told Andrzej wanted to see me right away."
The doorman's eyes glassed over hard. Vee wondered if he had overplayed his hand, or if Andrzej was even still using his real name. The bouncer coughed and the doorman snapped out of it.
"I understand, sir. I apologize for the delay." He stepped aside and allowed Vee access to the club.
Inside, he was greeted by a blaring cacophony of noise that only vaguely resembled music to his ears. The crowd seemed to enjoy it. With low lights and the general demeanor of the goths, he couldn't be entirely sure. Shouldering his way to the bar, he ordered an appropriately strong double shot of top shelf whiskey, overpaid with a decent tip, and scanned the place, noting the exits and which people were paying too much attention to him. Andrzej and his group occupied a large, roped off alcove, which several small groups approached and departed after brief conversations.
He waited until things settled and Andrzej's entourage was deep in discussion to make his move. He had played out several scenarios in his mind over the years, from group ambush to guns blazing, but he threw them all to the wind as he calmly stepped to the satin rope.
"Ah, Andrzej. You're looking quite well, for 20 years dead." The table full of pretty corpses stopped speaking and, as one, turned to stare at him. For a moment, he felt the way a mouse must feel when trapped in a room full of cats, but he just smiled at them in return. Two heartbeats passed as slow as an eternity before the big man guffawed loudly at him.
"And you got old, little brother! You, leave us." He waved dismissively at his compatriots.
Sneering at Vee, one of the monsters unclipped the partition and the group filed past him, mingling with the mortals of the club like sharks in a sea of minnows.
"You should not have come here, Witold. There is nothing in this place for you but death."
"And you should have died with father and Józef, yet here we both are."
Andrzej glared at him, but made no move to stand or correct him. With a shrug, he responded, "I do not dispute that. But had you been there, had you done your duty, maybe they would be alive still. Maybe we all would be."
"If you regret what you've become, you could repent your sins, return to the Church, and be purified."
At this, Andrzej laughed again. "Regret? Oh, little brother. Didn't the old priest tell you? I CHOSE this. As the others lay dying, I was given the opportunity to join them, or become something much more than a tool of the Hammer. It was easy, really."
Vee broke eye contact as he dropped his chin towards his chest and reached into his pocket. "I had thought Father Barczak mistaken, but what he and the others said was true. You are lost."
The mirth at the situation was impossible to miss upon Andrzej's features, inflaming Vee's anger. "Lost? Of course not." He stood swiftly. "I could show you. You could learn the truth of power that those doddering old fools in the Church deny."
Taking a step back, Vee pulled a small white object from his pocket and started muttering to himself. Andrzej's eyes narrowed and his amusement slowly drained away, as he realized, too late, what was about to happen.
"Blessed is Saint Ignatius, who brings light to the darkest of places, who brings warmth to the coldest of hearts, who reminds even the dead of the grace of God!" As Vee raised his voice on the last words, a brilliant glowing ball of pure radiance expanded rapidly from the object in his hand; the knuckle bones of a canonized nun. The club was quickly awash in the illumination, to the concern of the patrons and the horror of the dead.
The screams of the latter, including Andrzej, as they attempted to flee from the light drowned out the shouts of the mortals, but over the din, Vee heard someone yell a question towards one of the monsters, followed by a chorus of deafening shotgun blasts. The herd mentality of the club took over, and he was swept toward the front of The Subterranean. The pushing and shoving of dozens of hands was crushing as everyone tried to escape the gunshots. Breaking glass and shrieking voices assailed Vee as he was able to make it outside. Glancing around, he saw no sign of his brother or any of the other creatures he marked inside. He pulled away from the throngs of club goers and onlookers, intent on reaching his car. He had the answers that he needed, and even without the actions of the gunman, a war had been started. He would need to tell his cell, and their superiors in the Malleus Maleficarum, and prepare...
^^^^^
Kaspar threw the spent shotgun in his trunk, its barrel warped from the incendiary shells he had used. He knew that Witold, like every other member of the Witch's Hammer he had known, would use half measures. Not him, though. The Sources had told him about Andrzej. Telling Vee would lead him to the club, to cause a distraction, to create a weakness Kaspar could exploit. He had asked the question, "who is Cain?" as he was bid, and he had shown no hesitation in striking the demons down. He did not get them all, unfortunately, but he would, in time. Of course, Vee would never know what had happened to his brother, and that would keep him focused on the hunt.
No other threat was as important as the vampires, and Kaspar would use every tool he had to destroy them.
The Church, 40th & J St
The Club, 13th & Jackson
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