The silence wrapped around the room like old dust, clinging to the corners. Light from the tall window slid in narrow beams across the faded floorboards, catching the rim of Alan's worn top hat.
He stood still, head tilted slightly, his fingers grazing the edge of the hat's brim. His eyes widened, then softened as he lowered his gaze and folded his arms loosely.
Their answers only pull in more questions... And yet, I understood some of it. Barely.
The Captain's right, this won't be easy. It's not a job you sleep through... but walking away now? That would only twist things worse.
Alan turned to Mercellus. His movements were slow, deliberate. He lifted his hand to his hat, bowed slightly, more out of respect than ritual.
"Captain. I guess I should call you that now,"
he said. "When do I start the ritual?"
Mercellus didn't respond at once. His gaze lingered on Alan, then drifted past him as if seeing something far beyond the room.
He's already taken his first step through the fog... Good.
He might actually survive this. Maybe even more.
Mercellus's features softened. His lips parted slightly, then pressed together again as if holding something back. He turned his eyes to the dusty ceiling, blinking once, slowly.
Florence... You were just a girl when you joined us. Barely eighteen. You and Flora, always side by side.
That day, it changed everything. You stopped smiling after that.
His throat worked silently. He looked at Alan again.
I pray you don't break the way she did.
He gave a faint smile, shaky, not quite reaching his eyes. He straightened his collar in a distracted motion, as if it gave him something to do with his hands.
"Before the ritual,"
Mercellus said, voice low but steady,
"I need a moment with Lucille."
He turned slightly.
"Lucille, come here. We need to speak."
Alan watched, brow furrowing.
The Captain's drifting. Like he's seeing ghosts... Maybe I should give them space.
Lucille stepped forward from the shadowed corner, her white hair swaying like silk threads with each precise step. She didn't glance at the scattered papers on the floor, but somehow, not a single one crumpled underfoot.
Alan raised an eyebrow.
She... avoided all of them? In heels? That's either skill or instinct.
Maybe I shouldn't jump to conclusions so quickly.
Lucille stopped near Mercellus, her expression unreadable.
"What?" she said, clipped and quiet.
Mercellus leaned closer. He whispered something only for her, a hand half-lifted as if shielding the words.
Alan shifted, scratched the back of his neck.
Should I be listening...? No. No, don't do that. Don't be that guy.
Why are these thoughts always so loud when I'm trying to be decent?
Lucille's eyes flicked toward him, unreadable again. Then she turned and walked to the door. She opened it, stepped through, and closed it softly behind her without a word.
Alan cleared his throat and turned to Mercellus, still unsure.
"So, uh... Captain. When do I do the ritual?"
Mercellus, now seated behind his desk, began breaking a piece of tobacco between his fingers. The scent of it drifted into the air, earthy and sharp.
He didn't look up. "Where will you stay? Here? Or go back to your old house?"
Alan hesitated. His hands curled into fists, then relaxed at his sides.
That house... It's where I built everything. Where I watched my sisters grow.
Where I took the first step into this nightmare.
But here... here is safety. And safety isn't free.
He looked up, eyes steadier now.
"Please... give me time to decide," Alan said. "It's not something I can just choose in a breath. Whether I stay here in safety... or go back to the place where my memories live."
Mercellus leaned back slightly in his chair, a calm smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. His eyes remained on Alan, steady and warm.
"Don't worry," he said. "We won't force you. We're just concerned about your safety. I asked Lucille to tell Murphy to shut down the bookstore temporarily and move the Murphy Law location to your house. That way, you can come and go freely. And if you decide to move here later, we'll adjust."
Alan smiled faintly, the corners of his lips twitching with relief. But it didn't last. The smile faded as a shadow of guilt crept into his eyes. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, fingers curling slightly.
That's good news... I can act normal, live where I'm used to.
But... what will people think when strangers start coming in and out of my house?
Am I just giving them another burden to carry?
He looked up again, his voice softer, unsure.
"Captain... is it really okay? Won't this just give you more problems to handle?"
Mercellus gave a small shake of his head, brushing ash from his sleeve.
"Don't stress yourself. Just stay alert. Don't drop your guard." His tone darkened slightly.
"Night Shades could be anywhere. And honestly... your house might be a good place to clean up a few of them."
Alan blinked, confused. His brows knit together, jaw slightly slack.
Wait... Night Shades? In my house? I've lived there all this time.
How haven't I seen them?
Mercellus reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a cigarette. He lit it with a flick of his brass lighter, took a slow drag, then looked straight at Alan.
"You're wondering, right?" he said, voice low. "Why you've never seen one... why you've only just started to learn they exist."
He leaned forward, resting his arms on the desk beside a battered typewriter, his tone calm and matter-of-fact.
"It's because they need a host. Someone who's stayed in the dark too long. Once they take hold, they walk in your light. And when they do... they can hunt. Trick people. Convince them to let them in."
Alan stared, lips parting slightly.
He... read my thoughts. Every single one. And the way he said it... like it's happened before.
Like it's normal here. I need to know more. I have to.
He took a breath and stepped forward.
"Captain, could you tell me more about these Night Shades? Knowing more might help me handle them better."
Mercellus smiled again and gently tapped his cigarette into the ashtray.
"Ask Florence about that," he said.
"She knows them better than most. Just don't wake her up if she's sleeping. She'll help you, but only when she wants to."
For a moment, his expression softened into something almost fatherly.
Florence... Maybe you're the one who can find your light again. Maybe this boy can bring it back.
Alan folded his arms and leaned slightly against the wall.
Florence Graye... the one who yelled earlier? Guess the captain's pairing me up with her.
Elias calls her the Sleeping Beauty. Sounds fitting, I guess. Haven't even met her yet, and I already feel like I'm walking into something strange.
He cleared his throat and glanced back at Mercellus.
"Captain, just one more thing. When do I start the ritual? And... the Dream Writing?"
Mercellus's eyes lifted past Alan. He gave a small smile.
"Ask Lucille. She just came back."
The door creaked softly. Lucille stepped in, her heels tapping with precision. Her white hair flowed like thread behind her as she crossed the room.
She stopped near Mercellus and spoke crisply.
"Done. Murphy complained, it'd be farther from the bookstore, but Elias helped talk him into it. Murphy finally agreed. But..."
she turned to glance at Alan briefly, "he wants Alan to guard the door outside. That was his request."
Alan stood still for a moment, brows slightly furrowed.
So… my first shift is guarding a door in my house? Makes sense, I guess. Still, something tells me the captain has a reason for that. Probably watching how I handle pressure.
He turned his gaze to Lucille, then quickly shifted back to Mercellus, stepping forward.
"Since Lucille's here… when can I start the ritual?"
Mercellus didn't answer right away. He looked toward Lucille, then exhaled, slow and deep. His eyes slipped shut as if the weight of the question exhausted him.
Lucille caught the look. Her lips twitched in irritation.
"This old man is seriously starting to piss me off," she muttered under her breath.
"I will beat the living daylight out of him one day."
She glanced at Alan, his posture was unsure, shoulders slightly tense, eyes darting between them.
He's lost. Great. Looks like I'm the one guiding him now.
Lucille crossed her arms and turned back to Mercellus.
"Captain, where should we start the ritual?"
Without lifting his head, Mercellus grabbed a thick book from his desk, leaned back in his chair, and tossed it over his face like a makeshift curtain.
"You should ask him," he said, voice muffled and drowsy.
"Here or at his station... Alan, where do you want to start the ritual?"
Alan blinked, startled. He glanced around, rubbing the back of his neck.
Why do I have to choose? Shouldn't there be a proper place for this? Maybe I should just ask Lucille where it's usually done.
He turned to her, lowering his voice slightly.
"Where do you usually do this?"
Lucille's eyes focused briefly on his forehead, her expression unreadable.
"Here. In the captain's station. That's where the rituals are usually done."
Alan gave a small nod, thinking it over.
If that's how it's normally done, I'll follow that. No reason to complicate things.
His eyes lingered on her for a second, on the way her diamond-white hair shimmered softly under the lantern light.
"Then… I'd like to do it here as well."
Lucille gave a curt nod, face calm and emotionless.
"Then let's begin the procedure," she said, stepping forward. "As your Dream Hand."