Maize

Well, there she was again, sitting on the picnic table (rather than the bench), her feet dangling over the edge. She was reclined on her hands and staring out into the cornfield, again with that unblinking stare. It was as if she were afraid of missing something important if her eyes were closed even for a nanosecond. This thing with the priest was driving her to the point of distraction. She didn't even know if what happened meant anything or not and someone else's perspective might be useful.

It really felt like there were only four of them now - Marlowe, Imogen, Jean, and herself. Where were the others? It seemed like one of those cliche horror movies where people were murdered one by one. It's been three days and she had yet to tell anyone about that priest - because - where the hell was everyone? And what were they doing?

One of her hands twitched as if she were about to get up. What's the point of this motley - really. No one was going to protect her. No one had her back. Something could come lunging out of that field right now and no one would even realize she was gone until it was far and away too late. Would it really matter if she grabbed her pack and started heading south again? For all she knew, the motley didn't even exist anymore - and for all intents and purposes - it didn't.

Yet something kept her sitting there - with only that one twitch of her hand to indicate that she ever thought of leaving. Huntsmen. Bad dreams. Missing people. This was serious business.

I limped my way over to the bench and sat down.

"Sorry about that."

Tiffani Noelle wrote: ↑

Mon Jan 27, 2020 9:25 am

For all she knew, the motley didn't even exist anymore - and for all intents and purposes - it didn't.

But Tiffani did know. Changelings, whether they wanted it or not, were deeply attuned to the Wyrd, and had the motley been broken or resolved, she would have felt it. But, no, the oath was still in effect...

Tiffani didn't respond as quickly as she should have to be polite - instead her eyes were fixated on the corn as if she can see something out there that no one else can. After what seemed like forever, she swung herself around on the table to look at Marlowe. Her voice was unusually subdued, but still well above a whisper.

"Oh, hello, lovely," Even while she speaks, she kept glancing back toward the corn. "How's your leg doing? I can tell by the sound of your walk that you're limping. Are you still in a lot of pain?"

"Yes." There was no hiding it. "It will heal, but it will take a while. A week, at the least."

Tiffany's eyes were drawn to the wound in Marlowe's leg - then back up to study his face. "Well ... I don't know if I can heal it completely since I've never done it before. But if the pain gets the best of you, I can see what I can do."

She then moved down from the table to the bench and patted the spot next to her. "In any case, standing on it can't be helping. I hope you found what you were looking for earlier. I know you were ntent on finding whatever clue you were after. I figured you really didn't need me tagging along so ... I just came here. I usually hang out here most of the day. It's either that - or stay in those cramped little motel rooms."

"There's the Hollow, too. It's not much, but there's a fair amount of room." I sat down beside her and stretched out my leg. "I should probably get some treatment for it. I'm not as helpful to the rest of you, limping around."

"I found what I was looking for, proof that Maize is connected to our kind, in some way."

Tiffani smiled briefly at his comment about limping around and said almost teasingly, "Now you'ee starting to sound like me." She looked at his stretched out leg again but made no more mention of his wound. She figured if he wanted her to heal it, he would ask - because - if she were honest with herself, she was afraid of doing so. She had never done it before, but she intuitively knew how it worked and there was a horrible price to pay for such healing magic. But she would do it if he asked.

"Gun shot wounds are reported to the police in all cases - it's the law in this country. If you get treatment for it at a hospital, the police will be all over you asking questions about who shot you, where you were, are you affiliated with a gang - they may even force you to return with them to wherever their police station is. And as we both know, that place is not Maize."

She clears her throat and moves a little closer to Marlowe in that way people do when they're about to divulge a secret. "So, let me tell you about this Father Henshall bloke." She clears her throat as if about to deliver some kind of momentous speech.

"Hmm, I've been thinking about this for days and now that I'm actually going to tell someone, I'm having trouble coming up with a proper description. You see, I can remember everything with near perfect clarity because, well, the neurologists call it an "eidetic memory." I guess it's pretty rare. So everything I'm about to say is literally verbatim. No paraphrasing. No hyperbole. No exaggeration."

"So, somehow the priest knew I was there. That was a mystery in and of itself. I never knocked or made any noise - he just opened the door from the inside and said 'come in out of the cold, child.' At first he was welcoming to a point - but bloody hell, Marlowe, he had a gaze to him like a Medusa, ya know? The entire conversation that followed seemed duplicitous to me - kind words while staring daggers. Anyway, I tried to be as obsequious as possible, but I did tell him that I thought something here in town was just wrong somehow - but I wasn't sure what it was. Henshall immediately tensed and straightened. He knows, Marlowe. Even if he's not involved, he bloody well knows. He was gripping his Bible in front of him like he was trying to ward off the devil himself."

Tiffani edges just a tad bit closer to Marlowe. "Right away, Henshall wanted to put me up in the motel for the night - which is odd because everywhere else I've stayed, the priest put me in a room in the church or even the church itself if needs be. I couldn't get over the feeling that he wanted to get rid of me - and I never did see the church itself, just the entrance. Thinking back on it, I should have tried to enter further just to see if he would let me."

"What's more, the church was freezing. There was very little difference between the inside and outside temperature which made me glad he was going to hire a room for me at the motel. But everything about him was ... somehow dodgy. His smile was as fake as a three dollar bill - as you Yanks like to say - but weirder still, he wouldn't look at me. At all. He always kept his eyes averted, but not in a respectful kind of way. No, it was the kind of aversion that people show when they see something ... well ... disgusting. I mean, you'll never hear me claim I'm all that attractive, but damn, I'm not that ugly, either. Am I?"

"So ... I started to get suspicious at that point." Tiffani reached for Marlowe with both her hands and grasped his forearm. "Because .... because I think he can see us for what we are, Marlowe. I'm almost certain of it. He can see through our masks! I even deliberately tried to place myself in front of him so he would have to look at me - and he just refused. If he couldn't avert his eyes, he looked right through me, like, he was focusing on the wall behind me. Why would he do that?"

Another inch closer to Marlowe so that their legs, hips, and shoulders would be touching - unless Marlowe moves, of course. "So I started asking him why it was so cold - and he tells me: 'We try to keep costs down where we can.' All the while I'm thinking - if you want to keep costs down, why are you shelling out money for me to stay at the motel? That really set the alarm bells to ringing. None of it was making sense. I don't know if the cold church means anything - except - perhaps it's not a coincidence that these strange happenings are occurring in the winter months when it's cold. Maybe whatever nasty things are behind all of this require low temperatures? Or maybe I've seen too many science fiction movies. I dunnae."

Her grip on Marlowe's arm became a little more fierce. "But it gets better. Or worse. You know how people will involuntarily look at an unexpected movement? Well ... one of those rare times I was able to get Henshall to look at me, I fluttered one of my wings to see if his gaze would be drawn to it. Now ... as soon as I did that, he took a step back from me. Unfortunately, that's not conclusive proof that he saw me do it, but the timing would be quite bizarre if he hadn't."

"By the way, I beg your pardon that this is such a long-winded story, but ... I want someone to know all the details. If something were to happen to me, someone needs to know what took place. I hope you understand my worry. Well, moving on ... I brought up the subject of why the church was so cold. I said - how can the Catholic Church have billions of dollars in cash and assets but can't afford to heat a small town church? Well, he didn't like that at all and I could tell he just wanted me out of there. If you'll pardon the conceit, I think he knew I was seeing through his excuses. I mean, his logic was bad."

"That's when he pulled out a phone and called someone at the motel - presumably - and arranged my room. He was talking to some chap named Ray - who probably has nothing to do with the tomfoolery going on, but ... say, when you hired your room at the motel, did you talk to someone named Ray? It can't hurt to double check, ya know?"

Tiffani still had both hands on Marlowe's forearm (again, providing Marlowe allows it) but now she swiveled 90 degrees on the bench, meeting Marlowe's gaze directly with an intensity that might be unnerving from someone so young - and was there something else present in that look? Fear, perhaps? Maybe even raw terror.

"Finally I decided to be direct and asked him straight away - why won't you look at me? Am I that abhorrant to you?" She looked down at that point, her eyes resting on her hands gripping Marlowe's arm. It took a little while before she returned her gaze to Marlowe's own eyes. "He wouldn't answer me. Instead, he made that cross sign that Catholics do to ward of evil ... and this is what he said: 'Begone from this holy place. I see what you are, demon, you cannot hide from God's sight.'"

"I see what you are, demon," Tiffani repeated in a whisper, her eyes misting over with held-back emotion. "Does that sound like an appropriate response to my question? Any other priest would be apologizing profusely for making me feel that uncomfortable. But not Henshall. Catholics make that cross sign to ward of evil, Marlowe - why would he do that to me, of all people? I mean, look at me. I have to use a stool just to reach the top cupboard in my parents' kitchen. I'm a small teenage girl ... at least, that's how regular people are supposed to see me. But this priest ... he bloody well knows what I am, and I think he knows who we all are. I'd bet all the money I have left that either Henshall is involved in murdering Lost - or perhaps even leading the effort."

Then she turns back 90 degrees to face front again, only she lays her head on Marlowe's shoulder without really thinking about what she's doing. "Again, I'm really sorry it took so long to explain, but like I said, someone has to know everything. Because I think I stumbled into the hornet's nest. I mean ... what do you think? Am I over-reacting? Am I reading into things too much? Maybe he's just a nasty priest who hates outsiders, I dunnae."

"Oh lordy, I'm really really sorry," she says suddenly, pulling her head off Marlowe's shoulder so fast that he got a face-full of curls. "I'm taking way too many liberties with you ...I'll try not to do that again. Oh ... dear ..." She then takes her hands off Marlowe's arm and folds her arms across her chest.

"I'm here to listen to you and to help." I assured her. "There was once a girl I wasn't able to help. I've been trying to fix that and help who I can, especially young ones like you. So, I'm more than willing to listen."

"I have a pretty good memory myself." A little too good in some ways. "I've been in a number of cold churches. From what I've seen, the money from the collection plates tends to flow up. Not much is left or comes back down for the smaller churches. Ray is the owner of the motel and the only employee I've seen. I imagine he and the reverend have an arrangement for those in need."

"He does sound like someone to look into, though." I frowned. "It's not unheard of for mundane folk to see through the mask. I suppose it makes sense for a man of faith to be capable of that. The reaction, however, suggests there may be more to it. He may have seen a few things."

"That hedgeway I found back there. I saw two fetches come out." I glanced around. "I don't know who they are, but that's at least three in this town. It's definitely odd."

"Henshall tensed up the moment I said there was something wrong," Tiffani reiterated. She stood up and began pacing around the table. "He didn't even ask me what I meant - never showed any sort of curiosity over what I meant which tells me Henshall already knows what I meant. That chap is neck-deep in whatever is going on even if he's not directly involved. He certainly has no love for Changelings and is obviously doing nothing to put a stop to it. Either way, he's guilty as far as I'm concerned."

She strolls up to the edge of the cornfield, only a few strides away from the table. She picked this spot for that very reason. "Three fetches," she whispered half to herself but still loud enough for Marlowe to hear. "But you don't know whose, yes? I thought fetches took over the lives of those who were taken - I didn't know they traveled the Hedge seeking out the person they're imitating. At least, I assume those fetches belong to people in our motley since I haven't seen any local changelings. Well, there was that one chap Steve who wanted us to help him kill his fetch, but that leaves the other two."

This area of the fields haven't been harvested yet. Brazenly, Tiffani picks an ear off one of the closest stalks and begins pulling off the greenery to get to the corn itself.

"So ... who is she?"