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[Fae-Verse] FAE: Volume One

locochoco#7652 locochoco Posts: 162 Arc User
edited August 18 in Fan Base Alpha
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V O L U M E - O N E


Created by M.J. Saulnier


Mystery/Drama/Science Fiction/Horror
Some Mature/Disturbing Scenes


THEME
Assimilation - The Lead


“Spanning the breadth of your entire existence, you’ve asked the question, ‘What am I?’

Well, my precious child, I’ve been waiting a lifetime to welcome you home.”

—Woman In White



FAE follows the lives of several families living in the quiet, rustic little town of White River Valley. An eerie, rural community nestled deep into the valley forest. Nothing in this place is quite as it seems on the surface, and seven teenagers are about to find out exactly why. The mystery runs deep, but the connection between them all runs even deeper. One of those teens is a new girl in town, about to discover the truth about this place, and her own connection to it. Danger lurks beyond every shadow, and secrets remain locked behind every door. FAE is a modern fantasy epic that promises to keep you on the edge of your seat from start to finish.



VOLUME I
Episode 1: What Am I?
Episode 2: Secrets
Episode 3: The Tree of Life
Episode 4: Calculated Chaos
Episode 5: Paradigm Shift
Episode 6: His Name Is Alister
Episode 7: Generations (Part 1)
Episode 8: Generations (Part 2)
Episode 9: Roots
Episode 10: Baptism By Fire
Episode 11: A New Body
Episode 12: Run
Episode 13: Leaf On The Wind



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  • locochoco#7652 locochoco Posts: 162 Arc User
    EPISODE ONE

    What Am I?



    Mayor's Office, White River Valley

    Miles Feltman had roots in White River Valley. The sort of roots that find their fare deep, reaching back toward the soil in which they had been sown. His family had placed stakes here centuries ago and hadn't spent so much as a day beyond the rolling sea of dense, primordial forest that surrounded the town like a blanket of fog offering both bounty and retribution alike. It was a quiet place. Where no animals frolicked or foraged. No wind dashed through the tree canopy, rustling fallen leaves as they pirouette along the forest floor. This was a ghostly holt where locals say the leaves will whisper to you should you walk among them by your lonesome. Miles Feltman grew up on those sorts of folk tales. He knew every intimate discomfiture of this town as well as every contentment. He knew every side street, back alley, and dirt trail. He loved White River Valley, because he was its Mayor.

    For thirty-seven-years, Miles faithfully served the office of Mayor. He knew every resident by name, and had stories to tell about their grandparents. In fact, in most homes in this town, Miles was like an extended grandfather. He shopped in the same supermarkets, bought gas at the same pumps and attended Sunday mass at the same church as the majority of families in town. Despite being the Mayor, his title wasn't a big deal, because he was a fixture in the community. Everyone knew Mr. Feltman by name. He was an approachable, ordinary guy who always took the time to converse and catch up with his constitutes. He was a good husband, good neighbor and a good Mayor, forgiving his propensity to eat most of Ellen Harper's oatmeal macarons at town hall meetings.

    Miles stood in his office, squinting and pursing his lips as he ran his left index finger along a row of standing records neatly packed into a shelf. When he had made his selection, he smiled with a fond nostalgia as he traced his finger tips across the colorful yet faded cover art. This particular record reminded him of his wife, Norma, and 1964, the year they first met. Although they were only teenagers, there was something so innocent and simple about that time. Back before children had grown into adults. Before this town had been forever changed on a crisp autumn evening. Before decisions had been made that could never be undone.

    He nudged a pair of thick prescription lenses up the bridge of his weathered, slightly crooked nose as he carefully removed the vinyl from its sleeve. The clock on the wall over his shoulder read three minutes after midnight. A low rumble of thunder approached on the horizon, nearing the Valley with each passing moment, a dull azure flash flickering against the window panes.

    The needle dropped and Miles gently closed the lid over the record player.




    Heading straight for the mini-bar, he fixed himself a straight brandy, helping himself to a generous gulp. He gazed around the rustic, quaint little office which he had spent the last thirty-seven-years upholding. This was his second home; His castle. White River Valley? His kingdom. A swell of emotion—maybe even dread—consumed him momentarily before a crack of thunder accompanied by a bright flash startled him and drew his attention to the window. There, he quietly observed the coming storm.

    Behind him, the door handle began to squeak and rattle as it slowly turned open. Miles' hands began to shake, his palms becoming clammy as he held his brandy tightly, wedding band worn faithfully around his wrinkled right ring finger. He turned around, giving a nervous glance of his shoulder as he did so. The door creaked open with agonizing leisure, only adding to the mounting anticipation. A tall figure stood beyond the threshold cloaked in shadow. Miles was hesitant; Fearful. But this fear was not for himself. This fear was for the people of his town.

    "So... You’ve finally returned?" Miles asked nervously.

    "It’s time, Miles," the man said with an eerily calm authority and a clean, modern American accent.

    Miles placed his brandy on the windowsill behind him.

    "I’ve been waiting for this, well, a long time now," he explained, adjusting his posture and composure to meet his adversary with courage and dignity. "I made my peace. So, you go ahead. Do your worst."

    "My worst, Miles?" the man asked rhetorically, stepping forward into the light more. He had long, perfectly kempt black hair parted down the center, framing off a long, bony, pale face. He was altogether unsettling and yet ghoulishly handsome in the same breath. He had eyes that could strip paint off the wall, and a smile fit for the devil himself.

    "Believe me," he said with a sinister lack of expression. "The worst is yet to come," he finished, face illuminated by azure light as another crack of thunder rolled across the valley sky...



  • locochoco#7652 locochoco Posts: 162 Arc User

    Country Road, Outside White River Valley

    Phillip and June Ross had followed the storm most of the way into White River Valley. Traveling northbound, they came upon the tail and remained behind it on a northwestern heading all the way into White River County. Their navy station wagon followed an old, remote country road winding through the valley forest, entombed by a dense, towering tree line. The vibrant canopy of lush leaves was stippled with droplets of cool morning rain. They set out the day before and had been on the road all night. It was nearing dawn, and they had been rotating shifts at the wheel for over twelve hours now. Phillip sat behind the wheel, his right hand resting casually at twelve o'clock. He was visibly lethargic, but alert nevertheless. He had brown hair and a very short beard that masked his youthful aesthetic. Blinking slowly and with a heavy burden, he raised an over-the-counter coffee cup to his dry lips. It was a satisfying gulp, even if it had gone cold an hour ago. Phillip kind of liked cold coffee if there was just enough sugar in it. He gave a quick glance of his right shoulder toward his wife, who was leaning against the door handle with her chin cupped in her right palm, full head of silky black hair turned away from him. Her light green eyes gazed longingly out the passenger window as the scenery crawled by.

    Phillip returned his languid sapphire gaze to the road rather quickly, keeping her firmly on his mind.

    "It's not too late to turn around, babe," he proposed softly, so as not to awaken their daughter, Melanie, who had been sound asleep in the back seat the entire time.

    June looked him over with a warm, pursed smile. He was such a selfless man, and she loved him deeply for it, but her decision had been made. There was no turning back now.


    *****



    White River Valley

    Melanie's blue green eyes slowly fluttered open as she lay in the back seat. Her long black hair was gathered in a bun at the crown of her head. She lay on her right side, against the rear passenger side door. She wore a black hoodie that peeked out from under the purple blanket she was wrapped in. She allowed all of her senses to focus as she noted that it was now after dawn and daylight had already broken. She had slept for most of the night and her body felt tight, cramped, discombobulated and she was a little peckish. Rising from beneath her purple blanket to peek out the windows, Mel set her gaze upon the streets of White River Valley for the very first time.

    It was thoroughly underwhelming to her urban senses. A light fog lingered along the surface of the ground, lending a lonely, ghostly nuance to the already eldritch landscape. Long, narrow stretches of twin lane back road, only shoulder and ditch between pavement and tree line. The power lines and telephone poles seemed so much more distinguished in towns like these. It wasn't her first small town, but she had hoped it would be her last, and was fairly certain that her stay wouldn't be a long one. As the back road gave way to the downtown core, her disappointment only snowballed. The pit of her stomach sank a few inches as she saw the narrowly structured streets lined with old, short buildings cluttered with scrappy signage and personal bric-a-brac. Open lots and stretches of grass and trees dotted all around in every direction. It was like something from a movie, where people go to buy haunted houses.

    "So... This is it, huh?" Mel asked with a despondent sort of tone which was rather typical of a teenage girl placed out of her element. June immediately spun around in her seat, facing her daughter.

    "I know it’s small, hun, but I promise, it will grow on you," she said compassionately, trying to console Mel. The hardest part of all of this was having to put her daughter through yet another move. "There’s even a small beach if you know where to find it," she added, going the extra step to put her mind at ease. June knew that in time, this place would become Melanie's home. In time, everything would become clear.

    "That should at least keep you happyish for the summer," Phillip said, glancing at Mel through the rear-view mirror with his big, bright, signature Phillip Ross smile. Mel grinned as she locked eyes with him, attempting to return her gaze to the window inconspicuously.

    "You know me, Dad," she said, stilling her expression and returning her train of thought to a more glum setting.


    "Leaf on the wind."
  • locochoco#7652 locochoco Posts: 162 Arc User
    24 Cresthill Drive, White River Valley

    The Ross family vehicle crawled along Cresthill Drive; a sleepy little street on the south eastern outskirts of town. The curb met lawn in neat, uniform fashion along the curved stretch of pavement leaving no room for the suburban sidewalks Mel had grown accustomed to. The small neighborhood was tucked neatly below the towering valley forest. Everywhere trees stood as ancient landmarks; collections of branches and leaves looming over the town like watchful eyes. The trees here were old, towering in height and robust in width. The sort of trees that muster a distinguished character and presence when gazed upon with a hungry eye.

    June noted the numbers mounted on houses that passed by her window, her current count at eighteen. Within only a few houses, they began to edge toward the tall, modern American three story home with twenty-four mounted to the porch-side wall in rustic black lettering. It had rain washed green siding made of weathered wood with crisp, recently refinished white trim. The front porch was wide and sweeping, covering the length of the home along the front face. It was love at first sight for the married couple. June had finally found a home. A real home. For Phillip, home was wherever June and Mel were, but for his wife and daughter, this was significant. June had been on the run since two had met, and Mel had never had a place she could truly call home. June was a runner, and he never questioned that. He accepted it because he wanted it all - the good and bad alike - but he was revealed to be settling down for Mel's sake.

    Melanie was delightfully impressed by the warm, welcoming, spacious home, although she'd never allow herself to completely show it. She was holding out, playing judge and jury this time. They finally decided to plant stakes, and took her to the middle of nowhere. But this house felt like a home. A real home. Not an apartment, duplex or a rental. This was their own family nest, yard and all. She smiled, beginning to loosen up a bit more, already trying to picture the interior of the house.

    The station wagon began to turn into the driveway of the new Ross home and Phillip noticed a middle-aged man with dark brown hair washing a red sedan in the neighboring driveway at 26 Cresthill. As he parked the station wagon, he glanced at his new neighbor, offering the standard dad nod which translates directly to: Hey. The man returned his gesture as June spoke up from within their vehicle.

    "Home, sweet home, my loyal luggage carriers," she joked with a smile and a laugh, gathering her purse and phone. Phillip smirked, stepping out of the car to once again lock eyes with his new neighbor.

    Nathan Elliot nodded again, this time more firmly, and with a closed lip smile.

    "New in town?" he asked with the casual politeness he was known for, still hosing his sedan down in the morning sun.

    "Just getting in now," Phillip replied cheerfully. He was the outgoing member of the Ross clan. The one who could get along with anyone and hold a conversation about anything. "Long night following that storm in."

    Nathan smiled, imagining for a moment what that must have been like. It was a nasty spot of weather to sleep through, let alone drive.

    "Well. I’ll leave you to it, then," he announced sternly. "We’ll have the wives set up formal introductions," he added with a grin and a wink.

    Phillip let a laugh slip as June stepped out of the station wagon behind him. "Sounds great to me," he said, heading for the trunk to unload luggage.

    Mel headed for the porch with several bags, head buried in her phone as June stepped out of the passenger side, locking eyes with Nathan Elliot. It was as though she had frozen in place. Not by fear, or wonder, but by surprise, stun, shock. They shared a strange moment that entranced Nathan, despite his subtle discomfort.

    Their entranced gazes separated as Nathan looked away, and focused once again on his red sedan. June quickly gave a glance of her left shoulder to Phillip, who seemed busy tending to luggage for her. She took a deep breath, tightened her brow and gave one last, contempt filled glance at Nathan before joining Mel on the porch with the keys to the home.
  • locochoco#7652 locochoco Posts: 162 Arc User
    26 Cresthill Drive, White River Valley

    Jason Elliot walked his black mountain bike from the back of his family home into the driveway. His messy black hair was cloaked by the grey hood of his zippered sweater, the tawny skin of his youthful, handsome face visible only from the eyes down. As he mounted the seat, his baby blue gaze drifted to the Ross family station wagon. No one had occupied 24 Cresthill in almost a decade, not since the old woman who had owned the home passed away when Jason was very young. He peered inconspicuously at the green and white home for only a fleeting moment before tucking his wireless earbuds in, pushing off down the narrow length of asphalt.



    White River Valley

    Jason soared down a residential street near his home, soaking up the bright, warm sunlight of a crisp morning on the twilight of eastertide. One of the neighborhood dogs, an adolescent male retriever, leapt from the curb of his family home and gave chance, tongue flapping in the morning breeze. Jason rose off of the seat, really cracking the pedals stride after stride. His mechanized horse crawled forward with mounting speed, stammering the will of the large pup, who drew to a stop, turning around to head home again. Jason cut the handle bars gently to his right, banking an intersection onto Palisade Avenue, which ran west to east, across the river to the east bank, and into downtown.

    The core of town was ringing on that sunny Saturday morning. The hustle and bustle of vehicle and foot traffic suffocated the tightly structured street faces, lined with store fronts. Jason rolled along the outside of the right lane, leaving the sidewalk free for pedestrians to navigate unhindered. As he rode along Main street, many of the towns folk would nod to or wave at him as he zoomed by, having known his family well. As he made his way off of Main Street, he passed Wilson's Bakery on his right hand side. Ellen Harper exited through the shop door, box of pastries in hand. She saw Jason, waving with a wide, infectious smile, pressing her index finger to her lip with a wink, as if to swear him to secrecy. Ellen was known for her cooking and baking, but sometimes, she just had to cheat and grab something from Wilson's.

    Jason smiled boyishly, looking away out of both respect and awkward discomfort. There wasn't a heterosexual male in the Valley over fourteen who hadn't fantasized about walking into Mrs. Harper's floral shop, finding her alone and vulnerable. Perhaps things with Mr. Harper haven't quite been up to snuff as of late, or perhaps she's just been waiting for him to walk in that door. Fiery red hair flowing over her shoulders, bangs just barely covering one eye. Well, you get the picture. Ellen Harper was not only beautiful, but she had a sultry sort of air to her composure and attitude.

    His bike pressed on, clearing Main and banking left onto East Bank Avenue. He passed several cars and trucks along the moderately populated street, cutting across to the right side as soon as he could. In short time, he came upon an old trail leading off of East Bank Ave. and into the sprawling labyrinth of eldritch forest.
  • locochoco#7652 locochoco Posts: 162 Arc User
    edited September 6
    East Bank Forest, White River Valley

    Jason rode along an old, beaten path carved out of the prehistoric forest countryside. The thick, entangled labyrinth of flora encroached the narrow, jagged trail tightly, cool morning dew transferring from the leaves and branches onto his cloths as he blazed along the path. The forest was still. There were no birds in the trees singing their songs and building their nests. No insects crawling or buzzing about. No squirrels dashing and dancing across the limbs of trees. Not even the most minuscule gust of wind seemed to breach the canopy. It was an eerie, haunting place where sound seemed to be lost altogether. The sound of a moving bike or the snapping of a twig beneath a tire seeming to evaporate into silence no sooner than it had presented itself in full.

    Jason cut the handlebars, turning onto a small path leading north, deeper into the labyrinth. The bike rattled as it blazed up the trail. Shocks jerking erratically as they negotiated the rough dirt and rock path at a decent speed. Jason was in his element out here. The freedom. The silence. The heightened sense of being able to just be himself. Jay had grown up spending a lot of time in these woods. Biking and hiking the trails, exploring the creeks and rivers, climbing trees, and of course, hanging out in the old town tree house. A very well kept secret in White River Valley, and where he was headed to meet his three best friends.



    *****



    Old Tree Fort, White River Valley

    Jason's black mountain bike emerged from the path into a small clearing about a quarter mile from East Bank Avenue. He drew to a stop, dismounting as he looked ahead at the towering structure before him. It was a very large, impressive, but old fort. These kids didn’t build it, they had just carried on the tradition of using it. Many generations of White River children had been handed down the secret of this place, and although ruins of many like it were dotted throughout the valley forest, this one had been used faithfully for multiple generations. The tall, robust tree seemed to have grown around the sprawling, sturdy fort, its limbs lending support and stability to the structure. The blooming spring leaves provided an attractive touch of camouflage that surrounded the windows of the fort. Below, a rope ladder hung from the entry hatch, leading to the forest floor. There, two of his best friends stood at the base of the tree, awaiting his arrival.

    "You gotta start using your phone more, Jason," Harry Miller advised his best friend, his focus never leaving the screen of his phone. He was a young black male, dressed in a white hoodie with white sweats and white sneakers. He had been texting Jason for status updates for the last fifteen minutes. Jason was always leaving unanswered texts, keeping people in the dark. Jay was like a brother to him, but when it came to certain things, he acted more like a sixty year old man than a sixteen year old boy.

    Jason walked his bike over to Harry and Pete Harper, who was standing beside him holding a comic book in his pale, freckled hands. He ignored Harry's advice, making his way over casually, removing his earbuds.

    "Hey guys. Where’s Erik?" Jason asked, trying to hide his immediate concern.

    "Asleep in the fort again," Pete answered him, lifting his dark green gaze from the inked panels, his burning locks hanging over his brow.

    There was a bit of a silence between the teens. No boy - hardly a man - should have to sleep alone in the woods. Particularly during a violent storm.

    "You know what guys? Maybe it’s a bad time for the other thing," Jason pipped up, shattering the silence.

    Harry's baby brown eyes finally parted from his phone screen. "No way. We settle this dispute today."

    Pete lowered his comic book, staring a hole through the back of Jason's head. "Erik’s brother has terrorized us - and this town - for long enough, Jay," he explained, an assertiveness and authority within his demeanor and voice. Pete had an intensity about him for a small, geeky boy. He was intelligent, and aggressive in asserting his needs and opinions. Qualities he inherited from his mother and the O'Brien family tree.

    "I know, it’s just-" Jason tried to explain, but Harry interrupted him swiftly.

    "You need to stand up to him, bro."

    Jason shifted his conflicted gaze downward, shaking his head ever so slightly. "Don’t you think it’s a little selfish to call a meeting about his brother while he’s having family problems?"

    Suddenly the rope ladder began to jiggle. The three boys turned their attention to Erik Moody as he climbed down the ladder, joining them in the clearing.

    "I’m awake, by the way," Erik declared, informing them all that he had been listening the whole time. Erik hated people talking about him when he wasn't present and part of the conversation. He roamed off to the tree line, attempting to relieve himself as one does in the mourning.

    "Morning, buddy. You’re cool with Jay kicking the crap out of your brother, right?" Pete asked Erik, wasting no time in forcing Jay's hand. The boys were determined to make Jay confront John Moody. Worst case scenario? John might rough Jason up to prove a point, but Jay's brother, Luke, would end up putting John in his place. So no matter what, the boys saw this as the end of John Moody's reign of terror. Too bad they hadn't quite convinced Jason of that.

    Erik chuckled as he relieved himself, shaking his head. "Whatever. I don’t care what happens to John."

    Pete smiled wide, his dark green eyes lighting up with a glint of joy. "See, Jay? He doesn't care."

    Jason laughed uncomfortably, heading toward the rope ladder.

    Harry followed him, feeling a swell of empathy for Jay. John was an angry young man. He wouldn't want to be the one who had to confront him, either. "What we need to talk about is how we’re getting too old to be chillin' in a tree fort," Harry said, pocketing his phone to follow Jay up the wobbly ladder.
    Post edited by locochoco#7652 on
  • locochoco#7652 locochoco Posts: 162 Arc User
    Old Tree Fort, White River Valley
    
    The interior of the fort was cozy and welcoming. It was fully furnished with rugs, tables, chairs, and a sofa. There were book cases, old chests, shelves, and cupboards. Pete and Harry had added music, movie and comic book posters to the walls. Although weathered and dusty, the window shutters and a bit of elbow grease from time to time had kept the fort in decent condition. It was comfortable, although susceptible to the elements, particularly moisture. The strangest thing about this fort was not the sheer size, or the massive gathering table located in the east wing, it was the stone fireplace situated in the main room. The structural integrity of the fort was such that the floor could support a functioning fireplace with a short chimney. The mysterious, fantastic nature of this place was lost on the four boys. They had been coming here since they first began to sneak into the woods, having been handed down the secret by Luke Elliot in the summer of 2008.

    Pete sat in a red beanbag chair, flipping through one of his comics. "Look, guys. Aside from how it looks to society, this place is our safe haven," he said, glancing up from his panels only several times, particularly in the direction of Jason and Harry, who were both seated on an old fabric sofa. Pete loved the fort. He didn't care what it looked like to his peers. It was a home away from parents and siblings. A hangout away from aforementioned peers, and the bullies like John Moody that accompany them.

    "But we’re all sixteen, Pete," Jason explained. "We’ve outgrown things like tree forts."
    
    "I have to second Jay on this one," Harry interjected, eyes ever-glued to his cell screen.

    Pete sighed, his comic leaning forward in his lap as he glanced desperately at Erik. Coming here alone wouldn't be the same, but he knew Erik depended on the fort, and if he could keep Erik coming, the others were bound to follow. Or so he hoped.

    "Erik?" Pete asked him plainly, anticipation building to a head inside of him.

    Erik was sprawled across a cot in the corner next to the fireplace, hands behinds his head. "Well it gives me a place to sleep at night. But as far as hanging out, it can’t happen forever, Pete."

    Pete scoffed, once again flipping through his comics, brow tight with irritation. "Whatever. When I turn eighteen, we can be roommates."

    Harry abruptly dropped the phone in his lap, looking over at Erik. "There’s still the matter of your brother, Erik."

    "I told you, I don’t care," Erik replied indifferently, his eyelids remaining shut until he finally gazed at Jason blankly. "If Jay wants to fight him, that’s his business," Erik stated plainly. He was tired of being associated with the drama. Just hearing his name was enough to trip his anxiety, let alone the thought of being lumped into a conspiracy to jump him.

    "I’m just sick of taking his crap every day. Sometimes I want to smash his face in." Jason said, seeming to have drifted off into a deep train of thought. Perhaps imagining the scenario within the theater of his mind.

    "It’s not in your nature, Jay." Pete quipped casually, still frustrated.

    Jason registered Pete's words, but they didn't seem to sit well with him. His brow dipped as his gaze returned to his phone, an anger seething beneath his boyish face.
  • locochoco#7652 locochoco Posts: 162 Arc User
    14 Meadowbrook Drive, White River Valley

    "Thank you so much for coming over, Sheriff. I really don’t mean to bother you," Norma Feltman said earnestly, cupping her tea mug in both hands. She was visibly distraught as she sat at her kitchen table before County Sheriff Benjamin Miller. She was tired, nervous, and sick with worry. It was clear to the veteran investigator that something substantial had kept her awake all night, and he suspected that it wasn't the storm. Ben had known the Feltmans for his entire life, and his wife worked for Miles as the Vice Mayor. In over forty years, Ben couldn't recall seeing Norma in such a state.

    Ben finished sipping his tea, placing the mug gently on the surface of the table and leaned forward with a smile. "Come on now, Mrs. Feltman. It’s no trouble at all."
    He was a towering man of large stature and yet he had a warm presence about him that was becoming of a Sheriff.

    "It’s just that, this isn’t like my Miles. Staying out all night, without so much as a phone call. I’m worried sick, Sheriff," she explained, shaking ever so slightly as she tried to maintain her composure. Ben reached over the table, placing one of his large, dark paws over her pale hand, feeling the warmth of her tea against his skin.

    "I understand, Mrs. Feltman. You have every right to be concerned," he said sincerely, looking her directly in the eyes. In that moment she knew she had an ally, and it helped set her mind at ease. She knew the sort of man and Sheriff Harold's boy had grown to be, and she knew he would figure out what had happened, and bring Miles home.

    Ben removed a pen and pad from his chest pocket, beginning to jot down information.

    "When was the last time you recall seeing or speaking to your husband?"

    "Yesterday, when he left for work. He had called me before the diner hour to let me know that he would be working late, but he never came home at all."

    Ben took some notes as she answered his question, then looked her directly in the eyes, a softness falling over his stiff, investigative composure.

    "I have to ask you some things. I want you to know they are just routine questions," he said compassionately.

    "That’s quite alright, Sheriff. You’re just doing your job," Norma said, excusing him from any guilt or suspicion of crassness.

    "Thank you, ma’am. Mrs. Feltman, did your husband have any enemies that you’re aware of?"

    "Enemies? Oh god, Sheriff, no. Not my Miles. We treat everyone like family," she answered him, raising her right hand to her collar bone.

    Ben smiled sincerely. "Of course. It’s the first question I have to ask."

    "Miles is a good man, Sheriff. He would never hurt anyone."

    "I know, Mrs. Feltman. Now, this is hard for me to ask, but… Does Mr. Feltman have any problems with alcohol, or anything of that nature?"

    "Oh no. Miles hasn’t been drunk in years. Of course, holidays and special occasions, but he’s never made a habit of it."

    "So there is nowhere you think he could be? A friend or relative’s house? He had no plans of any kind you may have forgotten about?"

    "Nothing, Sheriff. He would never leave me without calling," she explained, the dread and anxiety gripping her once again, her aged hands vibrated as she held her tea mug.

    "So you have no reason to believe your husband’s location is simply unaccounted for?"

    "We’ve been married for forty-seven years, Sheriff. He has never stayed out all night," she said, a grief swelling up as she spoke the words aloud.

    Ben’s face finally cracked, showing a sincere concern. Miles was more than a Mayor or colleague of his wife. The Feltmans were like extended family to the Millers. They had a long history in this town.

    "Thank you for your time, Mrs. Feltman," Ben said kindly, closing his pad and returning it and the pen to his chest pocket.

    "Thank you so much. You were always such a good boy, Benjamin," Norma said, smiling for the first time since he had arrived. She really did have confidence in Ben, she just couldn't help but worry.

    Ben grinned fondly. "Well thank you for saying so, Mrs. Feltman. I’m going to find your husband and get him home safe," he finished, taking a satisfying gulp of his now cooled tea. He raised the mug. "Perfect, as always."

    Norma smiled for a moment before the concern for her husband crept back across her face.
  • locochoco#7652 locochoco Posts: 162 Arc User
    edited October 15
    I've been off my game lately and been neglecting this even though it's my top creative priority outside of my CO activity. So I'm going to keep posting the old machinima script scenes in raw form. I will edit and write them in novella form soon.


    Scene 8 - White River Valley

    AFTERNOON -

    CUT: Ross car.

    PHILLIP drives while MEL sits in the front passenger seat, gazing out the window.

    PHILLIP:
    You know, this move is a big change for both of us.

    PHILLIP glances at MEL quickly, who remains quiet.

    PHILLIP:
    I just want you to know it's gonna be okay here. We'll settle for once.

    MEL looks over at PHILLIP.

    MEL:
    I know, Dad.

    PHILLIP glances at MEL quickly.

    PHILLIP:
    Look, sweetheart, I know things have been hard on you-

    PHILLIP’s gaze returns to the road and he slams the brakes suddenly.

    CUE SFX: ‘Tire squeal’.

    CUT: Road, crosswalk.

    ROBERTO SANDOVAL stands in the street talking on a cell phone. He is startled.

    CUT: Ross family car.

    CUE SFX: ‘Car horn’.

    PHILLIP:
    Look out, buddy...god.

    Someone’s going to run him over.

    MEL grins.

    MEL:
    You need to relax, Dad.

    CUT: Road, crosswalk.

    SANDOVAL hurries across the street.

    CUT: Ross family car.

    PHILLIP:
    This guy needs to watch where he’s going.

    MEL:
    Felt like you were leading up to something. Like this whole trip has been leading up to something.

    PHILLIP's gaze remained fixed on the road.

    PHILLIP:
    I just don't want you going into this move on a sour note.

    MEL:
    I'm fine, Dad.

    PHILLIP:
    Okay.

    MEL is disappointed, and seems to have something weighing on her mind.
    Post edited by locochoco#7652 on
  • metalheart#4270 metalheart Posts: 528 Arc User
    http://primusdatabase.com/index.php?title=Main_Page

    Great place to write your stories and edit it anytime. Though it feels like a neglected forgotten sight.
  • locochoco#7652 locochoco Posts: 162 Arc User
    edited October 15
    http://primusdatabase.com/index.php?title=Main_Page

    Great place to write your stories and edit it anytime. Though it feels like a neglected forgotten sight.

    I'm on it. More of an RP database. I plan to put all of my CO material on there, in time. But this isn't a native IP so I'm sharing it here. If nothing, else, I'm hoping it will bait out some of the story-based role players in the community.

    I'll leave another script form post whilst we're here. This was for a machinima prospect about 4 years ago, so a ton od detail wasn't needed, I just wanted the story to get out.

    Scene 10 - Tree Fort

    AFTERNOON -

    CUT: Tree fort interior.

    PETE sits in a beanbag chair reading comics.

    JASON and HARRY sit on a sofa on their phones.

    ERIK is laying on a small bed in a corner.

    PETE:
    So, did your brother leave town yet, Jay?

    JASON:
    He says he’s leaving tonight.

    HARRY:
    Luke says he’s leaving town every other week.

    He’ll never leave.

    ERIK:
    No one leaves this town.

    JASON:
    I’m going to leave when I graduate.

    PETE:
    You’ll be stuck in this town forever, just like your brother.

    PETE grins.

    JASON:
    I’ll send you a postcard from Japan, Pete.

    ERIK:
    Japan, huh?

    HARRY:
    Finna get yourself one of those Japanese school girls, Jason?

    PETE, ERIK, and HARRY laugh.

    JASON grins, chuckling.

    JASON:
    Not that any of you would understand, but it’s a cultural thing.

    ERIK sits up in the bed.

    ERIK:
    I hate spending too much time here now. Are we going to the mall or what?

    HARRY:
    Yeah, let’s get out of here.

    PETE:
    You might see John there, Jason.

    Perfect place to kick his ****.

    ERIK:
    In a crowded place crawling with witnesses and mall security?

    PETE:
    Everyone should see him get a taste of his own medicine.

    ERIK has a look of concern on his face.

    JASON:
    Let’s just drop the John subject for now.

    HARRY:
    Let’s go.

    HARRY gets up, and the others after him.
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