Arkham International: Call of the Cursed Sea – Chapter Six: San Francisco

CHAPTER SIX: SAN FRANCISCO

by Josh Reynolds

Commissioner Qiana Taylor watched as Roscoe’s body was brought into the clean room and set on an examination table. The room was located in the sub-basement of a certain California institute. Said institute had been founded by the son of a tuna-packing magnate who’d had a fascination for Pacific antiquities and occult literature, in that order.

While the institute wasn’t quite up to Miskatonic’s standards, it had its strengths. The clean room was one. A marvel of modern engineering; sterile and perfect for inspecting both ancient bodies and new ones. The Foundation had an arrangement with the institute similar to the one it had with Miskatonic. Use of the facilities was one of the perks.

Taylor, Hudson, and Antonova watched from the other side of an observation window as the body was made ready for examination. Hudson tapped a cigarette on the side of a pack. “I hear Osborne has a solid lead on Carl Sanford,” he said, as he lit the cigarette. “Salamanca, right? Or was it Budapest?”

“Both. Neither.” Taylor sighed. Sanford was keeping her people busy in Europe. He was running all over, for reasons no one could quite figure out. Nor was he the only one. It seemed like everyone who was anyone in occult circles had a scheme in mind, and they were all falling over each other to bring them about as quickly as possible. She wondered what they knew that her people didn’t.

“Rumor is, we’re getting reinforcements soon,” Antonova said, interrupting her train of thought. Taylor grunted.

“And where’d you hear that?”

“A little birdie told me.”

“Antonova…” Taylor said, warningly.

Antonova smiled. “The steno pool is full of gossips.”

Taylor snorted. “I’ll have to have a chat with them.”

“Is it true, though? Are we getting some new bodies to throw at the problem?”

“Which new problem in particular?” Taylor waved aside Antonova’s reply. “Doesn’t matter. Yes. Maybe. It’s under discussion.”

“You don’t sound happy,” Hudson opined. In the clean room, work had begun on the body. The coroner had been borrowed from the Orange County office and briefed with what he needed to know but nothing more. The Foundation had its own coroners, but none on the west coast, and she didn’t want to risk transporting the body any further than they already had. Right now, they were calling it a wild animal attack. No telling how long that explanation would hold up, but for the moment it was good enough.

“I’m not,” Taylor admitted. She pulled out a pack of cigarettes and considered them. She sighed. “Too many fingers in our pie, of late.” Arkham had shocked the world, though the world was doing its best to pretend otherwise. Just before she’d come out to California, she’d gotten a telegram from the Foundation offices in Washington. The international liaison wanted to meet with her in Los Angeles after she was finished in San Francisco.

Not wanting to talk about it, she decided to change the subject. “The last time I was here, it was when the curator of the Copeland collection was found knee-deep in water down by the pier, still in his pajamas and screaming to beat the band. He ended up in an asylum, poor guy.”

“What did he see?” Hudson asked.

Taylor sighed. “Something he shouldn’t have. We never managed to get a clear answer out of him. The cops that found him saw something as well, but they weren’t very helpful.” She blew a plume of smoke into the air and watched it spread. “Did you know, the ancient Mesopotamians used to use smoke as a means of divination? Granted, they weren’t using tobacco, but I’ve always thought there was something in it.”

“Fascinating,” Antonova murmured. Taylor smiled.

“Amazing what you can learn, if you listen.”

Hudson frowned. “I’d settle for knowing who tore Roscoe up like that. And whether it’s related to the others. That thing we fought–”

“Dimensional Shambler,” Antonova interjected.

Hudson gestured airily. “Whatever it was, do you think it was responsible for the others we’ve lost? If its usual MO is to snatch victims away, could it have been the perpetrator? Hell, maybe someone sent it after us, like an attack dog.”

“But why leave Roscoe behind?” Antonova asked. Inside the clean room, the first incisions were being made. The coroner and his assistant seemed excited. Taylor leaned closer to the window, wondering what they’d found.

“A trap. Draw more agents in? Or maybe…” Hudson trailed off. “I don’t know. There’s got to be a reason. Maybe Roscoe drove it off but bled out afterwards.”

“So why’d it come back? Why was it waiting for us?”

Hudson shook his head but didn’t reply. Taylor said nothing. Sometimes it was better to let her subordinates talk it out themselves, rather than trying to direct them down particular avenues. Both Antonova and Hudson were experienced investigators; next to Banks and Scarborough, probably the most experienced ones she had. Which said something about the current state of the Foundation, but what, she wasn’t certain.

She pushed the thought aside. Something was happening in the clean room. The coroner was backing away from the table. His assistant was already at the door, banging on it. Taylor grimaced. “Antonova,” she said.

Antonova nodded, her expression grim. “I’ll see to it.” She hurried out of the observation room, drawing her weapon as she went. Beside her, Hudson tensed.

“Commissioner,” he began, worriedly. Taylor looked back into the clean room. Roscoe’s body was twitching on the table, convulsing. The coroner had joined his assistant at the door. Antonova yanked it open and the two men tumbled out, even as something erupted from within Roscoe’s body.

It was protoplasmic; formless. Like a patch of algae, or a globule of melted rubber. Polyps swelled on its thrashing extensions, before bursting open to reveal mouths full of gnashing teeth. Eyes glared out from within the snarling maws, and they quickly focused on her and Hudson. One of the maws surged towards Antonova, but she managed to get the door closed before it reached her. As the door clicked shut, the wards built into the walls and floor of the room began to shimmer, then burn.

The thing tried to retreat back into Roscoe’s body, but to no avail. The wards did what they were supposed to do. Eldritch flames rose from its thrashing mass as the mystical defenses went to work, purging the paradimensional infection from reality. Those wards were the reason Taylor had wanted to do the autopsy at the institute in the first place.

Hudson watched the thing burn with a disgusted expression. “Jesus,” he muttered.

“Definitely not him,” Taylor said. Antonova returned.

“Wards worked,” she said. She holstered her weapon. “You were right. Another trap.”

Hudson shook his head. “They left her body so we’d – what? – take it back to Miskatonic and open it up, and…” He trailed off. Taylor nodded.

“It’d get us all. Or some of us at least. Maybe enough to keep us distracted.”

“Distracted from what?” Hudson asked.

“That’s the question, isn’t it?” Taylor said. She watched the thing in the clean room burn and wondered what they might be able to learn, if anything, from its ashes. She doubted there’d be much. But maybe something, and something was better than nothing. She looked at Hudson and Antonova. “Let’s find an answer, shall we?”

Read or listen to more of Arkham International Season Two: Call of the Cursed Sea.

Read or listen to Arkham International Season One: Shadow of the Drowned City.