Part 1
the alley i was in was not looking too inviting. located in a bad part of town, it was darker and filthier than the vice laden street it cut out from. graffiti and cracks covered the walls, looking for all the world like the parched, bleeding lips of a plague victim. inside, i could barely make out upended trash cans and a large pool of what i hoped was water. the smell was near intolerable, beyond description. the vermin that took sustenance from societal neglect scurried away as i took a deep breath and stepped forward, taking great care to hop around and over anything that weirdly stuck out of the ground.
fifteen minutes ago i had just got home from the office and found a message waiting for me. it was from a dealer i used to frequent, a guy named Rocco. he also sometimes acts as an anonymous source if i needed to know anything about the going ons in the underbelly of the upper west side. he only helps me out because i told him about an investigative reporter in my department who was poking around on his turf, pretending to be a buyer so he could expose the lack of police enforcement in the area. he was grateful, so grateful that he bought me a rolex with the money he got selling the reporters clothes and valuables.
you might think my work ethic is questionable. selling out a colleague, a fellow journalist who was just doing his job, to some scum bag drug dealer. three things i always keep in mind when the question of morality pops up.
one, do unto others quick, before they can do unto me.
two, do anything for a story.
and three, don't mess with the men with the guns.
it was point number two that led me here after i listened to Rocco's message. it was short and ended abruptly.
"I found Occult."
Part 2
slithering between two big crates, I found myself at the front of a large structure. it was aged, the paint peeling off the concrete and holes in the roof where pieces of wood stuck out at strange, warped angles. its windows were all bashed in as well; the jagged glass was pale in the dark.
edging closer to the foreboding building, I couldn't help but notice the total lack of sound. like a huge cloth had descended over the world, the quiet pressed down so hard it was near tangible. this was curious, bordering on the bizarre. on any good night, promised-filled cat calls of street walkers and obnoxious squawks of road vendors would permeate the surroundings, the cacophony loudened by over zealous arguments and disagreements descending into violence around almost every corner.
then it occurred to me. this was a side of the city I had never seen, not once in my thirty years living here. it was a place I wasn't even aware existed. not even knowing, I had slipped down a path which led me away from the comfort of familiar territory and into a neighbourhood which I could sum up in only one word: ghostly. I walked feeling vulnerable and afraid. forsaken by both bright fluorescents of haven and dim neon of perdition, so absolute was the desolation felt here that it was as if I was in limbo.
normally, my work took me all over the city, where no place was barred to me. as far as I was concerned, no story was beyond the reach of an eager and hard working journalist. then, by complete accident, I stumbled upon the trail of Adam Occult. however, the word 'trail' hardly did what I uncovered justice.
see, I was leafing through past articles looking for inspiration, when I came upon a brief five liner about a man who was acquitted of first degree homicide a few years ago. now, usually I wouldn't give a rats ass about such a mediocre piece, but what caught my eye was that the man's name was... blurred out. as if someone had spilled ink onto the page, his name was faded and the letters ran into each other making it totally ineligible. more curious though, was that the rest of the newspaper was perfectly fine. it was just those two words.
i thought ah its probably just a bad print, and continued my research.
but I came across it again two months before, when the man was first apprehended for the murder charge. this time, the article was a bit larger, occupying a full half page. but once more, every time the man's name came up, it was unreadable. i couldn't believe it! no way this was a coincidence. checking with my editor and printing staff, i was told these blots were made AFTER the papers were printed. that means that someone had purposely sneaked into the records room and blurred out the one name! every time!
this was something I should pursue, I thought. someone in the department was fooling around and i felt an urge to find out who and why. the first step was to get the name of this mysterious person who escaped the murder charge. so I began going about asking for documents concerning the guy from the police and the courthouse.
now this is where it gets spooky. all the papers, arrest warrants, police statements, clerk recordings, EVERYTHING... omitted the man's name. in the exact same manner as with the newspaper articles! two words, unassumingly blending into each other and into ambiguity. it nearly drove me crazy.
then I got a lucky break. an old police friend who handed me the papers regarding the case was actually there the night they brought the guy in. he called me and after exchanging pleasantries, we got down to business.
"come on James tell me you remember the name! I'm going up the wall on this."
"yeah OK this happened a while ago, but somehow I can still recall the name. it was weird it was, and it stuck with me ever since the first time I heard it. No reason why it did though, I can barely remember where I went last weekend I'm so old-"
"James!"
"OK OK. the name you want... its Adam Occult."
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not done yet! stay tuned for the rest of the story, which will come a lot sooner since I got the whole thing planned out. take a chill pill and later yall!
Alice-
"What is the use of a book, without pictures or conversations?"
