Wasted Week

That weekend threw my whole next week off. I slept on and off that Sunday with the goal of sleeping normally Sunday night and going to work on Monday as normal. When you've been threatened by death at the hands of an Egyptian god, the idea of 'normal' really appeals.

Alas, my plans came to nothing. My sleep pattern had been disturbed and my mind was still distracted by the events of Saturday night and Sunday morning so sleep did not come easily. I went to work on Monday but in retrospect that was a dumb idea.

Looking back, what I should have done was to take Monday off, perhaps Tuesday as well, just to get some rest and to wrap my brain around what happened. Not only would I have been in a better position to face the rest of the week but I would have been able to write up the event much more quickly.

Instead I went to work all week, spent it exhausted and was not very productive. By the weekend, I still wasn't sleeping well and just felt off. I wish Cuthbold would have sent me home but, in all honesty, I'm not sure I would have gone unless he made me. I spent a lot of time trying to accomplish things in my office, getting tired, losing my focus, and wandering about the campus in an effort to wake up.

The weekend could not come soon enough for me. While there were a number of things scheduled for the weekend that I had an interest in attending, there was a distinct possibility that I would not make it to any of those events. I just wanted to rest. If I got to do any of those interesting things then so be it.

Friday night I slept like a dead stone once I actually fell asleep. I woke up groggy and still tired. I may have overslept a bit. I didn't mind the idea of a slow start to the day but was a little disappointed that I didn't feel more rested. I shuffled around the house while coffee brewed, hoping for at least a hint of energy to get through the day.

This is when the doorbell rang.

I groaned. Who was this now? I couldn't remember ordering anything recently so it shouldn't be a package arriving. That doesn't mean it couldn't still be the postal carrier. Or it could be a neighbor. A child selling something for school. Someone bringing a religious thought. All things I wasn't sure I was in the mood to deal with at the moment.

The doorbell rang again and I imagined I heard an insistent quality in the sound. I sighed and walked to the door, hoping that the sight of my rumpled t-shirt, messy hair, and comfy pants would show my lack of interest in a prolonged conversation.

I cracked open the door to view the individual on the other side. Upon recognizing her, I opened the door further. “Sarah Jean?”

Her pretty face was marred by concern and tears. “Patrick?”

There was a pause while I waited for further words from her. I understand my confusion upon seeing her, as I was not expecting her, but her confusion upon seeing me I did not understand. Why would she be surprised to see me at home? After a forever of silence, I finally said “Yes?”

“Oh thank goodness!” Sobbing, she bounded into the house and wrapped me tightly in a hug. By 'tightly' I mean 'wrapped herself around me as if afraid I would get away from her'. It was not by any means unpleasant but it was rather confusing, especially as she continued to weep as she held me, as well as mutter barely intelligible things at me between sobs.

This was rather a lot to take in so early in the morning. At least she smelled nice.

Just One More Question

We departed the Jewels exhibit and started assessing the overall situation. The individuals that had earlier been hostages of the gun men had gotten trapped on the ground floor. Somehow all the doors had become locked and they had spent the bulk of the past hour or so looking for a way out. We guessed that Set had done something to prevent their escape but we didn't really know that for sure.

Once Set was gone, the doors reopened and a brave couple ran down the street to the courthouse where there were some on-duty individuals able to help. Soon enough, law enforcement professionals were on the case, collecting stories and evidence while waiting for one of their 'weird happenings' contacts to arrive on the scene and determine if we were saying anything that made sense. The surviving gun men were arrested pending a further investigation.

We were split up in order to make our statements. I pitied the officer that had to talk to Larry. As for me, I and my interviewer found a spot in the corner of the cafe area on the ground floor where I told an earlier edit of this talk. Trust me dear reader, you received a much better performance. By this time it was early Sunday morning and the adrenaline that had kept me moving during our adventure faded, leaving me exhausted and yawning. I made it through the explanation but still could not leave.

Finally Kevin Taylor showed up to judge the supernaturalness of the situation. We've met before and he's well versed in this sort of thing. When he saw I was present he laughed. Had the officers informed him on the phone of my presence, he could have called it immediately and returned to bed. I think he was mostly kidding. He took some readings and gave us a thumbs up. There would be a detailed inquiry that we might need to attend but we were cleared of any suspicion for the moment. We would be able to go home tonight instead of a holding cell.

There was a question that all of us had been asked during our interviews that none of us could answer: Where was this Mr. Thorndyke now? He had disappeared. We had repeated what we'd been told about him by him but that's all we really knew.

Except for Larry.

“I know who he is,” he declared simply.

“Yes, he told all of us that he works here, that's not news,” Harry noted.

“No, I mean, I recognized him,” Larry clarified.

“Really?” Harry checked. Larry nodded. “Well why didn't you say so at the time?”

“It wasn't important then,” Larry declared. “We were already listening to what he had to say.” He started walking away from us. After a few steps he turned, saw that we weren't following him and gestured grandly for us to follow. So we did.

Larry led us all the way back to the third floor, up to the entrance to Central America. Once we'd all arrived, Larry shone his flashlight on the photograph that hangs there. The image there was a duplicate of Mr. Thorndyke. “Well that explains why he looked familiar,” I noted.

Ms. Chapman was very confused. “But... that man's been dead for forty years.”

Harry grew excited. “That was our ghost.” Larry smiled but shook his head. “That wasn't our ghost?”

“Just an entity using his form,” Larry explained. “If he had registered as a ghost, I would have said something much earlier.”

“If that's the case,” I pondered, “then who was our Mr. Thorndyke?”

We still don't know for sure.

It's All Gone Weird

I've been trying to work out how to explain that experience for some time now. To the best of my knowledge, I've never been on any psychogenic drugs but this must be what they feel like. Time and Space held no meaning for me. There was a feeling of warmth that was rather comforting. I seem to remember shapes and shadows, light and dark, but nothing specific. Years ago when I had my wisdom teeth out and was on some heavy duty painkillers I guess I had a similar experience, albeit not as intense and this time there was no soreness around my jaw as the effect faded.

When reality reformed around me, I was on the floor, staring up at the ceiling. I now felt very cold. The warmth that I had just experienced was gone and the tile floor wasn't helping as it was chilled. On the plus side, the green glow was gone, returning the colors to the way I remember them. I did the 'just came to from having passed out' check. All my parts seemed to be intact. Carefully I sat up and was pleased to experience no giddiness or head rush. I felt fine, good even, if cold.

As I looked around the room, I found that my position on the floor was the prevailing theme. We'd all been knocked down. Ms. Chapman lay on her side a few feet from me, facing in the other direction. Harry was just picking himself up from the rubble of the display case, groaning softly. The gun men as well as the mummy, Djed-hor, were where they had fallen earlier. Set was crumpled up near the folding chair he'd been sitting in. It suddenly occurred to me that someone was missing: Mr. Thorndyke. He was nowhere to be seen. That seemed odd to me. I was keen to look for him but realized there were more pressing issues at hand.

I helped Harry to his feet, for which he readily thanked me. Observing his friend laying on the floor, he quickly became misty-eyed. “I cannot fathom this. I've known Larry for decades and to now be without my friend...” While we had not known each other for long, our shared experience was evidentially enough for Harry to feel some kinship with me. Sobbing, he fell upon me. I use the term 'fell' very deliberately. His sudden pressure upon me nearly knocked me back down to the ground. I staggered mightily but managed to find my balance and comfort him.

A hand tapped away at Harry's shoulder, keen to attract his attention. At first Harry seemed to not notice it. Then he actively swatted it away. Finally he turned from my shoulder enough to demand “What?”

“Is something wrong?” asked Larry.

Harry's eyes boggled. He removed himself from my person in order to hug his friend. After picking him up and spinning him around, Harry released his friend. “Don't do that again! Ever!”

Larry remained calm and confused. “Do what?”

“Be dead,” Harry explained.”Or not. Say, how are you okay?”

Larry shrugged his shoulders. “I just got knocked down. I don't know if the gun men didn't have a touch of death or if the power was already absorbed by the ESD. I just got knocked out. What happened anyway?”

Harry shrugged his shoulders. “The impact with the case took a lot out of me as well.”

They turned to me. I shrugged my shoulders as well. “Honestly? I'm not sure.” I walked over to check on Ms. Chapman. While I'm not an expert on such things, she seemed to be breathing and I think she had a pulse so I felt confident at that point she was still alive. “All I know is that something happened.”

This lack of detail seemed to irritate Harry. “Clearly something happened. If nothing happened, we'd be dead right now.” His expression grew worried. “Perhaps we are dead. Perhaps this is what happens when you die.”

“Ghost hunters becoming ghosts?” I checked. “There would be an irony to that, wouldn't there?” I considered things for a moment, tapping an undamaged case. “I don't feel dead, if that means anything. As far as I know, I've never been dead before so I guess how would I know, right?”

“We are not dead.” Ms. Chapman was sitting up now and joining our conversation. “Between Isis and the power of the Eye of Horus, Set was returned to his abyss.”

“How do we know all that?” Harry inquired.

“Isis was in my head,” Ms. Chapman explained as she worked her way back to her feet more quickly that we could offer to help. “She was kind enough to not destroy my mind while I was in there.” She walked towards us, staggered, and was prevented from falling by Larry. “There is much that I am unclear about but certain things I am confident of right now. Set has been dealt with and we are safe in that regard.”

“Well,” I said thoughtfully,”that's handy information to have.”