Strange Wind 1 - The Puzzle Box

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Mewster
Strange Wind 1 - The Puzzle Box
Chapter One: Collections And Connections
A strange wind swept through the trees on a summer night, and brought with it the promise of change. Not everyone heard the sound of the wind as it blew through the treetops, but all would feel its power. The hushed rustling in the trees made the night feel odd. Odder still, for all the change that this wind would bring, only a handful noticed that there was any wind at all. This is their story.

~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~

Dried twigs and leaves had shaken loose from the trees and littered the brick sidewalk. A block of row houses stood in mute tribute to their own age and watched midnight come and go. The windows of the regal old homes were dark, as the affluent residents had gone to sleep for the evening.

A white mini-van rounded the corner and drove up the street. Halfway down the block, it slowed and two figures stole across the brick sidewalk. Past the black metal fence in front of one of the houses, they quickly unlatched and ran through the wrought-iron gate.

They failed to notice that they had left something behind. A key to this very house had snagged on the top of the fence and had stayed behind even as the figure whose pocket it was in had pulled away. It was a seemingly random occurrence that could have happened to anyone.

The figures cowered in the shadows of the brownstone's quaint front porch. The white van had slowly moved away and was now pulling into the alley that serviced the row houses.

One of the dark figures whispered, "Ok, I think we're clear. Aye, Get the door."

The other figure, a very stocky man, was already searching his black coveralls. He had taken the night vision goggles from on top of his head and put them over his eyes. Now those goggles made his shaking head even more pronounced. "I don't have the keys," he whispered, extending his empty hands in frustration.

"What?" The taller man lifted up his night vision equipment, revealing a dark tan complexion and wide, angry eyes.

Mr. Aye still had his hands out. "I know," he whispered. "****. Just shut up. Think, Bee." After a brief pause, the man who had lost the keys simply tried the door. To his astonishment, it was unlocked. He smiled at the first figure.

"Lucky," Mr. Bee said. His black skin made the whites of his eyes more pronounced as he rolled his eyes. They silently opened the door and looked around at the inside of the house for the first time.

From their earpieces a snide voice chastised them. "You morons should know there is no such thing as luck. I make my own luck. And since you are working for me, I make yours too. What do you see?"

Silently closing the door behind them, they looked around. It was unlike anything they had ever seen before.

"You know that luck you make?" Mr. Bee whispered into his throat mike. "We're going to need all of it to find crap in this mess. This shit is unbelievable."

Every table top, floor space and shelf was full of piled paper stacked as far as a person could reach. A rough maze of slender pathways, only wide enough for a person to walk through with difficulty, pushed through the stacks of paper. It was all neatly piled, but the amount of stuff in just this first room was overwhelming. The men knew that this was just the beginning. Who knows what is in the other two stories of this house.

Astonished, Mr. Bee added, "And I think we're going to need a bigger van."

~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~

The din of a college bar struggled to drown out the straining of a musician in the process of dying. Ryan Goldberg and Joy Winter drank wheat beer to celebrate each other's company and wash away the stress of another week in grad school.

"God, I think some of my Stats students are actually retarded. I mean, don't they teach these kids to THINK in high school or are they too busy trying to keep them from getting each other pregnant?" Ryan took a deep slug of beer and winced at one of the singer's truly misplaced notes.

Joy snickered. "You think that's bad, you should see some of the creative writing pieces I get. Every kid in there thinks they are ether Edgar Allen Poe, Emily Dickinson, or Dave Barry. Problem is, they haven't done crap with their lives and lack the imagination to make anything up. It all just sucks. When asked to write about something they knew, one guy wrote about playing Madden Football against his roommate." She drank a bit from the pint glass as her eyebrow shot up. "Come to think of it, that was probably one of the better pieces I've had since the semester began."

Ryan had been taking another sip when his date's last comment hit him funny. He snorted and choked on his beer. He swallowed, and then flat out coughed, doubling over. Bright pinpricks shot across his vision, leaving dark streaks in their wake. He finally caught his breath and noticed Joy Winter's slender hand massaging his back.

"You know, Goldberg, it just wasn't that funny." She continued to rub his back tenderly and he realized that he was almost lying in this girl's lap. It had taken all of his nerve to ask her out tonight and here he was almost in her arms. So close and yet so far, but she wasn't pushing him away.

He slowly sat back up, as the shooting stars passed. The hand on his back casually slid and now rested on his side near his ticklish spot, over his kidney. The touch was intimate and friendly at the same time. He looked at her and through his bleary haze he made the connection with his eyes he had been hoping for all this time. The fair skinned, dark haired willow of a woman smiled at him and he smiled back. "Not so much funny," he choked out, "as clever. You make me laugh."

She gave him a sly grin. "The Russian judge gives you points for a good recovery." While his sharp features, wire glasses and long, unkempt blonde hair suggested the typical Math geek, she was attracted to his more genuine and philosophical side. She caught herself staring and dared to let her gaze linger a little longer.

"Speaking of Russians," she said, breaking the long look, "Did you hear about Professor Reilly's wife?"

Ryan took a careful sip and instinctively scanned the crowd. "No what about her?"

"It was awful. I was in my office when he got the call. Apparently she fell down the stairs and got pretty badly roughed up. He ran straight home and Bill had to take over his last class."

"Wow, I hope she's going to be ok."

She sighed. "Well, you know, she is in her eighties."

He couldn't think of anything to say and the silence weighed heavy on the two.

"Thank you!" the guitar player said loudly when no one clapped. He had given up on his song and was trying to save some face. Ryan was relieved that they had something to distract them from the problems of a dying old woman.

From the back of the room, a drunk shouted, "Hey, Ass Clown! Play Free Bird!"

"Ok, that's it!" The young musician slammed his guitar down with a loud dissonant clang. "I'm tired of taking this ****ing sh..." The mike was cut out. The bartended scrambled to put on a CD for sonic cover, as the musician stomped off to find his heckler.

Joy looked at Ryan. "Wow, you sure do know how to pick out all the nice places." She grinned wide. "What's next? Wrestling?"

Ryan knew that this was it, the opening he'd been hoping for. He swallowed his doubts and went for it. "Well, that depends. It's just about last call anyway, but I know this nice place with coffee and ice cream. Open all night if you know the secret knock."

Again she lifted her eyebrow at him and gave him a knowing grin. "A speak-easy? Why Mr. Goldberg, what will our students think?"

"They will just have to be left wondering." Her smile was sweet and infectious. He returned it easily.

"Wondering what?"

"Is Miss Winter a Vanilla or a Chocolate?"

~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~

Mewster
The brownstone was reluctant to give up its secrets. The men read through the stacks of paper as best they could in the dark with night vision goggles. They did not want to wake up The Collector.

They had nicknamed him "The Collector" for his hacking raids on their computer systems. They had no idea how right they were. This guy printed out everything and the results were everywhere. After two hours of searching, they had uncovered only a few of the documents that were at all relevant.

"This is impossible, we should just blow this place up and burn it down," Mr. Aye said as they worked. He was uncomfortable in the cramped spaces and had to go sideways to maneuver his large frame through the small passages through the piles of junk.

Over the earpiece, the sniping voice said, "You will only go wet as a last resort. I'm paying you to be thorough and to be as unobtrusive as possible so no one will know you were here. I believe that the collector doesn't know what he has in his possession, or how ... interesting it is."

Mr. Bee turned on his throat mike. "Interesting or no, I'd have to agree with my colleague, we can not guarantee that the information you wish to have retrieved is completely eliminated from this mess unless we destroy everything."

"I understand what you are saying, just like you understand my wishes. I'm sure you will find everything. Keep looking. You will get lucky."

"I thought you said you didn't believe in luck."

The grin was audible in the sound of the reedy voice. "I don't believe in your luck. But you are working for me now, and things have a habit of going my way."

Suddenly, the two men were blinded. The room's lights snapped on, flooding the dark room in bright light. Acting on their training, they whipped off their night vision equipment and looked for a place to hide. Their movements were as quiet as the wind.

~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~

The night was warm, dark and breezy. In a scene as old as the ages, a young couple danced to the tune of their new relationship in fresh, yet uncertain steps. Ryan had put his wavy blonde hair back in a ponytail while Joy Winter used her long dark locks to play shy from time to time. As they strolled past another block of row houses, Ryan Goldberg came to the end of a story.

"...so, I said, it's a little from column A," he said gesturing with his left hand. She helped him finish the sentence as he made the same gesture with his other hand. "... and a little from column B!"

They both laughed at the end of the story. Joy grabbed his arm and gave it a little squeeze as she laughed and wound up holding Ryan's hand. He felt like a school kid again and his hand sweated despite his best efforts.

Joy looked at his hand and said, "Does this make you uncomfortable, Ryan?"

He was only a bit taller than the willowy girl, but he still had to look down at her face from this close. He stopped walking and faced her, still holding her hand. "With a pretty girl like you? Of course." Her pale face was a wonderful canvas on which the lights of a summer night danced. Somewhere in the distance, a traffic light turned from red to green and the shade on her right side turned from ruby to emerald. Ryan was overcome by the beauty of this woman's face and her wide, vulnerable eyes. He leaned in and kissed her softly.

The kiss had the effect of a rubber band snapping as the tension in the two melted away into each other. At the same time, it was comfortable like coming home. He never wanted it to end as their arms wrapped around one another.

After endless moments they broke and looked at one another. The smiles they wore had more meaning, but were just as sweet.

"I believe someone owes me some ice cream," Joy said with a playful grin.

Ryan was shaken from his reverence and said, "Ah, yes. And remind me to show you the secret knock."

She smiled and let her long hair drape across her face. Giving her head a toss, she flipped her hair across her shoulder and looked at Ryan. "What are you thinking?"

He looked at her smiling face and was once again amazed that she was smiling for him. "Well, it may seem like a strange time to be thinking about this, but I was wondering. Do people gifted with extraordinary abilities, like my math skills and your writing skills, do we have a social duty to use those to further society or are we simply to exploit them for our own gain."

The girl looked at him. "Very philosophical for a Math guy."

"Well, I've been in that kind of mood lately. Even before ... this. Joy," His tone changed. "Have you noticed that things seem to be changing lately?" He held up their clutched hands. "And I'm not just talking about this, I mean, do things seem just a touch different lately? Not as much something you can put your finger on, but more something you feel. Can you feel it?"

Joy looked at the bricks in the sidewalk as she gave it real thought. "You know, I have noticed something weird, but I've brushed it off to a new semester." She looked at the bricks more intently and her mind became fuzzy, like she was opening a tunnel.

"Mph!" She said.

A hot weight pushed her shoulders back into the couch. It was almost painful.

Joy's head swam for a moment and she felt the sensation of speed. For a moment she saw the deep chocolate complexion of her twin sister's boyfriend, Tegue fill her vision.

With a feeling of vertigo and motion, Joy snapped back through the tunnel. She looked at the bricks and said, "Yeah, I can feel it. The change I mean." A flustered look crossed her face. "Lets go get that ice cream, I'm thinking vanilla!"

Ryan looked at her and instinctively knew she really did know what he was talking about. The oddness. "Well, I happen to know that the speakeasy is out of vanilla. The convenient store is this way. It's a bit of a detour." He pointed back up the street, the way that they had just come.

She raised her face and once again smiled. "Works for me." Joy said, swinging their clasped hand.

As they turned, Ryan saw something out of the corner of his eye. A light in one of the brownstones had just turned on. Considering the late hour, he instinctively thought that someone waking up now, as he was about to walk past was rather improbable. But then again, it was purely coincidental. It could have happened to anyone.

~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~

Sarah Winter said "Come on, get off me, Teague" and pushed against the hot, inviting but heavy man that was with her on her couch.

The man grinned with gleaming white teeth in a handsome deep chocolate brown complexion. Teague said in a sweet voice, "Now don't play hard to get, Sarah. I know you dig your big strong man." He kissed her sweetly, pressing his body onto hers.

She began to have a bit of a faint spell, and thought of paving bricks. Snapping back to reality, Sarah was once again determined to get the upper hand. The tall, slender woman reached around and grabbed the back of Teague's pants. Getting leverage, she pushed and pulled at the big, black young man, flipping him off the couch.

He landed on the floor and the woman quickly pounced on him. Straddling him, she gave him a frown. "You big, lunking, oaf!" She tickled his armpits. "How many times do I have to tell you that you are too heavy?!"

The frown turned into a wicked grin as the big man squirmed under her fingers. "Baby, please, Stop! I'm sorry. Please, I promise."

"Ah, that's better. You promise to stay under my control, Teague? I'll make it worth your while." Her grin became evil, knowing and sexy.

He couldn't resist her charm and they both knew it. "Ok. OK! Whatever you say. Just be gentile. I've got football practice tomorrow. I don't want to blow my scholarship."

The twin's dark flowing hair touched the 6 foot 9 inch young man's well-defined chest. She said, "Ooooohhh. Don't worry, I know you're a delicate flower"

"Yea, that's me, baby." They kissed repeatedly in a quiet, even rhythm as their passion overtook them.

~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~

Quiet, even footsteps could be heard coming from the top of the stairs. From their hiding places, the men heard a voice over their intercom. "What's going on there? Bee! Aye! Answer me, damn it."

As the men eyed the stairs, they each reached to their throats and turned off their radios. Both men produced knives, and stood ready to silently take out whoever was unlucky enough to discover them.

The Collector plodded down the stairs in a rumpled nightshirt. His arms dangled at his sides and his mouth was open. Unseeing eyes were open to mere slits. The two men who had invaded his home peeked at him from under the cover of the stacks of paper. They watched as he shuffled from the bottom of the stairs, around a corner, through the canyon between two paper piles and through the swinging kitchen doors.

He turned on the kitchen lights as he did so, revealing another maze of paper piles and stacks of magazines. The two operatives looked at each other, then back at the man as he made his way through the kitchen maze. Suddenly, the man in the nightshirt stopped. The operatives watched in frozen silence, thinking they were caught. The collector merely stepped a half step to the left to avoid a box of books that would have stubbed his toe. Without looking back, he continued to shamble.

Mewster
"Son of a ... He's sleepwalking," Mr. Bee whispered as they looked on. Putting his mouth to his throat, he turned his radio back on. "Had to go quiet," He whispered. "Collector is a sleepwalker."

The voice over the radio said, "So, what is happening? The driver says he sees lights."

"Yes, lights. He's turning on lights in his sleep. It's like he's got the place memorized. He's getting a drink of water from the kitchen."

The voice paused. "Interesting. Just stay out of his way. He will go back to sleep and you can continue with the lights on. I assume that will make your search a little less 'impossible,' right?"

The thick Mr. Aye flipped on his radio and said, "It certainly couldn't hurt."

"I need to go check for computers up stairs. Give me a squawk if he starts to move." The tall black man silently walked up the stairs, a knife poised slightly in front of him.

The Collector stood silently in his kitchen drinking a glass of water. Mr. Aye kept an eye on him and after a few minutes he started to move. Putting his hand to his throat, he sent a dull chime over the radio to let his partner know that things were happening. He then pushed himself into one of the narrow paths, to let the sleepwalker go back the way he had come.


But the sleepwalking man did not retrace his steps. Instead of being out of The Collector's way, Mr. Aye was being followed through the stacks of paper. Panicked, the operative silently skipped down the confining path of paper as quick he could in his clumsy, sideways shuffle. The relentlessly shuffling sleepwalker gave chase with his blank eyes half open and his mouth agape. His steady, purposeful steps easily kept up with the operative's panicked scramble. Sweat poured from Mr. Aye. His tight throat let out a small, helpless cry. He was doomed.

Rounding a corner in the claustrophobic maze of paper, he finally saw a much wider passage in front of him. Daylight! It was the passage to the front door. He hopped over the small stack of paper he had moved right before the lights turned on, and made his way to the relative safety of the wider passage. Mr. Bee, having heard the plaintive cry over the intercom, quickly and quietly came down the stairs. Seeing the collector, he left the path to the stairs clear for the zombie-like sleepwalker.

The Collector shambled towards the foot of the stairs and was just about to come out of the narrow passage between paper stacks when his feet hit the papers they had left in the passageway. In his sleeping state, he wasn't ready for an obstacle.

He fell hard and stirred. Looking up, he saw the men in his house. Dazed and half asleep, he asked, "Who? What ... here?"

Taking a syringe from his belt pocket, Mr. Bee said, "Damn, were going wet."

With no emotion at all he grabbed the almost-naked collector by the head, stuck the syringe into his neck, and pressed the plunger.

~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~

The convenient store was much too bright. Under the florescent glare, the weight of the night's beer sank in on the young couple. Joy went to the back to check out the ice cream selection while Ryan looked at the lottery display.

As she came back with two pints, Ryan said, "Ok, I now have empirical proof that things really are changing. By the way, this is on me."

The tall pale woman searched through her purse from within the tent of her hair. "Nah, I'll get it. You paid for the bar."

"No, I mean it." He showed her the slip of paper he had taken from his wallet and pointed at the lottery display. "I just won the lottery."

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