City of IF

[scissorkitty]

Chapter Three:

Harrold and I continued our staring contest, and I snaked my hand into my pocket. When I pulled it out, Harry tensed, but instead of stabbing him, I held my cell phone to my ear.

“Captain Bad-timing’s House of Pancakes” I hate inopportune phone calls. Sometimes I imagine throwing my cell phone in the river, contract be damned. Then I remember all those fees, and the fact that I’m already nominally damned. And I remember how nice it is to be able to text message when riding the bus. So I keep it.

The tinny voice of a telemarketer trickled into my ear, providing just enough distraction for Harrold. Hooking his shoe behind my left leg, Harry neatly tripped me, and I toppled towards the open stairwell. My cell slipped from my fingers, bouncing down the staircase ahead of me, and ending the call. I fell over the railing.

It’s amazing how many details can go through your mind as you fall down three flights of open landing space. If I were to have bounced down all those steps on my head, Harrold would surely be dancing with glee.. As it were, the hood of my sweatshirt caught on the newel post of the stairs a flight down, and I pulled up short. My arms were above my head, and I caught the bannister at the same time, saving myself from a broken neck and the start of an Immortal life as a quadriplegic. My shoulders burned like hell. Harrold was already making his way down towards me, as I hauled myself over the railing and onto the second flight of stairs. I crouched, pulling the steak knife from my pocket, and preparing to jab.

“Must you always be so difficult?” My brother raged at me, kicking towards my head in an attempt to push me backwards down the rest of the stairs. “I’ve worked too hard to watch my fortune end up in your hands.”

“I don’t want your stupid fortune, you idiot ” I ducked his loafer, and grabbed his ankle instead, pulling him off balance, and tipping him over the railing in my stead. Harrold managed half a , “Damn...” before splaying messily on the lobby floor below. I tucked my steak knife away, made my way down to the exit, and stepped heavily onto my brother’s face on the way out. “Hm. I don’t think Maybelline makes a product for this one, bro.” I stooped and picked up my cell phone. The screen was cracked, and the battery was hanging by its connector wires, but I still had three reception bars. I wondered if attempted murder was considered a good cause under my replacement warranty.

I’m not really as heartless as it sounds. I’ve learned a lot about Harrold’s regenerative abilities over the years, and I knew that he’d be dragging himself off the tiles in a few minutes. He wouldn’t necessarily be joining a dance troupe for the next few weeks, but he’d be able to shove me in front of a bus or something if I stuck around. So I didn’t. Mind whirling with Norm’s strange warning, and a good burst of near-death adrenaline, I cut across the park heading for Davis’ house. A lot of things were bothering me, at this point- and none of them made any particular brand of sense. If anyone were able to see the big picture in a crazy situation, it would be my third, and youngest, older brother. Besides, I was curious about the “theory” that Bernice mentioned.

Davis lives in a trailer park on the outskirts of town. I’ve known him my whole life, and I’m probably closer to him than anyone, save my mother. Davis was born in 1956, to Katherine Ewings- a woman’s libber with a faulty mothering instinct. She named him after Miles Davis. Katherine left for a women’s empowerment conference mid 1970, and left Davis with some grocery money, the house, and the number of what turned out to be a truck stop diner. She never came back. He ended up drowning in a creek after getting a little trippy during a concert shortly after Katherine’s disappearance, and as a result looks about fourteen, with dirty blonde dreadlocks, and crooked front teeth. You’d think that Davis would be a little disenchanted towards women after an experience like that, but he’s apparently got all the nurturing instincts his own mom was lacking. When Harrold would get really hard-core into his attempts to kill me, and when my own mom felt it necessary to flee the area, she would sometimes drop me off at Davis’ to hide out and throw Harry off our scent.


I knocked on the door to Davis’ trailer, and then let myself in. He was sitting in front of his laptop, watching YouTube videos and picking absently at a plate of nachos. My stomach growled at the thought of all that lovely melted cheese, grease and fatty goodness.

“Hey, Euro. I was wondering when you were going to get here!” He shoved the chips in my direction. “You look a little weirded out. What’s up?”

I filled him in on my recent adventures, at the same time filling my belly. By the time I finished sucking orange cheese-grease off my fingertips, Davis was wired and wiggling with excitement.

“Dude! It’s so weird that your psychic dude would say that! Take a look at this!” He reached into a pocket, removing a neatly folded envelope and handing it across to me. It was creamy, thick stationary, not the foolscap I usually wrote on. The paper inside was crispy and weighty, with little natural fibers imbedded in it, and smelled faintly of tobacco. Typewritten words spelled out the same message Norm had shouted, and at the bottom of the page, a little symbol had been imprinted onto a blob of topaz colored wax. It looked like a tree shape with a pair of eyebrows hovering above it. On the outside of the envelope, a flowing hand had written Davis’ name. I noticed something else as well.

““No postage markings, Dave. And I’ve seen that sygil before. The Eyebrow Tree thing is on the book Rolph left for Marion.”

At the mention of our nominal step-mother, if bastard immortal children qualify for step-mothering, Davis’ expression darkened considerably. The last time I had seen Marion, indeed the last time all of us had been in the same place, we were all rushing to crash the wedding- a little too late as things would have it. Rolph had just collapsed into dust and been declared deceased, and Marion was clutching a small burgundy bound notebook to her siliconed chest. The civil servant scheduled to perform the ceremony had already run gabbling into the afternoon traffic, puffs of disintegrated man still drifting from his loafers. My siblings and I were left to try and explain a rather awkward moment to a very unbalanced new wife/widow. Davis wasn’t a fan of Rolph in quasi-life OR death, and his disappearance had brought up a lot of repressed angst at his own mother’s disappearance.

“Hm. Yeah. That reminds me of my theory again. What do you know about the family curse thingy? It kinda starts with that.”

I grimaced, and shrugged. “Not a whole lot, honestly. Why don’t you give me the refresher?”

* * * *

“May you and your bastards live the life of the Damned, forever!” That’s the basis of the curse. Apparently dear old Dad had trouble keeping himself to himself, and pissed off a tavern owner with a bad voodoo habit or something. Anyway, since that point, whenever Rolph fathered a child, that kid carried the Immortality gene. The only thing is, the Immortal part wasn’t turned on until the person in question died. So, Rolph runs around knocking up all these women, and they in turn have kids, and then WE in turn die of whatever, and end up as a pack of miss-matched Immortal people, lounging around forever, right?”

I nodded, and gestured for Davis to continue.

“Right. So, here we are. Then Rolph goes and hooks up with Marion. He’s all set to tie the knot, they say their vows, and the whole marriage thing is finalized. The minute its done, though, Rolph has voided the curse! See.. Cause it says “You and your bastards”, right? But now Rolph is married, so any kids he has with Marion are now legally his- NOT illegitimate kids like the rest of us. So they won’t be cursed, and I think that somehow tricked the old voodoo into taking his curse away too, so all his years caught up with him, and now he’s a dirt pile instead of a dirt bag!” Davis crowed this last statement out loud.

“But what’s with the letter, dude?” I nudge the paper in question with my fingertip. “And the book? What’s in the book?”


((DP:SO? Whats next? What do you think of the theory? Is he right? Is he wrong? Do they investigate further? I know stuff i'm not telling yet... but how are you going to get the info out of me?))

[Traveller]

This is the best installment yet!! I love the description of the wedding and the theory of the curse...very original...hmmm...as for the DP...I think they need to follow the eyebrow tree thingy...the paper seemed very distinct...maybe they could take it to a paper company and get a hint as to where that paper may have originated...it's a long shot but gotta start somewhere...I think they need to get their hands on that book...looking forward to whatever comes next

[Head of the Guard]

Wow... I love the theory. Perfect explanation. :rock:

What to do next... Investigate the letter, and maybe try and find out where the tavern owner was and go there. There could be like... clues, i suppose... where the Tavern is/was. Go check it out.

Great SG.

[Crunchyfrog]

A Graphologist might help to identify the handwriting on the envelope, although really only having a small sample to go by might not be very easy. Still, there might be something unusual about it - the ink or something.


Very entertaining chapter. Particularly liked the fight with Harrold! And the theory of the curse was very good too. :)

[Head Eater]

Thisssss sssstory meetssss with my approval.

Ensssure it remainsss so or I will return for your head....

[scissorkitty]

thanks for the new home, guys! wheee!

okay.. so we have a few suggestions for the poll so far:

1/ track down ye olde taverne of antiquity and curseular beginnings
2/go to a stationary store and try to find out more info on the envelope and paper
3/track down a handwriting analyist, and see what they can say about the sender
4/follow up on the Eyebrow Tree Thingy
5/get the book from Marion somehow.

that's a lot of choice! Any other offers? Otherwise the Poll will go up sometime today or tomorrow.

[Head of the Guard]

congrats on the new home scissorkitty!

keep up the good work.

[LordoftheNight]

I'm really enjoying this Scissors - glad it came to the review board's attention or I'd of missed it. I'll be following from now on.

As for the DP, I'd say track down the curse's beginnings.

[Smee]

*mutters about being ill and missing the dicussion*

*reads chapter*

*tries to reply*

*screams, rants, stamps feet because bloody work re-installed the bloody site filter software whilst off sick and City of If is now blocked*

*Spends 20 minutes looking for a proxy that doesn't fill the screen with 87 pop ups*

*Finds one, relaxes and continues writing reply*

Ahem... great chapter. Like many of your other readers, I love the style and flow of your writing. Even when it's waffling about story background that I can bearly follow because I'm not quite understanding yet, it's still enjoyable.

I am just looking forward to when we have some more pieces to the jigsaw.

I voted for heading to ye olde tavern

Happy Writing :)

[scissorkitty]

okay gang! It was pretty close, but it looks like we'll be tracking down the Tavern. Stay tuned.. same Cat time... arg. even I can't finish that comparison. heh.

[CunningFox]

Nice story so far! Ive caught up, missed the vote but Ill be follwong this one from now on.