Chapter Text
His initial task slipped from his mind the moment he saw the filing cabinets, dust covered and antiquated, wedged into a dark corner of that tiny basement room. He dropped the file he carried on a table, slapped at the wall until he hit on a switch, brought forth some illumination, felt his face break into a grin at the possibilities. The first drawer shrieked at his tug, screaming a protest at yielding its secrets.
“X-458632 ASTRAL PROJECTION.” The red and white striped boarder made him taste the peppermint of a candy cane at the back of his throat, smell the pine of a tree on Christmas morning.
Ridiculous: the F.B.I. keeping files on such things. His analytical brain cataloged all the reasons this didn’t make sense, even as he flipped open the file and began to read. And suddenly, for the first time in his 32 years, for all the pleasure and tranquility of his Midwest upbringing, Special Agent William Van De Kamp felt at home.