Chapter Text
It was nearing half past five o’clock on the third day since her husband left when Maria Reed shouldered the door open to her apartment. She was still getting used to the place being quiet. No telltale scuff of shoes on the floor. Gone is the faint mumbling from behind the office door. Even the missing general hustle and bustle of evening Boston that she was so used to hearing from the windows being open made her feel a little empty. Maria found it prudent to constantly remind herself that periods of absence from Charles are normal due to his career. Obviously, he usually tells her where he’s going and for what. Unfortunately, he had been tetchy and secretive about whatever this current case pertained to, other than it involved travelling elsewhere in Massachusetts and it could take anywhere from between a week and three months.
Like any other wife, Maria’s thoughts had immediately turned to the idea of Charles having an affair. This panic lasted all of two hours, before the rational part of her brain reminded her that her husband was a sullen recluse. There was very little chance of another woman finding him worthy of material for adultery and less chance of Charles actually choosing to engage with another being who was not a paying client or his wife. While that sounded insulting, it was well known by all who knew the Reed family that Maria understood Charles in a way that no one else did, and that whatever had happened to him in the Navy had shaped his mind in an immovable way. It had changed the intrinsic mold that one’s thoughts should be, twisting it into something kaleidoscopically wrong. There were those who worked with Maria who often gossiped about Charles when they thought she couldn’t hear. About what had truly happened to him, the CSS Cyclops, and his eclectic career as a private eye.
Not to say that there weren’t whispers surrounding Maria too.
She placed the bag of groceries clutched in one hand onto the sideboard and sank into the couch. After a moment’s respite, Maria sighed, standing back up and heading in the direction of the window. She unlatched the glass and awkwardly clambered out onto the fire escape, fingers already automatically reaching into the pocket of her coat for her cigarettes. She let it dangle limply from her lips, fore and middle finger on either side as she searched the lighter. After some digging, she found it, flicking the top off and lighting the cigarette. Maria took several long drags, letting the smoke blow into the frozen March air. She tapped the ash from the end, not bothering to be particularly concerned about an ashtray, just watching the powder float serenely through the gaps in the metal slats of the fire escape.
With her cigarette finished and goosebumps crawling up her arms, Maria came back inside, locking the window behind her. It was as she turned back to the sitting room that she came face to face with the biggest problem of her current week. The office door. Maria was by no means banned from Charles’ office. It wasn’t locked, nor had her husband ever explicitly told her to leave it alone. She’d even seen flashes of the interior as her husband had walked in and out. The problem was, Maria knew Charles was a private man. It was something he rarely compromised on, to the point where she knew on those nights when he woke suddenly or with a short scream to not approach him until he approached her first. And as such, in respecting this privacy, she did not go into the office. Not ever.
Something about the present situation was wrong though. Maria knew it. She didn’t believe in supernatural intuition or clairvoyance or any other baseless “powers”. But she knew whatever current case Charles was on wasn’t right. It was in the prickling in her spine when she thought about it, in the oppressive silence of their one-bedroom flat, it was the feeling within her very bones that thrummed with fear day and night. And this was why the office door was such a problem. Every time she looked, her hand began to itch. Begging to be done with the whole affair and throw that wretched piece of wood open and be done with the whole thing. Rifle through papers, and read diaries just to find out what the big secret was in hopes it would stop the gnawing in her brain.
That’s all Maria would do. Just find out what’s happening. Put her mind at ease and cease the growing of that awful pit of worry in her stomach. But was that worth breaking the implicit trust she and Charles had? Sure, it’s not like he’d know, but it would weigh on Maria’s conscience every time she looked at her husband once he returned. If he returned.
That was the first time that line of thought had crossed her mind.
Charles could not come back. Obviously, that was a given with most of his cases, such was the life of a private eye… But at least then Maria knew where to look when he’d been gone too long. This idea definitely lent credibility to her want to go inside the office. In fact, she had already crossed halfway across the floor from the window to the door before she realise what she was doing. Maria stopped herself and leaned against the sideboard, head spinning. She knew what she had been getting into with Charles. A trauma-ridden war vet whose current job put him in danger every day. Charles had been very clear about this when they first met six years ago. It had rarely bothered her. Charles was careful. He didn’t take risks, he kept in contact and he always came home.
Her hand was on the door handle.
One twist. That would be all it took to stop the spiral of anxiety. It was probably just an extremely confidential client who didn’t want anyone getting wind of what was happening. A slight flex of the wrist. She was overthinking it. The handle was down. Everything was fine, there was a rational explanation and all adverse effects she’d suffered telling her that everything was wrong were probably just placebo-
Maria opened the door.
She let out a little gasp of surprise, jumping back as if shocked. But the deed was done. The door to Charles’ office stood open in front of her revealing the room itself. It was tidier than Maria expected. When she thought of the office of private investigators, the images of papers strewn around came to mind, cork boards covered in red string, empty bottles of whisky maybe? But no, her husband’s office was rather neat. A desk by the left wall with a typewriter and a lamp sat upon the wood, a lot of drawers, and a small bookcase. Honestly, a standard room that could belong to a lawyer or a journalist.
And in fact, it took Maria only a few minutes to rummage through the desk drawers to find a recently opened letter that seemed promising. Well, at the very least she thought it seemed promising. A wax seal usually denoted something of importance and this envelope had one. A strange bright yellow wax with the initial J.B stamped on it. With shaking hands - when had her hands started shaking - she pulled out one sheet of paper, a beautifully loopy script penned across it. The letter smelt slightly damp as Maria left the office and walked to the window for some light to read what was written.
Dear Mr. Charles Reed,
As you requested, I’ve researched the outbursts of hysteria and vision in the city of Oakmont, Massachusetts. It turns out that your assumption were correct - such cases are indeed more frequent here. Men and women from across the country are drawn to Oakmont, haunted by visions similar to yours: a city drowning; the presence of something great, yet unknown.
As luck has it, I believe we have stumbled upon the source of your ailment - and the person who might help you with it. Prepare yourself, then come to Oakmont as soon as you can. I will meet you here to help you on your way.
Cordially,
Johannes van der Berg
Maria read it once. Then twice. Then halfway through the third time, it became obvious she was reading it correctly. Oakmont, Massachussets. Johannes van der Berg. Visions of drowning. She immediately pulled out her lighter and set the paper ablaze, dropping it into the fireplace and reeling back with a hand over her mouth.
She couldn’t risk leaving a trail, burning the letter was the first step. Putting the groceries in the fridge, leaving out an unfinished gin and tonic, and packing as little as possible was the next. Charles had a three-day head start, he had probably landed in Oakmont yesterday. If Maria was quick she could catch him and bring him home before anything awful happened. If she could bring him home… From what was mentioned in the letter, Charles might be too far gone.
Maria really wasn’t prepared to hear the name Oakmont again, sixteen years later. And she really really wasn’t prepared to be journeying back. But for Charles’ sake, any fear had to be set aside. She was just angry she hadn’t realised what this was from the yellow wax seal and the initials alone.
“Johannes van der Berg,” She sneered. “That son of a bitch.”
Maria left Boston in the dead of night with a small suitcase and a wad of cash to desperately bribe a sailor to make the extremely convoluted and dangerous journey to the town of Oakmont.