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On the cold afternoon of April 8th, Bronwyn was sitting on her bed; shuffling Mercury and preparing for a group reading that will be in a few minutes. The tarot deck has become a companion for the three over the years.
As Bronwyn, Lexie, and Rayne hesitantly pulled one card each, the combined cards said: the 5 of Cups, 10 of Swords, and The Tower. That was never a good sign.. Three victims they need to save. The three of them looked up at each other, eyes filled with worry, but also curiosity. Where would they need to go this time?
Without a word, Lexie quickly got up from the floor and ran to her room to get her Ouija Board. It's how the three know who they need to save and where to go. They patiently wait for Lexie to come back to Bronwyn's room; they need a name, place- anything that could give them a direction or a starting point. A few minutes later, after fiddling with the board in her room, Lexie came back and said only the words "August, England." ‘Well, at least it's not Birmingham,’ Bronwyn thought to herself; the place they went to a few months ago.. that mission, or rather job, was a disaster.
The future victim, the three later found out, is named ‘Dorota Shaw’. After some more prompting from Lexie with Dorota's future spirit, it finally told them that she has red hair. That's all they had to go off of, but it was better than nothing.
Sometimes the board only gave them a name, and nothing else. Regardless, the three hopped into Bronwyn's car and headed to August; it wasn’t far from where they were.
That same day, they arrived to the town. Bronwyn instructed Lexie and Rayne to look for a place where they can stay for the next few nights. Rayne and Lexie hop back into the car, and the three temporarily parted ways. After some time walking, Bronwyn found herself face-to-face with a building labeled "Investigative Agency.” Perfect.
With a deep breath, Bronwyn pushed the double-doors open with confidence. The police had to believe her, it's all they have. After scanning the area for a minute, she spots a table at the front with a receptionist; she seems nice. As she walked up to the table, she worried herself about not wanting to sound rude or blunt. But she stopped the thoughts in her head with, ‘that’s not a concern right now, stop worrying.’ To be fair, she probably would anyways, but that's not important right now. After asking the lady where the head inspector was, she was told the room number and his name- Dupont. ‘Sounds pretentious,’ she thought. Regardless, she went down the small hallway to his room, labeled 'Chief Dupont. Head Investigator.’ Here it is! She gently knocks on the door and hears a middle-aged, but chipper, voice respond with, "Come in!"
Hesitantly, she enters the room. She’s normally not religious, but prays to whoever's listening at the moment, 'please let him understand, please don't let him think we're crazy.’
Bronwyn quickly greets the chief as she tries her best to explain the tarot reading her and her friends received earlier today, the name they got- Dorota Shaw, and how she'll likely be murdered the next day. As she explains with urgency in her tone, Bronwyn sounds more frantic by the second. When she finally stops to take a breath, Dupont puts his hands on the desk and clasps them together. He closes his eyes in thought and takes a breath before replying, "Dorota? She recently got accepted to Juilliard; The whole town's been celebrating. Your little 'card game' can't possibly know she'd be murdered."
Before Bronwyn could get a word in edgewise, Dupont dismissively held up a finger. "I don't want to hear it. That's preposterous and I will not entertain your games. The door's behind you." Bronwyn couldn't even interject with a 'But!-', as Dupont coldly replied, "The door. Please close it on your way out." Defeated, Bronwyn leaves the office with her head down, feeling hopeless. She wonders what she'll tell Lex and Ray.. she hates when Lexie feels disappointed. She hoped they’d have better news.
Outside the building, Bronwyn pulls out her phone and calls Lexie. When she picks up, she asks with a hopeful tone how Bronwyn's search went. Bronwyn almost didn't have the heart to tell Lexie that it was hopeless. Almost.
After recollecting her's and the Chief's unproductive chat, she could hear Lexie and Rayne heavily sigh on the other line. "That's too bad, I'm sorry Bron.." After a pause, Lexie's voice perks up as she exclaims, "But we have some good news! This nice lady, Violet, is willing to let us rent some rooms at her guesthouse! Isn't that great??" Bronwyn responded with affirmation as Lexie sent her the guesthouse's location. As Bronwyn makes her way there, the two girls talk about the house, accommodations, etc.
That evening, the three settle into their respective rooms and unpack their bags. Lexie asked Violet that the three be next to each other. Violet obliged, which was a relief.
In room 3, Rayne was reading a book like he does every night. As he sits in the slightly-uncomfortable wooden chair by his bed, he read a paragraph, then suddenly blacked out.
He wasn't sure what happened, but when he came-to, he woke up in an unfamiliar room. 'This definitely isn't mine..' Rayne thought as he realized his hands were wrapped tightly around something.. or rather someone.
When he looked to the floor in-front of him, he saw a young red-haired woman, who has a fearful expression on her cold, pale face. 'Well, that must be Dorota..' Rayne cringed at the sight of her as he quickly tore his hands away from her neck, like he got burned from a hot stove. As he slowly got up, he scanned the room. He didn't seem to be injured, besides his hands. They hurt like hell. ‘My hands must have been there for at least four minutes.’
Looking away from the bloody sight before him, he brought his hands up to his face, inspecting them. They're messy with dried blood. The blood must be hers.. "Oh god.. what the hell?" He quietly said to himself, in horror. He'd never met the poor girl- why, and how, did he know where she lives, and where her room was..?
He hesitantly looked back at Dorota. It seems he strangled her, evidently by the now-dried blood around her throat and mouth. He tried remembering what happened a few hours ago. He concluded that since he had no memory of what happened after reading in his room, and no idea of how he got to her house, he must have been possessed. There was no way he’d murder a stranger- by manual strangulation, no less. He had to have been possessed by a Traveler and they killed Dorota. 'Of course it wasn't me, how the hell would I know where she lived??’ It had to have been for a Rite- he mentally noted to ask Bronwyn about those tomorrow. She knew more than he did on the subject. But right now, he understood the predicament he was currently in.
After gathering his bearings for a few minutes and finally calming himself down, he quietly walked around the house. He needed a close escape. There had to have been no one else besides her that was home- others would have heard the struggle. After wandering the hallways helplessly for a few minutes, he finally found a backdoor, and left. Outside, he felt colder than the night air that was brushing against his face.
When he came back to the guesthouse, no one seemed to notice he was gone. He thought it was odd, but didn't question it. After cleaning himself up in a bathroom, he entered his room and ungraciously flopped onto the bed in exhaustion. Dorota's eyes, wide from fear, and his own bloody hands haunted him; they most likely will every night, even after the three leave August. After about an hour of anxious thoughts and trying to calm his mind, he was finally able to go to sleep. The night wind quietly rustled the trees as everyone slept.