He's Dead Sir...
folder
G through L › Invisible Man
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
1
Views:
1,065
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Currently Reading:
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Category:
G through L › Invisible Man
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
1
Views:
1,065
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own I-Man, I'm not making any money off of this... really
He's Dead Sir...
A/N: This was started a long long time ago, it’s got spoilers for the entire series, sorry. Also, this is my first story published in a very very long time, so please be gentle with me. Any feedback is welcome.
Disclaimer: I don’t own anything, I wish I did, I truly wish I did…
He’s Dead Sir...
By: Septimus
“Take a look at this.” Said the Official as he thrust the day’s paper into my hands.
“The paper?” asked Hobbes who had also received a copy.
“Yes, the paper. Turn to page 4C; I think you’ll find something interesting there.” Said the Official. I turned to the page; it was mostly ads and letters to the editor. But there was one tiny news article squashed between a Dear Abby letter and a watch ad. The small headline read: Dead Body Found In Condemned Hotel, Police Searching For Suspects.
“So?” I asked, “What does this have to do with us?”
“Well Mr. Fawkes, the article...”
“Shut up Eberts.” Said the official, silencing his assistant. “Keep reading.” He said, this time addressing me. I skimmed through the rest of the article. It looked like a pretty typical case of an unidentified body being found. But then something in bold print caught my eye. The article said that there was a small recording device found in one of the dead man’s pockets. There was a message recorded on the device by a man with an incredibly thick Swiss accent. The message was: I owe you one Folksy, and now it’s time for me to pay up. Remember our last visit from your brother? I’ll be there after sundown on Monday.
“You think Arnaud’s involved?” I asked, absent-mindedly flipping to the comics.
“Oh I don’t doubt it for a second.” Said the Official. “I want the two of you and the Keeper to go to the city morgue and see if you can get an ID on the body.”
“Great,” I said. I turned to Hobbes who was doing the crossword puzzle. “Common Hobbes, we get to spend the afternoon with dead people.”
“Um, excuse me Sir?” I said to the man behind the desk at the morgue. Claire stood next to me, crying uncontrollably. We were posing as husband and wife. And Hobbes was Claire’s doctor, because she was supposed to have a heart condition or something. We had had a lot of fun coming up with the whole act in the van.
“Yes, can I help you?” Asked the man.
“I’ll handle this.” Said Hobbes. “This is Claire Keeply, and her husband Darien Keeply. They think they might know who that man is who was found in that building dead.” I was amazed at Hobbes’ acting skills; he had even thrown in bad grammar, or was that acting? “Are they family?” Asked the man.
“I hope not.” I said before Hobbes could get anything in.
“Yes sir, of course. Right this way.” Said the man as he pushed a buzzer and led us through a metal doorway. We followed the man down the hallway, with Claire crying louder and louder every minute.
“Right in here.” Said the man pointing to a door.
“I better go in.” I said stepping past Hobbes and Claire. The man opened the door for me, and I walked into an empty room. At the back of the room was a glass window, and on the other side of the window was a body lying on a table. The body was covered with a white sheet, but as I stepped closer to the window a doctor came into the room and uncovered the body. What I saw made my heart stop beating for a second. I nodded my head and quickly left the room. I nodded to Claire and Hobbes and we left the building. I didn’t say a word until we reached the van.
“Well, who was it?” Asked Hobbes.
“It was Arnaud.”
“What do you mean?” Asked Hobbes.
“I mean it was Arnaud. Arnaud’s dead.”
“What do you mean Arnaud’s dead?” Barked the Official.
“He dead sir.” said Hobbes, not really answering the question.
“Who killed him? What was that message all about?”
“I don’t know, but I intend to find out.” I said, still in some sort of shock.
“You’re going there? To meat whoever?” I nodded. “I won’t allow it.”
“Well, if you’ll forgive me for saying this, but you really can’t stop me.” I replied.
That night I debated with myself as to weather or not I should in fact go. When I had first read the article I had been under the impression that Arnaud had been the one to record the message, but he was dead. I couldn’t think of anyone else who would have recorded it. They only person who actually could have done it was safely behind bars, and quite content to stay that way. As it usually did my curiosity won over my sensibility, and I decided to go.
Disclaimer: I don’t own anything, I wish I did, I truly wish I did…
He’s Dead Sir...
By: Septimus
“Take a look at this.” Said the Official as he thrust the day’s paper into my hands.
“The paper?” asked Hobbes who had also received a copy.
“Yes, the paper. Turn to page 4C; I think you’ll find something interesting there.” Said the Official. I turned to the page; it was mostly ads and letters to the editor. But there was one tiny news article squashed between a Dear Abby letter and a watch ad. The small headline read: Dead Body Found In Condemned Hotel, Police Searching For Suspects.
“So?” I asked, “What does this have to do with us?”
“Well Mr. Fawkes, the article...”
“Shut up Eberts.” Said the official, silencing his assistant. “Keep reading.” He said, this time addressing me. I skimmed through the rest of the article. It looked like a pretty typical case of an unidentified body being found. But then something in bold print caught my eye. The article said that there was a small recording device found in one of the dead man’s pockets. There was a message recorded on the device by a man with an incredibly thick Swiss accent. The message was: I owe you one Folksy, and now it’s time for me to pay up. Remember our last visit from your brother? I’ll be there after sundown on Monday.
“You think Arnaud’s involved?” I asked, absent-mindedly flipping to the comics.
“Oh I don’t doubt it for a second.” Said the Official. “I want the two of you and the Keeper to go to the city morgue and see if you can get an ID on the body.”
“Great,” I said. I turned to Hobbes who was doing the crossword puzzle. “Common Hobbes, we get to spend the afternoon with dead people.”
“Um, excuse me Sir?” I said to the man behind the desk at the morgue. Claire stood next to me, crying uncontrollably. We were posing as husband and wife. And Hobbes was Claire’s doctor, because she was supposed to have a heart condition or something. We had had a lot of fun coming up with the whole act in the van.
“Yes, can I help you?” Asked the man.
“I’ll handle this.” Said Hobbes. “This is Claire Keeply, and her husband Darien Keeply. They think they might know who that man is who was found in that building dead.” I was amazed at Hobbes’ acting skills; he had even thrown in bad grammar, or was that acting? “Are they family?” Asked the man.
“I hope not.” I said before Hobbes could get anything in.
“Yes sir, of course. Right this way.” Said the man as he pushed a buzzer and led us through a metal doorway. We followed the man down the hallway, with Claire crying louder and louder every minute.
“Right in here.” Said the man pointing to a door.
“I better go in.” I said stepping past Hobbes and Claire. The man opened the door for me, and I walked into an empty room. At the back of the room was a glass window, and on the other side of the window was a body lying on a table. The body was covered with a white sheet, but as I stepped closer to the window a doctor came into the room and uncovered the body. What I saw made my heart stop beating for a second. I nodded my head and quickly left the room. I nodded to Claire and Hobbes and we left the building. I didn’t say a word until we reached the van.
“Well, who was it?” Asked Hobbes.
“It was Arnaud.”
“What do you mean?” Asked Hobbes.
“I mean it was Arnaud. Arnaud’s dead.”
“What do you mean Arnaud’s dead?” Barked the Official.
“He dead sir.” said Hobbes, not really answering the question.
“Who killed him? What was that message all about?”
“I don’t know, but I intend to find out.” I said, still in some sort of shock.
“You’re going there? To meat whoever?” I nodded. “I won’t allow it.”
“Well, if you’ll forgive me for saying this, but you really can’t stop me.” I replied.
That night I debated with myself as to weather or not I should in fact go. When I had first read the article I had been under the impression that Arnaud had been the one to record the message, but he was dead. I couldn’t think of anyone else who would have recorded it. They only person who actually could have done it was safely behind bars, and quite content to stay that way. As it usually did my curiosity won over my sensibility, and I decided to go.