Regular Spelling
Thoughts on language and more



David Raynor walked in to the CIA headquarters, coming in from the front door instead of the parking lot that day. His car had broken down, and he was late for work, but he wasn’t too concerned since he was the boss.

It had been several months since Fiole’s Apprentice had left, and things were only just starting to settle down. Nothing had turned up on Medea Carpenter in that time. The companies she ran seemed to be running just the same, nothing new could be tied to her, and there was no indication of any specific location she would be at. She had become a ghost.

“Package for you,” a receptionist said as he walked by, and handed him a small box.

He looked at it, and it seemed to be marked from some printing company, but the address was smudged out. “It’s clean, sir,” the woman added, indicating they had already checked it for dangerous materials.

“Well that may be the case,” he said as he began to head toward his office, “but that doesn’t particularly mean it isn’t dangerous. Or even of any interest to me.”

He went into his office, and sat at the desk, setting the box aside for the time being. He logged into his computer, checked his company e-mail, and proceeded to go about his work, when suddenly a page came over his phone.

“Director Ranyor?” It was the receptionist’s voice, and she sounded frazzled. He could hear some other voices in the background, and they sounded tense.

“What is it,” he said, pressing the button to activate the intercom.

“Mr. Collector is here,” she said, panicking, “and he’s waving around a gun.”

“Dear god,” he said, quickly standing up. He had kept track of the ammunition count, and, presuming he didn’t find any more after returning to the past, he was down to the last round. “Tell him to stay there, I am coming down.”

“I’m sorry,” came the shout of the man over the intercom. “I have nowhere to go, Mr. Raynor.” He jumped at the sound of a gunshot, and everyone screamed.

For a while, nobody said anything. “Is anyone hurt?” he said finally.

“A,” the receptionist said, voice breaking. “ A… A mailroom person is bleeding slightly, it looks like he missed his shot and just grazed him. He passed out after firing.”

A graze? He thought, as he sat back down in the chair. What effect would that have on it? “I see,” he said to the receptionist finally. “Call an ambulance for the Collector and the mailroom guy, and then have him come see me after his wound is treated.” He pushed the button to turn off the intercom, and leaned back in his chair, sighing.

He looked at the box, and decided to open it. Inside it was a small book that appeared to have been printed in the early 1800s, with the words ‘The Pocketwatch’ adorning the cover in gold letters, and a drawing of the Pocketwatch.

He opened the front cover, and there was a folded up card in it. He set the book down, and decided to read the card first.

‘David Raynor, I decided to add you to my list of recipients at the last minute, and decided to have a copy of the book delivered to you long before anyone else received it. If my timing was correct, you should not be receiving this until after I have returned to your time, and used the last round of the Revolver to end my life.

‘Much as it pains me to say this, you’re the only thing I have left that qualifies as a friend. I can’t go back to Fiole, I can’t go to Medea, and I can’t go back to my own time. I simply don’t belong anywhere anymore, and so I am faced with just this choice. Nothing else matters anymore.

‘The Pocketwatch is destroyed, I will do it as soon as I return to 2007. I had to borrow the energy crystal from the warehouse again because the ring could not boost it enough for this last trip, and so the Sundial is with me as well as the Revolver. The rest of the Objects I had are hidden in a cave in Nevada, far off of the populated areas in your time, there’s a map inserted in the back of the book showing the location. Please, I ask you now to continue the work in my place. I can’t ask you to trust what Medea says, but try and keep her from causing damage to the people.’

“He even signed it with his real name,” David said with a chuckle, and closed the card. He set it down, and sighed once again. “Save the world, you say. I don’t know if I can do that so easily as you were able to. But I will do my best.”

He turned the pages of the book, until he found the first page with writing on it. “If you are reading this,” he read from the page, “then you don’t know me. But it means I was able to save your life.” He laughed, knowing all too well, and continued reading the book.

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