[America] Pieces

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[America] Pieces

Post by Straken »

A Backstory of Henry and his son Lovell

It was a dark night as the moon was new and missing from the sky. The only light to be seen was the twin beams shining from the front of the aging truck as it rumbled along the deserted highway. It was late, easily past midnight, and the stars were clearly visible through the breaks in the trees, and it seemed that the only one who seemed to be awake to see them was the haggered man at the steering wheel; even his passenger was sleeping. A young boy curled up in the seat, the soft sound of his breathing barely audible over the sound of the engine. It had been a long drive, as the two had been on the road for almost twenty-four hours; stopping only to refuel, and the trek looked to be taking a toll on the older man.

It was a solemn drive, and barely a word had been said through the entire trip. Hagan had the quiet countenance that he always had, and when ever he looked over at his young son the boy was always sleeping. Lawrence had been through a lot over the last week, but Hagan only had a report to work with beyond his own investigation.

He had been out of the country, hunting another target for the Occultus. When he finally was able to be contacted again, the phone he kept had been filled with messages. Something had happened back home and he needed to hurry back.

So Hagan made quick time in getting back, and what he found was straight from his worst nightmare. The most he was given was that arsons had set fire to his home, and that a number of people were dead; including several of the perpetrators, as well as his wife Cassandra. To make matters worse, Lawrence had been missing ever since.

From here, he did the only thing he could think to do; he got to work. He had been a hunter for as long as he could remember, so even with all of the conflicting smells, and the time that had gone by, he was able to pick up his son's trail. There was a trail of blood that left the scene heading for the woods behind the house. It was Lawrence's trail, but thankfully it was not his blood.

For the better part of the next day, Hagan tracked the boy through the dense woods of Southern Saskatchewan. A night had passed since he had begun tracking, and the new day was beginning to sink into twilight before he closed in on his son. Tipped off by the sound of faint sobbing, he found Lawrence curled up in a small hollow between some tree roots. The boy was pale, and naked as the day he was born. The only color was caked on mud and coagulated blood around his hands and mouth, and coupled with his matted hair one could easily think the boy was feral.

Lawrence was startled at first by the sound of someone approaching, but when he recognized his father he ran into the man's arms and began to cry anew.

It was well into the night when Hagan made it back to town with his son. Their home was destroyed, so instead he took Lawrence to the home of the man who had given him the call in the first place. Without leaving time for questions, Hagan left the child in their care before heading back out again. Now that Lawrence was safe, he was going to begin getting to the bottom of what happened.

Arriving at the charred remains of his home, Hagan had no trouble getting around. The active part of the investigation had been conducted, and any further inspections would take place during the day. At least, that's what he figured. It seemed the case had been upgraded, which suggested the damage was worse than he heard. At the house there was a perimeter established by the CSI unit. Irritated and concerned, there would be nothing he could do here until the investigation died down. Moving on to the next lead, he went to the morgue.

The bodies were in a security room, but Hagan was not worried. Unlike the crime scene where if he tried posing as a special agent he would have sceptical eyes watching him the entire time, he could get some privacy in the morgue. So long as he didn't tamper with anything, his cover would hold.

Arriving at the security checkpoint, he explained that he was the husband of the victim, and was there to identify her body.While hesitant at first, the guards let him in, but stuck around do to the body sharing a room with the bodies of the criminals. Unperturbed, Hagan proceeded to the body bag in the far corner. Feeling genuine remorse, he would use everything at his disposal. When the bag was unzipped, he saw what he already knew; Cassandra's pale face as she lay cold and still.

Putting on an act, Hagan broke down, and after a shirt while he pleaded for them to give him a minute alone. One guard was against it, but the second convinced him to give Hagan his time.

Once the door shut behind them, Hagan began to make rounds of checking the bodies of the criminals. He had to work fast, so he gave the three bodies a quick look over before giving a closer look to one in particular. Giving it approximately thirty seconds, he zipped everything back up and returned to his wife to inspect her body as much as he could. By the time the two guards returned a couple minutes later, Hagan had all the information he needed.

Between what Hagan had picked up from the the house, Lawrence's appearance, the state of the bodies in the morgue, and what he had been told by investigators and his friend, he had enough information to form a picture. Though, since he had not been there, and couldn't get close enough to the crime scene to investigate further, Hagan was sure the only person who would ever know what really happened was Lawrence. Though he was unsure if the boy would ever remember the event, and a part of him prayed the boy never would. For after inspecting the bodies, it was easy to see that whatever had killed the arsons had also killed Cassandra; as all the deceased looked to have been killed by a beast, with savage gashes and ripped throats.

On the way back to pick up Lawrence, Hagan had a lot to think about. The investigators were sure to pick up on the bizzare circumstances of the crime, and there was the chance the could trace it back to his son. One way or another, he needed to take Lawrence away. Both to protect him, and to remove him from what could end up scarring him for life. By the time he got back to the other house, he had a plan.

By the time the sun was beginning rise, Hagan had Lawrence buckled in and a number of supplies tied down in the bed of the old Chevy. He didn't say where they were going, or for how long they would be gone. Hagan never claimed to be a good friend, which he hoped wouldn't come back to bite him as his plan revolved around getting help from a man he had known for a couple of decades.

Which brought the two to the backwoods of Minnesota, en route for Tofte on the coast of Lake Superior. Looking over at Lawrence again, Hagan placed a hand on the boy's head as the truck pulled into the small town. Before too long they pulled into a driveway for a pleasant house in a quiet neighborhood. It was late, and the only lights were from the street lamps. Leaving his son sleeping where he was, Hagan got out of the truck and made his way to the door. He was knocking for about thirty seconds when a light turned on inside the house, and the rustling of a drape suggested movement. At last the sound of a deadbolt turning gave him a sense of relief, and once the door opened he was greeted with the sight of the man he had come to see. Minnesota's resident druid.

"Hagan? Is that you? What in the world are you doing here?" He asked.
"I need your help," Hagan said.
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