My Name Is Charlie


abby_icon.gif danko_icon.gif

Scene Title My Name Is Charlie
Synopsis Charlie is in need of ferryman assistance. As in, Danko, of Humanis First wants to do a little something something if you know what I mean. He tries to pull a fast one on Abigail which may or may not succeed.
Date July 29, 2009

Over the digital lines and land lines.

It's late by the time Danko's had time to clean up whatever mess he's made and collect the last of the spent darts. One in the dog, one in Joseph, and one in the ceiling that he had to stand on a kitchen chair to retrieve. The skullish cast of his countenance is pale in its jut from the rugged black of his fatigues, made all the more ghastly by the paint of moon and street light in across his face through a cracked window. Everything's clear. Time to move onto part B.

He doesn't have to pull out the notes he's taken to doublecheck Abigail's phone number. The cell phone he raked it out of is dropped on top of Joseph's unconscious body in passing — no longer needed. It's the land line he's after, plastic receiver lifted and the number dialed in with rapid precision. Wherever Abby is, she's probably asleep. Hopefully she won't mind.

Abigail is asleep, soon to have been awake regardless. Nightmares just starting to rev up. But John Logan's glowing eyes fade to the Louisiana bedroom, a real one and not the sanctuary that she knows in her mind. The ring of her cellphone starting up again to blatantly bitch that it's being used at half past one.

The honey blonde snatches it up quick, pressing the green call button and flattens the pink phone to her ear. "Hello?" Southern drawl that Danko has heard so often colored by sleep that she's still waking up from. Victor is in another room and far down the hall.

It's ringing. Phone hooked onto his shoulder, Danko drags in a deep breath and holds it while he…jumps in place. Ten, eleven, twelve. Seventeen, eighteen — and there she is. "Abby?" His voice along the line is coarse and hushed, wind shushing over dead grass with lingering hints of a cold tagging at breathlessness that hints at a real sense of urgency. "Is this Abigail?"

"This is Abigail Beauchamp" It's an unfamiliar voice. With her cellphone number. The latter is not uncommon. "If you've called hoping to get some healing, I'm sorry sir but I can't provide that anymore" Still traces of the sandman in her own voice.

"No — no, I don't — healing? No." Not quite a stutterer, Danko still manages to trip over his words between panting breaths, right hand quick to flip his notebook out onto the counter kitchen counter. A pen follows it out. "I was with Joseph. In his apartment. Colette told me I could go to him — something about a Ferry — these guys are after me. I think they know about me. About what I can do." Pant, pant. He's winding down, catching his breath but still quiet, almost as if he's afraid of someone hearing him. "I think they got him. I don't know — I made it up but I don't know what's happening — he said I should call you. That you would know who to talk to."

Abigail, a long time ago, walking into a situation that involved a fake Russian janitor and being told that so and so had contacted them. "Colette? Jose.. Pastor Sumter?" 1:30 am sucks for cognitive thinking.

"Yeah, he's a pastor at some church — something with a Light, he said. We talked a little on the way over here. I think he's hit — he was bleeding — I dunno how they caught up with us. They must've been listening." Whisper, whisper. Danko taps his gloved thumb idly alongside the notepad, grey eyes falling flat upon the nearest statuette staring sightlessly after him. "I gotta get out've here."

"Guiding Light" Crap, did she even have the numbers here. "Where are you now sir, or is there a place that someone can meet you?" Abigails waking up fully, getting out of her bed and stumbling around her childhood room to find a desk and paper and her purse to get her little phonebook out.

"I'm in Joseph's apartment. I locked the door but I don't want to stay here and I think Sumter needs some serious help." Oh, the humanity. Danko rolls his eyes, pen dropped so that he can start to set the phone down next to it. "I think — I think someone's coming." The receiver is thudded down onto the counter with excessive force, and he's back to jumping again. It's a practiced manuever, eyes the color of wet ash turned up on the ceiling while he counts. Fifteen, sixteen. He's breathless again by the time the receiver is back at his ear.

"I saw some kind of Billiards place on the way over — there's a fire escape close by. I think I can reach it, if I jump."

"Pastor Sumter will be fine, sir. What's your name?" Her breath held while he's away, dropped the phone. But then he's back. "Fat Cat's" Abby knows her neighborhood. "Don't go there. Go to Old Lucy's, wait in the Alley, I'll see… who can be rustled up to help you sir. I'm not at home" She won't say where she is. "But leave Pastor Sumter apartment and head off to there. The bar is closed, but.. but I'll do my best" Abigail tries hard to remain calm, her voice pitched low so that it doesn't wake her mother in the other room. Her father, it's fine, he knows somewhat of what she does. "can you do that Sir?"

"Charlie," says Danko. Charlie sounds like the name of an endearing kind of guy. He looks to his watch next. No need to write down Old Lucy's. He's already pretty intimately familiar with the location. "My name is Charlie. I can…I think I can get there on foot. Just — don't leave Sumter hanging ok? Things are bad enough — "

"I won't, I promise" Abigail answers. "Do you have a cellphone Charlie?" hope against Hope.

"I dropped it when we were running. " Dismay crackles clear across the line, dried out to rock bottom. No Charlie does not have a cell phone. Not one that he wants the Ferrymen having the number of, at least. "I have a few quarters if there's a pay phone around Old Lucy's. I need to go, though. I think they know I'm in here."

"No pay phone there. Stick near the mouth of the alley, there's a dumpster there, you can stick to behind there. I'll see to someone getting to you. Tell me what you look like, what you're wearing real quick Charlie" She's got pen and paper herself.

"I — I'm wearing black. I have grey eyes — " BAM BAM BAM. Three concurrent slams echo across the line, like someone banging on the door. "I have to go. I have to go — Jesus Christ, they're coming in." Danko's voice fades with fear, like he's already reaching to drop the phone. And he is. The line goes dead after a hanging beat of terrible silence.

Notebook tucked away one last time, Danko gives the kitchen a final once over before he sets to dragging his balaclava back over the dome of his skull. This might turn out to be a more eventful night than he was expecting.

Abby hangs up the moment the call ends. By hanging up means hitting the little red phone button. Then the green one again as she dials 911. Her window is opened with one hand, shoved up and slippers on, she's quick to slip out it.

"911, This is Marsha, what is your emergency?"

Abigail's apologetic, worried, a whole host of emotions as she slips out into her yard, pacing to the tree line and looking back at the house. The situation with Joseph explained. She thinks someone broke in to a friends house in Manhattan, the address rattled off. He's apparently bad off, and he needs emergency medical help. After a request for someone to call her back at that number, and about twenty minutes has passed, Abigail hangs up and dials up Grace.

Time to disturb the voice ravaged woman and set them about to… rescuing "Charlie". There's no going back to sleep for her and even as she stares up at the crystal clear sky, each star seen in clarity, she's already trying to figure out whether she can justify heading home now, instead of taking Victor to New Orleans. Looking up also helps, a very little, to ease the tears threatening to fall.

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