Prodigal Son



Scene Title Prodigal Son
Synopsis A man of means and malice sets his eyes on New York.
Date June 22, 2010

Houston, Texas

The national headquarters of Lucid Consulting.

It’s searingly hot in Houston, gleaming glass and concrete giving off shimmering waves. The air in the private conference room (an oxymoron appropriate to the man whose it is) is nearly chilly, however. The vent system sends gentle ripples of cool air across numerous papers pinned to the walls with thumbtacks. Newspaper clippings, memos, written transcripts of conversations - this place is strewn with information, most of it tightly knitted blocks of text. Many bear post-it notes with large words written clearly in black marker, giving gists.

‘Vision Description – New York City’

‘Interview with Blackout sufferer - New York City’

‘New York Times – Initial Report’

‘Official Priliminary Investigation’

In the midst of the room stands a man of advanced years but remarkable vitality, his black hair silvering only in part, and generous where it has not been beaten back by the years. He wears an expensive, well tailored suit, custom made to fit. He’s not a tall man, nor broad, but he seems healthy, standing straight, his hands clasped behind him, nails cut short. His expression is serious, intent. His eyes, which rove across the across the fluttering papers in sharp cuts and at sharp angles, are bright yellow, like a cat’s.

- future date - authorities believe that - glimpses of the future? - construct a picture - a shattered mirror of what’s to come - New York - Manhattan reels - another Evolved catastrophe? - in the wake of the new, stricter policies -


Claudius Kellar closes his eyes. When he reopens them, they are a clear blue. He lifts a hand to his brow, and massages his high forehead. That was something of a strain, and he can feel it. He feels edgy, on the brink. He knows he saw something, but the shape isn’t full clear. He doesn’t know enough details.

But he does know one thing.

Outside, a young man at a desk, boyish faced, likely fresh out of his MBA, receives an intercom message. Line number 3 flashes. It’s. Mr. K. The man, an infant fresh from his alma mater, depresses the button and announces. “This is Eric Platsky. Mr. Kellar, sir?”

“Not busy?”

“No, sir.”

“Book me a flight to the New York branch.”

The newest acquisition? And in the middle of that insane, bombed out city?

“Round trip, sir?”

“No one else is in the room with you, correct?”

“Uh… no sir.”

“One way. Houston will remain headquarters, but I will conduct company business from New York for the foreseeable future.”

“Yes, sir.”

Foreseeable future. Claudius Kellar has to smile at his this turn of phrase he used. He’s liable to be punny after using his gift. Even verbal connections feel just a little clearer. The foreseen future is exactly what he’ll be collecting scraps of when he moves to New York. When he can get it all before him, who knows what he might see?

He’d best check that Platsky, the new personnel coordinator, was really alone in that room. That hesitation… he heard it. He should have someone check. Lying, if he was lying, was a sure sign of disloyalty, and that is one thing, after so many years of betrayal and persecution, Kellar cannot endure.

He’ll be on a plane soon. He’ll be coasting to a city that rejected him. The prodigal son is returning, ruins of fifth street. Cracked foundation of Wall Street. Shattered stock market.

The irony makes him grin.

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