Participants:
| Scene Title | The Writing in the Dust |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Preluded by a flashback, Amato basks in a victory as a defender of truth over the forces of evil as he percieves them. |
| Date | November 24, 2008 |
Anything dirty or dingy or dusty, anything ragged or rotten or rusty – trash is the property of no one and everyone at once. What is private inside one’s home becomes public when discarded in the bins in alleys and street-side cans.
With the latest version of what he affectionately refers to as Linderman’s List, half of Amato’s work was done for him. He knew what bins to investigate, what trash to pick through. Highlighted on the pages he carried with him, tucked into the inside pocket of the black leather coat he wore, are the names of Evolved individuals who share the same address.
Couples. Families.
Amato wore a pair of thin latex gloves as he handles the trash in the alleys and on the dimly lit residential sidewalks. It was an hour during which few living things are awake, save for the man shrouded in black and the rats that wait their turn in the bags and bins. Various things found their way into the plastic, sealable bags Amato had brought with him. Hair from a brush. The butt of a cigarette. A torn shirt. A bloody tissue. Finger and toenail clippings. Used cotton swabs and bandages. If one didn’t know better, they might have seen Amato as a vigilante investigator of some sort. What they wouldn’t know was that such a deduction is quite close to the truth.
For as specific as his work in each container of refuse is, Amato worked rather quickly. Before long, he was safely back in his Chinatown apartment, the various bags arranged by address on the table of his monastic quarters. There were seven piles in all.
How appropriate.
It takes an effort for Amato to dress himself in a way that will blend in easily with his surroundings when they don't consist of manicured streets, chapels, or libraries. The clothes he has donned for this particular evening are not too unlike those he wore when he decided to go bowling to catch, convict, and execute Cynthia Meyers. Faded jeans, a t-shirt under a striped button-up, leather jacket, and Converse sneakers are topped off by a run of gel through Amato's short blond hair.
The bar he wanders into it is on the fence as to which type of patron it wants to cater to. There is enough of a college crowd to warrant the news, but the décor is more suited to a dive. Amato's slightly rigid and erudite demeanor doesn't clash too horribly, and he is received by the bartender as amicably as anyone. The only thing that might set him apart from the other patrons who are gathering for happy hour is that he orders a bitter lime rather than any of the specials. His subsequent perching in one corner of the bar, physically separating himself from the other patrons and keeping his eyes on the televisions as the news titles begin to roll may not seem as odd as his choice of beverage – after all, he might simply be waiting for someone.
In a way, such an assumption is correct. Amato Salucci, seated in this particular establishment as Benjamin Sall, is waiting for Diane Rossotto and Greg Stark, the dynamic duo of the NY1 Evening News, as if they were expected, old friends coming to pay a call. So when their faces finally appear with their plastic smiles, the pseudo-American's lips curl into the faintest of smiles for the briefest of moments.
Of course their smiles hardly last, for what good news is there to report?
"Emergency switchboards were tied up for several hours earlier this evening as many citizens attempted to phone in reports and requests for ambulances across the city," Greg states in as calm yet compassionate a manner as he is able. The camera switches to footage undoubtedly taken from a helicopter apparatus of a building which has been reduced to rubble on a street of otherwise perfectly sound structures. "In Queens, the Jackson Building, a low-income tenement, no longer stands," Greg explains, "and while firemen and paramedics try to rescue the residents from the rubble, the police are trying to figure out what happened today at approximately two P.M. that caused the building to collapse. Witnesses on the scene reported that the building was one of the few in Queens that was in decent shape."
The camera switches again to several other scenes, one after the other: a brownstone with crime scene tape around it, and several apartment buildings out of which come paramedics carrying stretcher after stretcher, each with an ominous black bag. It is Diane who picks up the story now, her softer voice lending a much more empathetic quality to the tragic news. "Several other deaths and injuries occurred in various parts of the city, and because of their similar timeframes, The NYPD have not dismissed the possibility that the collapse of the Jackson Building may be related in some way. While clearing a scene and apparently attempting to ease the minds of concerned neighbors, one police officer is quoted as saying, 'We have seen stranger things.' Unfortunately, at this time we cannot give you any more information regarding these instances or the cause behind the Jackson Building's collapse, which is estimated to have claimed ten lives already. Many citizens suspect the involvement of the Evolved."
Amato wordlessly takes a sip of his drink, letting the biting beverage linger in his mouth before he forces it down his throat.
The camera shows a man in his forties who looks like any honest, blue-collar worker in the city might. The type across the bottom of the screen reveals his name to be Joe Ulson, Mechanic. There is a microphone in the corner of the screen, held by whoever Joe is looking at. After a moment of transfer delay, he can be heard. "I knew the people that lived there," he says, his voice hard and controlled, "I live right next door. They both were like that, you know? And there was yellin' today, right as I was getting' up. Wouldn't surprise me if they did it to ea-" But the interview is cut off when a police officer interrupts, politely yet firmly requesting that the gentlemen cease his conversation with the reporter and come with him.
“Of course, the NYPD is being very careful not to release information that might hinder their investigation,” Greg explains to fill the gap as he fills the screen once more. “Rest assured that we will keep you updated as we receive more facts concerning these tragic events.”
“In other news,” Diane segues with a smile born of pure professionalism, “President-Elect Rickham will be making a visit to New York City after the Thanksgiving holiday, but his itinerary is, at this time, unknown.”
Amato leans back in his chair with a small, satisfied smile on his face. It is amazing how volatile people are and how violently they react when shown the truth about their housemates. The truth is a dangerous thing that not all are prepared for, especially when the truth about them is simultaneously revealed.
It doesn’t really matter how it all went down, the details of it all. Who started the confrontation, who threw the first metaphorical (or actual) punch, who may have regretted or pleaded for mercy at the last moment.
There are no survivors when the wages of sin is death, and the sins themselves fall so easily into the deadly categories laid out by the early Catholic Church. Amato himself was lucky – had he only found venial sins, the execution of his provided revelations might not have been so dramatic and Shakespearian.
The only loose ends are those little notes, handwritten in block print on carefully trimmed pages that had once been library catalogue printouts using a simple, black round stick pen. Each was addressed and mailed to the now deceased individuals and described in vivid detail the sins which their housemates were guilty of. Sins against them. Sins against their family. Things only that guilty party would know. All were mailed from different drop-off mailboxes, but done in an organized way to ensure they would all arrive on the same day – today.
Yes, this went well.
Once the newscast ends and Amato finishes his drink, he leaves a tip beneath the glass and exits the now bustling nightspot, unbothered and unnoticed.
For the wizards to post to the news +bb:
Description of a portion of the NY1 Evening Newscast on 11/24/08
"Emergency switchboards were tied up for several hours earlier this evening as many citizens attempted to phone in reports and requests for ambulances across the city," Greg states in as calm yet compassionate a manner as he is able. The camera switches to footage undoubtedly taken from a helicopter apparatus of a building which has been reduced to rubble on a street of otherwise perfectly sound structures. "In Queens, the Jackson Building, a low-income tenement, no longer stands," Greg explains, "and while firemen and paramedics try to rescue the residents from the rubble, the police are trying to figure out what happened today at approximately two P.M. that caused the building to collapse. Witnesses on the scene reported that the building was one of the few in Queens that was in decent shape."
The camera switches again to several other scenes, one after the other: a brownstone with crime scene tape around it, and several apartment buildings out of which come paramedics carrying stretcher after stretcher, each with an ominous black bag. It is Diane who picks up the story now, her softer voice lending a much more empathetic quality to the tragic news. "Several other deaths and injuries occurred in various parts of the city, and because of their similar timeframes, The NYPD have not dismissed the possibility that the collapse of the Jackson Building may be related in some way. While clearing a scene and apparently attempting to ease the minds of concerned neighbors, one police officer is quoted as saying, 'We have seen stranger things.' Unfortunately, at this time we cannot give you any more information regarding these instances or the cause behind the Jackson Building's collapse, which is estimated to have claimed ten lives already. Many citizens suspect the involvement of the Evolved."
The camera shows a man in his forties who looks like any honest, blue-collar worker in the city might. The type across the bottom of the screen reveals his name to be Joe Ulson, Mechanic. There is a microphone in the corner of the screen, held by whoever Joe is looking at. After a moment of transfer delay, he can be heard. "I knew the people that lived there," he says, his voice hard and controlled, "I live right next door. They both were like that, you know? And there was yellin' today, right as I was getting' up. Wouldn't surprise me if they did it to ea-" But the interview is cut off when a police officer interrupts, politely yet firmly requesting that the gentlemen cease his conversation with the reporter and come with him.
“Of course, the NYPD is being very careful not to release information that might hinder their investigation,” Greg explains to fill the gap as he fills the screen once more. “Rest assured that we will keep you updated as we receive more facts concerning these tragic events.”
“In other news,” Diane segues with a smile born of pure professionalism, “President-Elect Rickham will be making a visit to New York City after the Thanksgiving holiday, but his itinerary is, at this time, unknown.”
 November 24th: Taken On Faith |
Previously in this storyline… Next in this storyline… |
 November 24th: Every Confidence |