Chapter Two

Many Meetings 

Aaron had not slept well the night before.

When he arrived at the hospital the next morning, he was more than a little irritable and bleary eyed, leading him to question himself on whether or not he was in any fit state to see a patient. If it had been any patient but Moses, Aaron would have been inclined to cancel his appointments for the day.  However, it was Moses and for reasons that made utterly no sense, he really did want to speak to the old man again. The conversation with Stuart lingered heavily in his mind and he wondered how would an obviously highly educated Medieval professor like Moses end up in the state he was in when the NYPD picked him up.

What could have happened to a man his age to create such a wall of defence against the truth?

Unfortunately, a good many things could have happened. Amnesia was a symptom of terrible trauma in a person’s past, an incident to morally and physically repulsive that the only way the mind could cope with it was to block it out entirely. It was particularly common in child abuse cases, especially the ones where the victims repressed the memory when they grow into adulthood.  The usual recourse in those instances was to use hypno therapy, to draw the truth their minds in the dream state.

Aaron knew that if Moses’ therapy did not improve he would have to resort to such methods.  It would be a still last ditch effort of course since other he had yet to explore other avenues of treatment.  For the first time since he had been a psychiatrist at the hospital, Aaron wanted to follow this patient’s progress all the way to its end.  Usually the extent of his involvement was to conduct an evaluation where he would diagnose the patient’s problem before recommending transfer to another facility or to another doctor who could provide more in depth treatment for the specific malady.

It was not unusual for Aaron to allow his feelings to cloud his judgement and though it was a practise generally discourages by most of the medical profession, Aaron felt it was necessary to his being a better doctor.  How could he help a patient if he could not even empathise with him on some level? Yet it was more than that with Moses. Aaron wanted to help the man, in fact he felt rather compelled to do everything in his power to draw Moses from the mental limbo the old man found himself trapped.  The night before had seen him plagued with odd dreams he could not remember but was almost certain Moses was apart.

When he had left the night before he had ordered Moses’ dosage of Thorazine reduced so that he could tell first hand what kind of symptoms the old man was suffering.  He had been left in one of the evaluation rooms where his behaviour could be closely monitored during the night.  Before his session with Moses began, Aaron watched the tapes and observed that without the medication, Moses began hallucinating, carrying on conversations in a language he could not identify, that could have been Eastern European for all he knew with person or persons only he could see.  The words were hard to discern because the language was unknown to her but it was apparent that Moses was suffering a range of emotions from agitation to outright fear.

When he became too violent for his own good, the doctor on duty sensibly prescribed the medication once more since enough had been recorded for Aaron to make his evaluation.  Aaron took a copy of the tape in the hopes of determining what language Moses was speaking in, if at all it was a language.  Some schizophrenics could develop a language of their own that sounded like gibberish to everyone else.  Gibberish or not, the content of the conversation seemed to upset Moses considerably, even if to Aaron’s ears it sounded somewhat one sided.

 “You appear as if you need more sleep than I,” Moses remarked, raising a bushy brow in accusation as they sat across each other once again when the session was finally underway.

Aaron rubbed the grainy feeling out of his eyes and regarded Moses once more, “probably.  I had a strange night.”

“Really?” Moses eased back into his seat. “Perhaps we ought to be changing places,” he remarked with a hint of teasing.

“I like the view from here,” Aaron replied. “How are you feeling today?”

“These potions you have been filling my veins allow me little recourse but to feel sluggish and complacent. I do not like how they feel.”

“I am sorry about that,” the doctor retorted automatically, “however, you’re not exactly on your best behaviour without them.”

“Did you ever think that without them I might think more clearly?” Moses pointed out.

“I think we need to know why you can’t remember anything first before I start gambling on what you will and won’t do,” Aaron said pointedly.  “I don’t really want to keep you in a straight jacket to keep you from hurting yourself or anyone else.”

Moses frowned, a loud huffing noise that was only common to ornery old people who thought that the price of everything was too high and young people in general should stop playing loud music and get hair cuts.  “You do make a convincing argument though I remember little of what happened the night before,” Moses said unhappily.

“What do you remember?” Aaron leaned forward, asking.

“Fear,” Moses replied shortly. “I remember fear, feeling it in my throat and lungs, as if it was something I had fallen into and could not escape.  It was very unpleasant.”

”I imagine it would be,” Aaron replied, trying to sound sympathetic. “You seemed to have conversations with people we couldn’t see. Do you remember anything about that?”

Moses fell silent for a moment, gazing at Aaron with a strange sort of look.  For a moment, Aaron actually thought that the old man might have remembered something but the blank mask fell over his face again and he shook his head, “nothing. I remember nothing except that I feel these people.  There are times when they are close enough to grasp in my mind but it slips away.” He looked up at Aaron and declared, “I am too old to be this forgetful.  When one reaches this age, what else is there but the memories? If I do not have those then it is better to be dead.”

His eyes clouded with emotion and Aaron knew Moses was at the limits of his emotional restraint.  He was right, a man Moses age should at least be left the memories of a life lived so long.  It did not seem fair and Aaron wanted badly to regain that much for him, if nothing else.  “We’ll find them Moses, I promise you that.  It won’t be easy and it won’t be overnight but we will find out what happened to your life.”

Moses regarded his words and smiled at the sincere honesty in his claim and offered softly, “I am strangely encouraged by that claim.”

“You should be,” Aaron grinned, sitting back in his chair. “I don’t make it often.”

“So now what do we do?” Moses replied, the moment passing to something a little less emotional, which suited both doctor and patient well.

We’ll continue with the therapy,” Aaron replied, “but for the moment, I found out what Thorongil means.”

“Thorongil?” Moses stared at him as if he had forgotten the strange name that he called Aaron during their first session.

“Yes you called me that remember?” Aaron gave him a look before continuing, wondering why Moses suddenly sounded uncomfortable about uttering that word.

“I am not about to argue you with my doctor,” Moses deadpanned with a hint of sarcasm. “Please, I bid you to continue since you are obviously bursting with enthusiasm to tell me what you have learnt.”

“Since you asked so nicely,” Aaron answered with similar sentiment. “It appears that Thorongil was the name of a king in some obscure myth connected to the Arthur legends. It’s believed that it was the origin for Arthur’s own history. There’s almost no information available about the character other than this and what has been recorded was handed down from myths that predate the dark ages. It’s not the kind of thing that one would know unless you were into medieval folklore at an academic level. I think you might have been some kind of history expert in this field.”

“Arthur was nothing but a mere warlord,” Moses declared crustily, “one who broke the cardinal rule when possessing a beautiful wife.”

“Like what?” Aaron stared at him.

“Never leave your beautiful wife in the company of an equally beautiful best friend,” Moses said with a smile, “invariably it will always end badly.”

“I won’t argue with you there,” Aaron chuckled, finding Moses’ view of historical figures very amusing if somewhat cynical. “What about you Moses, do you think you have a wife waiting for you somewhere?”

“No,” he replied with surprising firmness.

“You sound pretty certain about that,” the doctor pointed out. “You can’t remember what you did a week ago, you shouldn’t discount the possibility.”

“I do not have a wife,” Moses repeated himself with more than a set to his jaw. “I am sure of this if nothing else.”

Aaron took note of that.  Obviously he remembered some things even if he did not wish to speak of them.  It could be just an intuition but it gave Aaron hope enough to believe that Moses’ past was not as shut off from the rest of his mind as they had previously believed.

“May I ask you something Doctor Stone?” Moses spoke up suddenly, interrupting Aaron’s note taking.

“Sure, go ahead,” Aaron replied, still fixated on his observations of the session. 

“I notice that the other patients who came in at the same time as I have since been transferred elsewhere,” the old man looked at Aaron with deep scrutiny. “I heard one of the nurses talking.  Apparently, I should have been moved to another location but I still remain here, undiagnosed. Is that normal?”

Aaron raised his eyes to the patient and lowered his pencil, “no, it isn’t. I suppose I could make a quick evaluation and send you on your way but I’m almost certain that deeming you’re a schizophrenic or someone with bipolar disorder is incorrect. You have suffered some kind of trauma and your symptoms are a direct relation to that event, whatever it is.  I believe if I can find out what event it was that forced you to block out those memories, you’ll be on the road to recovery.  If I have to, I’ll keep you here as a patient exclusively under my care.”

“Am I to be your pet project then?” Moses asked but there was no trace of hostility in his voice, merely amusement.

”Something like that,” Aaron replied, “its what I get for being a bachelor with no family to take up my time. It just means I get to occupy myself with the really peculiar patients.”

Aaron knew he was becoming too personal with this patient even though he had only seen the man twice. However, something about Moses struck a chord in him, something familiar he could not explain and until he understood why this empathy to a near complete stranger had suddenly developed, he would keep Moses close at hand.  An intuition he could not explain any more than the rest of it told him that there was more going on that he could possibly imagine.

Or wanted to imagine.

*************

Eve needed a drink.

She did not indulge often and certainly not whilst on duty but she had just delivered the news to a pregnant wife that her husband was fished out of a river, murdered.  Something like was more than enough to penetrate even Eve’s well-maintained mask of professional indifference.   Standing at the bar from the corner of the new widow’s home,  Eve’s hands were trembling a little as she raised the mug of beer to her lips.  The other officers who had accompanied her on this duty had gone on their way after Eve feigned some excuse to get away from them so that she could take a few minutes to compose herself.

As the lead officer in the investigation, it had been her duty to stand before Mrs. Falstaff and explain to the woman that her husband was dead and then have to launch into the unfortunate circumstance of how that end had come to pass.  Sometimes Eve hated her ability to notice everything because she surely did not need to notice Mrs. Falstaff face shifting from denial, to horror and finally to grief in a flash of an instant. Eve knew she would be hearing the woman’s tears for quite some time.  It was not the first time Eve had been required to perform such a task and it certainly would not be the last but she could not detach herself from their pain when she understood it all to well.

Eve had lost her brother n the line of duty and knew the price that came with the badge. However, that did not prevent her from missing him dearly because the badge did not make the pain any less, just tolerable.  She took a few greedy gulps of beer and felt it settle into her stomach, taking the edge of her mental state.  She barely drained half the mug before pushing it away.  She was still on duty and now that the unpleasant task of informing the wife was over, it was now time to talk to Falstaff’s employer, the famous John Malcolm.

Like every other person in the city, Eve knew who John Malcolm was. 

Although reclusive, Malcolm was undoubtedly one of New York’s elite, not simply because he was one of the richest men in the world but also because he was the sole heir of America’s most elusive dynasties. The Malcolms were fiercely private, having learnt from the experiences of the Kennedy’s that being known or treated like royalty was not always such a good thing.  Since their arrival in New York from Europe following the Civil War in the 1860’s, the family had built itself an impressive business empire because it seemed to escape the dynastic trait of one generation being lesser than the other.  All the Malcolm’s born were strong and capable of taking the family fortune to the next level with their business acumen.  The latest Malcolm was no different.

After leaving the bar in a more composed state then when she had entered it, Eve slipped into her car and drove into town.  It took her almost an hour to weave through the traffic to find herself at the imposing structure that was the Malcolm building.  Although she had seen it in the distance on almost a daily basis, it was the first time she had stepped onto the actual premises itself.  Staring at the building for a few minutes she could understand, now more than ever why it was called the Monolith.   A cold shudder, she could not explain, suddenly ran through her as she took in the sight of the imposing building.  For an absurd moment, Eve found herself thinking it looked almost sinister, if not evil.

It made no sense but as she entered the main entrance of the building and identified herself to the front desk manned by security guards, she could not shake the feeling of uneasiness.  As Eve had made her appointment with Malcolm almost as soon as she had learnt that Falstaff was working for him, there was no reason for her to wait and Eve was promptly allowed to go on her way.  Upon stepping into the lift that would take her to penultimate floor where Malcolm’s office was known to be, Eve felt her inside hollowing with dread.

What was happening to her? Suddenly it felt as if there was not enough space around her and the need to start pounding at the doors to get out became damn near overwhelming.  Something was wrong. She could feel it in every fibre of her being but it made no sense. The sensation was so unpleasant that Eve was almost on the urge of being physically ill.  She could feel its cold tendrils wrapping itself around her spine when the doors slide open after a gradual slowing.  Eve almost bolted past the doors to get out and for a few seconds after the lift had closed and went on its way, she stood in the narrow corridor leading to Malcolm’s office and composed her.

Her hands were shaking and this time it was not from delivering some unpleasant news to a widow, it was because for that brief time inside that lift car, she had felt genuine terror. She could not understand why she would feel that way. She was a cop for God’s sake!  She had been in life threatening situations before and none of it had caused the level of anxiety she felt during those few minutes she spent inside that lift.  Eve steadied her racing pulse, trying to crush the unsteadiness she felt because now was not the time for such weaknesses.  John Malcolm was waiting and Eve was determined to get her answers.

Entering the small door at the end of the corridor, she found herself in what appeared to the workspace of John Malcolm’s secretary.  The décor of the room was in vibrant reds and the colour seemed to be tasteful thought it could have been easily garish. There was a huge set of doors behind the woman’s desk and Eve assumed that led to John Malcolm’s office.  The rest of the walls were coloured in shades of red earth surrounded the black marble floor and with the cherry wood furniture, the woman seated behind the desk seemed almost as vibrant as the room.  She was a stunning red headed beauty, impeccably dressed in a suit and Eve wondered rather snidely, whether she was an actual secretary or a playmate.  Her image certainly did not promote the belief that her best talents were typing.

“Can I help you?” The woman said smoothly with a clearly Bostonian accent.

“I’m Detective Eve McCaughley,” Eve produced her badge.  “I believe Mr. Malcolm is expecting me?”

The woman’s gaze swept over her and Eve had the distinct impression that she was being scrutinized deeply.  “This way please,” the secretary remarked as she led Eve to the doors.

Eve followed her closely, taking time to observe her surroundings and could not help feeling that there was something very wrong with this place.  Still she was grateful that the sensation assailing her in the lift was gone for the moment.  She wanted to be in full control of her faculties when she finally met Mr. Malcolm.

He was waiting for her on the sofa suite he had in his office, having ready himself for the meeting the instant it had been announced that she would be coming. Eve thought as she was introduced to the man. Her first impressions were that the magazine pictures did not do John Malcolm justice. He looked spectacularly good for a man in his late forties and Eve could just imagine society debutante’s jockeying for position to claim this most eligible bachelor.  Physical appearances aside, Eve could feel the man’s presence even in something as innocents as an introduction but once again her instincts told her almost immediately that she could not trust him.

“I checked up on you, you know Detective McCaughley,” Malcolm said with a smile after they were settled and Eve was furnished with a glass of water provided by the departed Ms. Carmichael, Malcolm’s secretary.

“Understandable,” Eve replied. “I would be surprised if a man in your position, didn’t.”

He raised a brow, seeming very impressed by that statement, “I am glad that we understand each other on this level.”

“I understand that it is necessary for a man in your position to check my credentials and the validity of intention to see you.  However, I hope you understand that I have questions for you that are not meant to be invasive, just necessary for the investigation,” Eve replied just as politely before she turned on a tape recorder.

“I appreciate your candour detective,” Malcolm answered unperturbed by the recording device. “Naturally I am very sorry to hear what happened to Richard.  He was my senior accountant for over three years, and was very reliable and ordered. Just the kind of person you would depend on to manage your finances.”

Eve absorbed his words for a moment before asking again, “when was the last time you saw Mr. Falstaff?”

“I think it was five days ago,” Malcolm responded. “You must understand that Richard worked downstairs and unless he had a problem with our finances or some matter that needed to be discussed with me, I would not have seen him.”

“Fair enough,” Eve nodded in understanding.  Malcolm was the CEO of a conglomerate and it was perfectly reasonable that he would not have frequent contact with his employees, especially since he ruled his kingdom from these lofty heights.  “Is there someone I can talk to about finding out when was the last time he was seen at work?”

“As a matter of fact, I took the liberty of gathering that information for you,” Malcolm replied, handing her a folder that had been splayed before them on the coffee table.  “You will have all the details of who was the last to see Richard, what time he was seen departing the office, even access with the building’s security tapes if you like.”

“Thank you very much,” Eve said graciously but she did not like the fact that he was feeding her all this information.  She would have preferred to interview these people before someone else had reached them and quite possibly coached them into conforming their statements to what was in these nicely typed pages.

“You are of course free to talk to anyone of them,” Malcolm continued speaking. “Trust me Detective, I want to find Richard’s killer.”

I’m sure you do, Eve thought sceptically.  She knew she was being cynical, that it was entirely possible that Malcolm was just trying to be helpful but instinct told her that he was hiding something.  Unfortunately, she had no way of proving it without further investigation and Eve had a feeling that Malcolm was a man who knew how to keep secrets.

“I would like to see Mr. Falstaff’s office?” Eve asked instead.

“Certainly,” he replied just as amicably, “however, I thought that this was just a mugging.”

Eve’s mask of calm held as she answered, “it was made to look like a mugging but it’s clearly an execution style murder.  He was shot in the face at point blank rage.  His jewellery was taken and his wallet stolen to ensure that we’d think it was a robbery.  Mr. Falstaff did not appear to be the kind of man who would give a mugger much difficulty and a mugger would not have taken the time to drag the body to the river. His first instinct would have been to run.  Mr. Falstaff was dumped in the river to destroy any physical evidence we may find. It was premeditated and according to someone’s agenda so if you please, I’d like to see his office.  It may have a clue as to a motive.”

She had hoped her words would have rattled him a little but Malcolm seemed to take what she said with understanding, “I must say Detective McCaughley, I am impressed. No doubt with you on the case, it will be only a matter of time before Richard’s murderer will be found.”

”It is my job to notice the details,” Eve replied, not at all swayed by his compliments because there were criminals who thought stroking a cop’s ego could deflect suspicion from himself or herself and Eve was used to those too.

Eve gave Malcolm a polite show of thanks before Ms Carmichael showed her out of the office and pointed her in the direction of the names on the list Malcolm had given them.  Although it as more or less a foregone conclusion that she would find nothing more than what was in their typed statements, Eve felt compelled to try nonetheless.   She even braved using the lift again and while the sensation was not so thick this time, she could not help experiencing the same feelings of dread once again.  Eve did not know what was wrong with her and was starting to think she might be developing latent symptoms of claustrophobia when she realised that the feeling had only climaxed inside the lift. 

It had started when she was staring at the building from the outside.

*************

This journey was becoming more than anything they had imagined.

Whilst they remained on the familiar territory of the western sea, they had felt relatively in control of their circumstances, However, they began to see more and more things that were beyond their comprehension as they slipped further from the reach of Valinor and the familiar mists they had crossed to emerge into the world.  As they sailed further and further from the cold seas where the water was warmer and the waves less turbulent, they began to see other sailing vessels.  Caution forced them to keep their distance but the encounters indicated that the race of men had clearly evolved from the time of the elves departure from Middle earth.  Whether or not this evolution was good or bad, was still a matter of debate.

At first they could not conceive of the thing being a sailing vessel for it had no mast to speak of and it was made of iron.  The size of it was enormous beyond belief.  Legolas did not think that they were cities as large as the craft that lumbered through waves, somehow managing to remain above the water instead of sinking as something that size should.  It moved by means a mechanical keel at the rear, thrashing rapids of foam behind it as it journeyed westward.  In comparison, the craft they occupied was practically dwarfish and it was wise to keep a distance from it because it could easily crush them without being aware of it.   There was something about its construction, all that dark iron that inspired in the elves the dark memories of Angband and Melkor’s Iron fortress.

However, the steel beast made no effort to accost them, merely continuing through the ocean, oblivious to the vessel whose awe it had captured for a time.  It was certainly not the first of these vessels that the elves would see as they continued their journey and as they came closer to their destination, they saw the frequency of such crafts increasing in number.  Not all of them were like the steel behemoth they had seen but their construction was mostly steel which confused the elves.  It seemed like such a heavy material to construct a sea going vessel with.  Wood was so much lighter and simpler for that matter.  However, very little about the race of men was simple, even in the days of Middle earth.

Sometimes, they heard noises in the sky and they would see what appeared to be a mighty winged bird soaring through the clouds, though its construct was once again of steel.  The elves began to wonder what was this worship of iron that inspired men to create everything from it.  The sound of it moving through the air was like a low rumble of thunder and the speed in which it crossed the sky would have put even the great eagles to shame. Legolas doubted that even Thorondor could match the swiftness of the iron denizen moving above them. While some of these things were to be marvelled at, others concerned Legolas greatly.  It was clear the world of men had changed far beyond anything they had ever conceivably dreamed. 

His suspicion was well founded it seemed because no sooner than they caught sight of land in the far distance, they were approached by a vessel of similar size on a bearing of intercept. Legolas would have preferred not to engage anyone until they had found Mithrandir but the vessel gave them no choice. It too was crafted of iron and it was capable of sinking them with ease it chose to ram them. As it approached, a voice materialized out of thin air, speaking a language that none of them could understand.  Legolas had believed that they would be able to converse with the race of men in Westernese at least but the language spoken had none of the finesse of Gondor or any of the kingdoms Legolas had known of Middle earth.

“They mean to board us,” Elladan had declared as the craft closed the distance between us.

“I do not wish to place my fate in the hands of men at this time,” Elrohir declared hotly.  “We have no idea what has happened to them since our departure.”

“I do not think we have a choice in this matter. They appear to be coming aboard, whether or not we give them our consent. Quickly, cover your ears, they do not need know that we are not one of them,” Legolas declared grimly as he stared across the bow at the fast approaching vessel.  Adjusting their hair somewhat, they effectively disguised their ears before they were boarded.

“You do not mean for us to go with them, surely?” Elrohir stared at him once they were ready.

“I think perhaps we should see what their intentions are before we assume the worst.  A great deal has changed since our departure. We know nothing of men or their ways.  Perhaps it is best that we adhere to their ministrations for the time being.”

“They are using sorcery,” Elrohir reminded them. “A voice spoke to us out of nothingness!”

“I have seen steel birds that fly, ships as large as cities that could not possibly float in the past few days.  I do not know how much of it is science and how much of it is invention.  From my association with Gimli, I can tell you that dwarfs could build devices that were truly amazing.  We have been away for almost a hundred millennia, what we perceive as sorcery could simply be their more elaborate creations,” Legolas offered. His reasoning was based on the lack of danger he sensed from the approaching craft.  If they were creatures of darkness meaning to harm Legolas and his companions, the elves would have surely felt it by now. As it stood, they did not feel anything sinister from the approaching humans, just a need to be cautious.

“I must agree with Legolas brother,” Elladan weighed in.  “We should see what they wish of us before we act.  For all we know, we may have simply wandered into their territory without permission.”

“True,” Legolas had not thought of that.

Thranduil had almost been fanatical about ensuring that Eryn Lasgalen was free of trespassers before the days of Sauron’s destruction.  With Dol Guldur sitting at the edge of Mirkwood, such measures had been necessary to protect his people.  Legolas did not know any kingdom that did not protect its borders in some way. Perhaps that was what was transpiring here.  If so, then Legolas hoped a simple request to travel the Sunlands was all that was necessary because despite his efforts to be reasonable, the Prince of Mirkwood was allowing nothing to stop him from finding Mithrandir.

The vessel eventually came to a halt of their bow and Legolas, Elladan and Elrohir had a closer view of the vessel. Though it was fast descending into evening, the ship was adorned with a myriad of lights of that did not appear to be generated by flame.  It reminded of the light that Mithrandir was able to cast from his staff during their travels in Moria.  Once again, that strange voice spoke to them and its intensity indicated to Legolas that it was a warning.  The elves were unable to answer and decided that the best course of action was to try and respond, hoping that perhaps (though highly unlikely) that someone on board may be able to understand elvish.

While it did not appear that the new arrivals understood a word they said, the fact that Legolas had spoken in a language they did not understand seemed to diffuse the situation slightly.  The humans boarded wearing their strange clothes and carrying oddly shaped pieces of metal at their hip, where swords should have been worn.  They overtook the elven ship like a swarm of locust, examining every corner of the craft and grew more confused at every discovery made. 

“I do not like those things they are pointing at us,” Elrohir replied as a number of the humans surrounded them, pointing the strange metal objects in their direction.

“Is that a weapon?” Elladan asked, noticing their speech was raising more brows from their captors.

“I would say that it is,” Legolas remarked, more curious by them then he was actually afraid.  “Notice they are all from  different races of men?”

“Yes,” Elrohir nodded. “These are of Westernese, Haradirim and Sunlands.  Perhaps they have finally matured enough to unite into one people.”

“Or one has conquered the others,” Elladan pointed out.

“They have women among them,” Legolas pointed out, noticing that one of the searchers ransacking their ship was female.   “If this is a combat vessel, why do they have women on board?”

It was a question no one could answer through lack of knowledge or of language.  The searchers continued working for another hour or so before the leader among attempted to communicate.  The man was tall and reminded Legolas a little of Boromir. Certainly, he had the man of Gondor’s gruff manner.   He was by the look of him an experienced man of the sea for his hands and his sun-dried skin bore the marks of an experienced mariner.

He tried speaking to them for a few minutes but the language was so foreign to anything that Legolas knew, that his words sounded like gibberish. Legolas who was one of the last to leave Middle earth felt somewhat ludicrous because he should have been able to understand the man on some level. However, a hundred thousand years had ensured that any means of communication between the elves and their human captors was impossible.  When it was clear that no headway was going to be made in understanding each other, the leader ordered them off their craft into the his own.

 They went without incident, taking note that their ship was being towed instead of being destroyed, as they had feared.  The inside of the human craft was an odd construct of steel, wood and other materials that Legoals could not identify.  They were locked in a room shortly after boarding and if it were a dungeon then it was the cleanest one they had ever seen.  While they were concerned at their situation, they were still fascinated by the strange objects that filled their prison.  In particular a receptacle whose only purpose could have been sanitary and how efficiently the device worked, not to mention a twist of the handle could produce fresh, clean water into a ceramic basin.  The water was unlike that drawn from rivers without silt, sediment and clear as if drawn from the cleanest pool in Valinor. As Legolas tried some of it, he could tell immediately that it was treated with something but not poisonous. 

“What is that?” Legolas asked when he emerged from the cubicle and saw Elladan staring at a strange box with a glass face.

“I do not know,” Elladan replied, running his hands over the dark finish.  “I can see no purpose for it.”

“What are those things on the front?” Elrohir asked as he sat on the bed, wanting to be anywhere but indoors.  The elf had taken to staring longingly at the sea and sky beyond it.

Elladan ran his fingers experimentally over the largest one and pushed. The sudden sound it made, not to mention the image that suddenly appeared on the glass sent all three elves retreating backward, startled.

“Palantir!” Elrohir declared as the three elves stared mesmerized at the image appearing before them. 

“That is not a seeing stone,” Legolas replied. “I have seen them and I know they do not look like that.”

“Whare are we seeing?” Elladan asked as they watched the moving pictures before them.  A shapely young woman was running across a shore, wearing almost nothing.  The image of her seemed to be moving slowly, allowing them to be afforded a very aspect of her body’s movement as she leapt into the ocean.

“That is not decent,” Elrohir declared. “She was almost naked!”

“I knew men had a capacity for decadence but this is debauched,” Elladan remarked as the woman swam through the water, the pictures showing her progress from beneath the waves. 

”And yet you two have not moved your eyes away from her,” Legolas offered with a smug smile.

“Is this sorcery Legolas?” Elladan asked after a moment.  “I know of only seeing stones that can produce visions like this.”

“It could be,” Legolas hesitated to respond.   “Yet they have treated us with surprising courtesy even if they have taken our ship.  I do not know what to make of them or their intentions.”

“Legolas we cannot remain in their custody,” Elrohir said seriously. “As well as they have treated us so far, we do not know their intentions.”

“I agree,” Legolas nodded after a moment. “I think we should wait until darkness before we make our bid to escape.  I would prefer to do it when we are close enough to port so they cannot pursue us into shallow water.  We will need to go to our own vessel to retrieve our weapons and the gold we need to trade.”

“Are we even certain that they still use gold?” Elladan said dubiously as he cast his gaze over the room.  “They seemed to have a preference for iron.”

“We have to take the chance that gold is not out of fashion. In any case, we do not have a choice, its all we have,” Legoals sighed.

Their escape was relatively simple because their captors had no idea what they were about and were unable to ascertain the level of danger they posed.  When the craft neared the shoreline in the dead of night, a ruse of shouts had brought one of their guards into their makeshift prison to investigate.  After that it was a simple matter of elven skill and agility to overpower him and make their way to their own vessel.  It would not take long for the humans to discover their departure for their escape plan was not elaborate enough to prevent that.  Stealing onto the grey ship following their escape, the elves retrieved what they needed and then paddled to the shore with a canoe. 

They were almost to the shore when their escape was discovered and by the time the humans had mobilised enough to follow them in pursuit, they were able to lose themselves in darkness and the trees that waited them beyond the shore.  Even in this strange world, the forest were the same and they were each experienced woodsmen who knew how to lose conceal themselves when the need took them. In the dead of night, they were able to cover much ground, following the stars that they had been instructed to lead them to Mithrandir.

“The air smells foul,” Elladan remarked as they made their way through the dark woods.

“It reminds me of the scent of Mordor,” Legolas remembered how the air had smelled when they had stood at the Black Gates during the last days in the War of the Ring.  It was heavy with ash and other things that he could not identify.  While this was nowhere as bad, it did not smell like fresh air and deepened Legolas’ concern at what other changes had taken place in the world of men since their departure.  

“Those who visited these lands after the last of us had left Middle earth said that there was some sort of dark age,” Elladan replied, “perhaps the loss of Westernese is because of that.”

“It is possible,” Legolas could not deny the Prince of Imladris’ claim. 

After many centuries remaining in Valinor after his own arrival, some of the elves had decided to explore the world beyond, to see what had become of the Middle earth in the wake of their departure.  They brought back stories of Gondor’s demise that many of the kingdoms of men had fallen into ruin and that humans were scrambling to survive with stone tools and none of the craft the elves had taught them since their emergence at Hildorien. It was like listening to the news that a beloved child had died.  It had not only broken his heart but those who had counted men as trusted friends and allies. 

Legolas remembered his own anguish thinking of how hard Aragorn had fought to build something great, to reunify Middle earth so that all would prosper.  To know that all of it would crumble into darkness the way Beleriand had sunk into sea would have broken the proud spirit of his noble friend. Legolas was rather grateful that Aragorn was not alive to see it.

“They will be searching for us,” Elrohir commented over his shoulder at the path they had taken through the woods.

“I do not doubt that,” Legolas said shortly, determined to go on despite the risks.

“Legolas, this quest of ours may not be possible,” Elladan declared. “We thought the terrain would be unfamiliar but this is beyond us.  We cannot make our way in this world without being noticed. You saw how they looked at us.  If we did not conceal our ears when they found us, I doubt our escape would have been as easy as it was.”

“Do you think I do not know that?” Legolas stared at him. “However, we cannot stop until we find Mithrandir, not merely for his sake but ours.  Do you think they will simply let us go if we chose to turn back? If there is one thing that remains constant in the race of man it is their propensity to fear what they do not understand.  There has been nothing like us in their presence for centuries, if we were to reveal ourselves and what we are, none of us will leave this place. If Mithrandir is still alive, then he will be able to help us leave.”

Elladan or Elrohir did not speak because for the first time ever, Legolas had said if Mithrandir was alive.

**********

Aaron had seen his last patient for the day and was looking forward to having a quiet night at home when he heard a knock on his office door.  Glancing at the clock and taking note of the time, the healer wondered who would be calling on him in the evening.  The lack of sleep the night before was catching up on him and Aaron was looking forward to getting a good night’s sleep.  He hoped whatever business his late caller had would not take too long and called out for them to enter the office.  He had expected to see a colleague or a nurse coming through the door with some new problem that could not wait, however, instead of either, a woman in a smart business suit and brief case stood before him.

The tall blond woman was of an older vintage but that did not change the fact that she was still a spectacular beauty who was had the look of a lawyer or someone affiliated with the corporate world. She offered him a smile as she entered the room, her hand extended in a gesture of greeting and yet Aaron could tell that like the rest of her persona, was an image manufactured for the purpose. 

“Doctor Stone, I’m pleased to meet you,” she replied as they exchanged handshakes. “My name is name is Sandra Collins, I am an associate of Mr. John Malcolm of Malcolm Industries.”

“I know who he is,” Aaron returned, somewhat confused at why the woman was here. “What can I do for you?”

“May we sit down?” She asked politely.

Aaron saw no reason to deny the request. He was still rather puzzled at why someone from Malcolm Industries would wish to see him but supposed that she would state her business eventually. 

“So what is this about Ms Collins?” Aaron asked once they were settled in.

“I understand you are treating the man who caused a disruption at our premises two nights ago?” She asked gingerly.

“Yes I am,” Aaron nodded and wondered what her interest in Moses was and also noted that she knew perfectly well that he was treating the old man since she had come all the way from Monolith to talk to him. “He is still undergoing evaluation,” he answered.

“I have been instructed by Mr. Malcolm to provide the best care possible for Mr..?” She gazed at Aaron for a name.

“We don’t know who he is yet,” Aaron explained somewhat surprised by the interest a corporate giant like John Malcolm was showing Moses especially when Moses considered the Monolith something of an ominous presence, “I am calling him Moses for the moment.”

“How sweet of you,” she smiled and once again Aaron was struck by how devoid it was of any real warmth or emotion for that matter.   “I see he is in the best hands possible.  Mr Malcolm however, would like to offer financial assistance for any medical expenses ‘Moses’ may incur and perhaps facilitate his transfer to a private sanatorium where he can be afforded proper treatment.”

“He is being afforded proper treatment here,” Aaron declared somewhat annoyed by the insinuation that Moses was languishing under his care with treatment akin to leeches and shock therapy,  “I am treating him.”

“I meant no offence of course,” she apologised quickly, trying to compensate for the slight.  “However, your role here if I understand it is to simply evaluate the patients for transfer to other facilities for specific care. You are not meant to have patients of your own as such”

“You understand it correctly,” Aaron answered, becoming more annoyed by the minute at this woman’s presumptions. It was irregular for him to keep patients here to treat himself, irregular but not impossible.  To keep him on staff, the hospital administrator was more than willing to extend him some liberties, especially since he was willing to practise his craft in a hospital and not some expensive practice somewhere. “However, I do from time to time, take on patients as I have done in the case of Moses.  Now might I ask why John Malcolm is so interest in a transient?  Do you know who he is? Is he a friend of Mr. Malcolm?”

“Not at all,” Sandra returned automatically but Aaron was practised enough in reading human behaviour to know that she was lying through her teeth. “My employer simply feels sorry for this old gentlemen and wishes to help him anyway he can.”

“Well the best thing for him right now is to remain here where I can continue treating him,” Aaron declared firmly while trying to remain polite at the same time. “Something terrible has happened to Moses, Ms Collins, something he needs to remember in order to regain his identity. Switching doctors on him is not going to help, he needs a face that he can identify with and confide in.  I believe I have attained that level of trust in him and I am not going to betray it by transferring him to another doctor.  Now, if you wish to fund his transfer to a sanatorium, by all means do so but I will still continue to regard him as my patient.”

”I see,” her lips thinned and she gave him a deep meaningful look. “I do not suppose I can convince you to relinquish your claim on the patient?”

“Relinquish my claim?” Aaron stared at her in astonishment. “He is not a piece of property. He is an old man with severe memory problems and the patient’s name is Moses.”

“He is not your responsibility,” Sandra shot him a look that convinced Aaron that she ran on pure ice water, not blood.  “He is nothing, a human tragedy walking the streets, like so many others.  You waste your time and effort in attempting to salvage something from the wreckage of him.”

Aaron could not believe he was having this conversation with this woman.  “He is a patient and he needs help, I am a doctor and I treat people like him.  I don’t consider him wreckage and if he was such a nonentity, then why has Malcolm sent you here?”

She did not answer but reached instead into her briefcase. Aaron wondered what she was up to now and hoped she did not plan to cite some jurisdictional nonsense as all this corporate types tended to do when their back were against the wall.  She produced a heavy brown envelope and handed it to him.

”If you cooperate, what is in that envelope is yours,” she said coolly, still wearing that expression of smug triumph on her face.  “All you have to do is sign Moses over to us and you never have to be troubled by him or me again and Mr Malcolm would consider this a close personal favour.  Its always advantageous to have friends in high places.”

Aaron glanced into the envelope and felt his breath catch.  Inside its confines was more money than he could possibly imagine.  It stared at him in thick piles of green, all in thousand dollar notes. He could not even count how many there was in there but it was a great deal. He raised his eyes at her in question, astonished by what he was seeing.

“What is this?” He managed to ask.

“Your fee for cooperating,” she answered, certain that the money would be the deciding factor in his choice.

“This is a bribe?” Aaron exclaimed.

“I would not put it quite that way,” Sandra laughed softly, “consider it a bonus.”

“Who is he?” Aaron surprised her by asking instead. “Who is he that you’re doing all this?”

“That is none of your concern,” she replied coldly, all trace of humour draining from her face. The beauty he had admired was gone and in its place was a mask of cruelty.  Aaron had a feeling that he was seeing the real Sandra Collins now.  “The time for games is over Doctor Stone. Understand that if you turn me down, the next request will not be made so cordially.  We want custody of your patient and if you will not help us, then we will acquire him ourselves.”

“The hell you will,” Aaron snapped, thrusting the envelope back into her hand. “I won’t be bribed and you want to strongarm me, fine. You do that and I’ll have to start making inquiries into why you’re so interested in him and maybe the police might be just as curious.”

”That would be a mistake,” she warned. “I don’t think you appreciate your situation. Perhaps I should leave you with a day or two to consider your options.”

“Is that a threat?” He demanded.

“We do not threaten Doctor,” she replied turning to leave. “We never threaten.”

*************

Aaron was more than a little shaken by his meeting with Sandra Collins and was glad to get out of the hospital so that he could think more deeply about what had happened.  Aaron never thought a woman could ever unnerve him but Sandra words had been disconcerting.  The old story about the corporation with dirty dealings was a cliché that Aaron did not want to believe but Sandra did not sound like she was making empty threats.  All in all, his encounter with the woman had proven conclusively that there was more to Moses than meets this eye.

When he arrived at his apartment, Aaron entered to find a note had been slipped beneath the door.  He unfolded the plain, crisp white paper and stared at is contents.

Call Stuart.

S.C

Aaron went to the phone immediately and dialled his best friend’s number. For some reason his heart was pounding with anxiety and would not be satisfied until he heard Stuart’s voice. He was greeted with a ringing tone for a few seconds before it was finally answered.  However it was not Stuart who answered but rather a woman whose voice Aaron recognised to be that of Maggie Brent’s, Stuart’s secretary.

“Maggie,” Aaron said quickly, “is Stuart there?”  

For some reason his heart was pounding.

 “Oh Doctor Stone,” she broke down tearfully.  “I’m here with the police right now, Doctor Farmer was just involved in a hit and run accident.  He’s dead.”

CHAPTER THREE

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