Angels of Death

Ch.6: His Identity

Ray shivers immediately upon entering the dim mystery room, finding herself in a short hall that curves off to the right. It seems somehow colder in here than even the cemeteries, and she rubs her hands along her sleeved arms to generate some warmth.

For some reason, the moment she steps inside, the hairs on the back of her neck start to prickle, but she sees no reason for alarm. Choosing to ignore it, she takes cautious steps and turns the corner, coming into the full room.

It's a mess, no doubt about it. Papers are strewn across the floor haphazardly, like a tornado had blown through at one point and scattered them every which way. The rough brick walls are cracked and filled with holes in random places, and the room smells strongly of dirt. Finished, brand new gravestones along with untouched large rocks sit along the wall, and a cabinet full of soiled gloves, tools and specifically shovels gleans nothing but to cause her to sneeze upon inspection. Trying not to step on any of the paper, she glances over them as she explore the room quietly, studying her surroundings.

Those papers are an inventory for gravestones, and those are designs for them. This room... perhaps it's like a workshop of sorts?

A large metal desk sits in the center of the room, and she trails her way to it. The surface is littered with more paper, measuring tools, and writing utensils. Peering over the paper on top of the pile, she sees it's more blueprints and designs for graves, and schematics for a few other things that seem quite unimportant.

This isn't really helpful at all, is it? She exhales softly. But the handwriting over these pages seems almost child-like. Could a kid really write things like this?

Lightly dragging her fingertips over the papers, she pauses over what looks like a diary entry. Her curiosity makes her leans closer to read the somewhat scribbly handwriting.

'I first learned of that kid awhile ago. I've always been curious about her, but I didn't get to know her for the longest time! I long to see her, but that bastard's always in the way. She has such a beautiful voice. She must be so, so lovely. She must be! I mean, that's why I fell for her overnight! Oh dear, I gotta make something special for her. Gotta think of something special, only for her...

'...A place of eternal rest.'

The writing trails off there, and Ray gazes upon the ink-blotted paper for a moment, silent.

This note seems nearly... obsessive. I wonder if the person who wrote this is actually in love? It doesn't really sound like it at all. Is this person the same as the one who's made these graves and tombstones, and their designs? The handwriting is the same, too.

Ray replaces the entry the way she'd found it, deciding that it's best to pretend she hasn't seen it. It was a bit of an invasion of privacy, after all.

A door off to her right, where she had been waiting to look until she'd thoroughly explored the room around her, once more catches her eye. She circles the desk, again evading the various things along the stone floor, and tries the knob.

Locked. But... there's no keyhole.

Not again. She's starting to wonder why the popularity of doors without keyholes in this building is so high, but she brushes aside her qualms and turns around.

Maybe there's something of value in the papers somewhere? But I checked them all, and nothing seemed to pop out at me.

She checks over the cabinets, and in a box nearby for something useful, and she stumbles upon a flashlight. She toys with the button, and the end flashes with brightness, illuminating the room brightly.