Originally Posted by Clirkus
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When Allison mentioned that she had been trying to convince Mary that she and Locke had not slept together, Locke's head planted firmly into the palm of his hand. As small close knit towns tended to be, Stoneyvale was a rumor factory and Mary Epping was one of the busiest busy bodies in town. It was only a matter of time before word would be getting around that the new detective was shaking up with the quiet girl from the bakery. He could already imagine the things Mitchell Brathbaum would come up with come Monday morning. Most likely centering around how Locke had a fetish for scared hysterical women.
"Oh god," he muttered into the palm of his hand. When he took his face out of his hand he noticed Allison just standing there looking at him and he realized he hadn't caught the important part of her statement. He cleared his throat a little, "right. Mary. The cord." He ran a hand through his hair, "well, I can't say as that I'm really all that surprised. I'm starting to think those cords are how you're able to see into other people's minds. Its only natural that you'd be able to see them." As he spoke he started unbuttoning his coat. "I think," he went on as he slid his arms out of the coat's sleeves, "that up until last night your ability had scared you so much that you hadn't let yourself see the cords, or maybe you couldn't see the cords." He shrugged his shoulders as he placed his coat on the counter by the register. He then turned and leaned against it with his arms over his chest. He looked up at her and gave her a shrug, "maybe all it took was confiding in someone else to get you to...I don't know...the next step in understanding your ability." He stopped himself before he started to ramble. He laughed a little sheepishly and rubbed the back of his neck again. "I really don't know," he admitted. "God, this sounds like something my grandfather used to tell me about..." He folded his arms again and gave her a playful sort of look. "gotta admit, though," he said, "I'm kind of curious to know what an old biddy like Mary thinks about."
****
As predicted a snow had started to fall that evening. It was a light dusting and even though the snow would stick to the ground until morning, it wasn't thick enough to last for more than a few hours after the sun came up. For now, though, the countryside that lay just beyond Stoneyvale's town center looked as though it were a real-life rendition of a Robert Frost poem: Peaceful and serene but also dark and a little lonely.
There was smoke coming from the chimneys of the Pomeroy Estate, known as Laurel Gate. It sat on 70 acres of land, mostly wooded. The house itself had started as a modest home in the 1600's. The original structure had been destroyed by fire during the Revolutionary War and rebuild after the war's end. It was a large house, a mansion, with three floors and two wings. During its heyday, the Pomeroy family had lived in the house full time and the house had a full staff of servants. On nights like this, dark, blustery and snowy, it was a beacon of light and warmth.
These days, though, the Pomeroy Family was not what it had been only a half century ago. There had been hardships, poor business decisions and in-fighting that had not only dwindled the families financial resources, but its numbers as well.
Make no mistake, though, Hammond Pomeroy was still the wealthiest man in Stratham County. Under his ruthless and cunning leadership, the family had started making a comeback. While he still kept on the family's old manufacturing business, Hammond had dove head first into the world of information technology. He had learned from the mistakes of his predecessors, his own father, uncle and grandfather. Those who did not adapt to the changes in the world were doomed. While his decisions had saved the family from financial ruin, it had not saved its numbers. The once great and powerful family of the Victorian Era was dying out. The only people who resided in Laurel Gate today was Hammond and his two children. It was so severe that when Hammond's sister, Charlotte, had abandoned the family Hammond had seen it as nothing short than an act of betrayal.
Hammond couldn't believe the stroke of fortune that had brought Rebecca Shaw to his door. Rebecca had come in hopes of mending the broken family. Hammond had no intention of ever having anything to do with his sister. He had once been nothing short of rageful towards her, but the years had dulled his rage and turned it into mere indifference. However, Hammond was interested in the fact that Charlotte had a daughter, and not only that, but the daughter had not grown up with Charlotte. It suddenly had become important to Hammond that this long lost member of his family be found and taken into the fold.
If this child was anything like Charlotte, then she had amazing abilities that Hammond needed to achieve his goals. It was one thing to be a successful business man, but if Hammond wanted to reclaim the true glory of the Pomeroys, he needed all the power he could get.
Not, it wasn't luck. Hammond was convinced it was destiny. This was only proven to him by the fact that it appeared as though Charlotte's lost daughter was in fact living in Stoneyvale.
Edmond had reported that the girl named Allison Brimely did in fact have the aura of someone who had abilities not unlike himself and others of the Pomeroy line. Hammond held great hope that this girl would in fact prove to be a Pomeroy herself. He tasked Edmond with finding out as much about her as he could and if she did prove to be one of theirs, to draw her to them. Even if she wasn't actually a Pomeroy, Hammond was convinced he could not let such power go to waste. Edmond would prove to be useful in that case as well.
Hammond stood by the window to his study and looked out at the snowy night. He had a cigar in one hand and a glass of brandy in the other, his customary after-dinner tradition. His thoughts were wondering back to the stories he knew of when his family ruled this land like lords. His thoughts were only interrupted by a knock on the door. "Come in," he called without looking over his shoulder.
The door opened and light from the hall cast a shaft over the lush carpet, but could not overpower the dim room, lit only by the fire in the fireplace. It was, however, enough light for Hammond to see the reflection of his daughter and oldest child, in the window's glass.
"You wanted to see me, Father?"
"Patrice," Hammond smiled before turning his attention towards her.
Patrice entered the study, being sure to close the door behind her. She walked across the floor to stand by the fire. She stood there, still dressed in the black dress and shoes she had worn to dinner. Her hands by her sides, her eyes on her father, waiting for him to speak.
Hammond moved away from the window towards one of the plush leather chairs that sat before the fire and sat. He puffed on his cigar once and took a sip of his bandy before addressing Patrice. "Your brother tells me that the girl is promising."
"He said the same thing to me after his contact with her," Patrice confirmed.
"This is very good for us," Hammond nodded, turning his attention towards the fire. He said nothing more for several more minutes and Patrice continued to stand there silently waiting to hear what it was her father wanted her for. "We cannot allow this opportunity to be ruined," Hammond said finally. He turned smoldering eyes towards her. "Tell me of the detective investigating the murder of Rebecca Shaw. Have you Charmed him, yet?"
Patrice took in a breath through her nose before responding. "No, Father."
Hammond raised a disapproving brow at her as he brought the cigar to his lips. "Why not?" He asked before taking a puff.
Patrice squared her shoulders, preparing herself before telling her father of her failure. "I tried, but wasn't able to," she told him. "At the diner the other night, I spoke with him. While I was able to entrance him, I wasn't able to go any further than that." She could have said that Anna Reys had interrupted her, but Hammond would catch her in that lie instantly. "I have never encountered a soul or a will like his before. It was as though it was made of electricity. I couldn't touch it."
To Patrice's surprise, Hammond did not berate her. Instead he merely raised the other brow in interest. "Is that so? Tell me, Patrice, what is this detective's name?"
"Locke DeCine."
"DeCine," Hammond repeated in a low voice. He looked towards the fire once again, blowing out a puff of cigar smoke. "I see." Slowly he took a drink from his glass. He lowered the glass from his lips and smiled a cool smile towards his daughter, "you won't be able to charm him, Patrice."
"Father?"
"There are certain people who are unbondable, Patrice," Hammond told her. He set his glass down on the little table by his chair and got to his feet. "No matter how hard you try. Only someone with immense skill would be able to manipulate someone like that. Sadly, not even your mother would be able to place that man under her control."
"Then what do we do?" Patrice asked. She watched him as he crossed the study, but did not move from her place by the fire. "He will only continue his investigation until he finds whoever killed that girl."
"Then he will just have to find that person."
Patrice was aghast. "Father!"
Hammond chuckled. "Don't be a stupid woman, Patrice. I'm not talking about myself." He picked up the brandy decanter and walked back over to his seat where he poured himself another glass. He then picked up the glass and turned to Patrice to give her her task. "You will find someone and have them confess to the murder themselves. Go to a city. Manchester, or perhaps Boston. Even Hartford, if you so choose. Find someone there who would be believed if they confessed to a murder of a young woman." He turned his eyes to the fire again, "with that confession the wheels of justice will turn their course and young Detective DeCine will be removed from the case." He raised his glass to his lips.
Patrice's eyes narrowed. She had suspected that there was something about Locke DeCine, and her father's reaction to the name confirmed it for her. She would have liked Hammond to tell her what was it about DeCine that made him immune to her power. However, she said nothing and simply nodded, "I understand."
"You will leave in the morning," Hammond instructed her next. "Find this scapegoat quickly."
"Yes, Father." Patrice nodded her head. "Good night." With that, she left the study to retire for the night.
Hammond sat once again in the chair by the fire and sipped his brandy. DeCine. How he despised that name. 25 years ago, Westley DeCine had nearly destroyed everything Hammond Pomeroy had worked towards. If he'd had been successful then Stoneyvale's first unsolved murder would have come to his conclusion much earlier. Fortunately, Hammond was able to silence Westley DeCine, but not before the death of Hammond's wife, Anita. Hammond had been forced to flee Stoneyvale to Hartford.
Hammond got up from the chair and returned to the window. It was still snowing light crystal like flakes. Just down Lancaster Road, on the other side of the wood was Stoneyvale's town center. A lot had changed in the past 25 years. Hammond knew that if his ancestors saw the town today, they would hardly recognize it as the same town they had lorded over in their prime.
It was destiny, Hammond was convinced. It was his destiny to rule over Stoneyvale, over the entirety of Stratham County. With the added power of Allison Brimely, Hammond knew there would be no stopping him. The Pomeroys would once again be a powerful, fearful family.
"DeCine," he seethed into the dark night, "have you sent your grandson after me?" His eyes narrowed, "I will not be stopped again. I swear it."
