O
Omicron
Guest
Original poster
Callum left the heaping plate before him untouched. His brow knit above his eyes, and he leaned in at the behest of the tone in Georgiana's voice. Written upon her face, thinly masked by trained and practiced will, the traces of fear and anxiety could be seen. It made the hair upon Callum's neck bristle at the sight of it; a woman of stature and poise barely holding on to her composure as she explained the details of her torments.
He had of course heard of the ghastly murders that had plagued London for weeks now. Callum kept himself well appraised of such things, and he felt he was well informed on the matter. His knowledge moved even beyond the official stories and speculations found in the papers—moving in the unique circles that Callum did afforded him such advantage. Yet, even with the aid of the esoteric community, facts were woefully difficult to come by. The fact that he was sitting in a room with a person that could somehow, someway, be connected to it all was almost too much to even comprehend.
My God… The implications of it all thundered within his mind, almost drowning out the rush of blood that pounded within his own ears. In the back of his mind, Callum told himself that he should be keeping his emotions less conspicuous in front of his client. He tried to do so, to keep his face merely thoughtful, and devoid of shock. It was a fool's errand.
"I…" Callum began at last. "…I feel my latter assessment is the most likely place to begin to answer your question, Lady Westmoore. Though I cannot say with any certainty as of yet, it sounds to me as if a psychic link between you and…"
The killer, He thought.
"…someone with intimate knowledge of these crimes, is a likely explanation."
It was then, just as he had spoken, that a cold chill puckered the flesh of his arm. The sensation was as known to him as the feeling of the sun upon his face, and Callum had no need to look to know Constance now sat beside him. For a brief time, so torn was his attention, he didn't even notice the weight of the small object that had materialized within his left hand. It was only when he started to move his hand that he felt the object, and his fingers barely managed to close around the tiny thing before it slipped from his palm.
Callum hazarded a quick glance downward, just as Constance's voice sounded within his ear. He saw that he now held a tin toy soldier, though he had no chance to study it as he was forced to look up to meet Georgiana's gaze. His face was enduring as he listened to his ghostly confidant. Her words made the hair upon his neck bristle anew.
He had of course heard of the ghastly murders that had plagued London for weeks now. Callum kept himself well appraised of such things, and he felt he was well informed on the matter. His knowledge moved even beyond the official stories and speculations found in the papers—moving in the unique circles that Callum did afforded him such advantage. Yet, even with the aid of the esoteric community, facts were woefully difficult to come by. The fact that he was sitting in a room with a person that could somehow, someway, be connected to it all was almost too much to even comprehend.
My God… The implications of it all thundered within his mind, almost drowning out the rush of blood that pounded within his own ears. In the back of his mind, Callum told himself that he should be keeping his emotions less conspicuous in front of his client. He tried to do so, to keep his face merely thoughtful, and devoid of shock. It was a fool's errand.
"I…" Callum began at last. "…I feel my latter assessment is the most likely place to begin to answer your question, Lady Westmoore. Though I cannot say with any certainty as of yet, it sounds to me as if a psychic link between you and…"
The killer, He thought.
"…someone with intimate knowledge of these crimes, is a likely explanation."
It was then, just as he had spoken, that a cold chill puckered the flesh of his arm. The sensation was as known to him as the feeling of the sun upon his face, and Callum had no need to look to know Constance now sat beside him. For a brief time, so torn was his attention, he didn't even notice the weight of the small object that had materialized within his left hand. It was only when he started to move his hand that he felt the object, and his fingers barely managed to close around the tiny thing before it slipped from his palm.
Callum hazarded a quick glance downward, just as Constance's voice sounded within his ear. He saw that he now held a tin toy soldier, though he had no chance to study it as he was forced to look up to meet Georgiana's gaze. His face was enduring as he listened to his ghostly confidant. Her words made the hair upon his neck bristle anew.