| Draft (Blue) Chapter one $$Ch01-Blue$$ August 2005 From three hundred meters up, the Terrordon blended in with the night. Mostly. His new vantablack supersuit was created just for operations like this — where dropping out of the sky onto a heavily guarded island with thirty hostiles could get him killed. The suit actually absorbs light, which was really cool until the Terrordon stepped in front of a mirror. Where did the muscles he worked for years to sculpt go? And the pteranodon symbol on his chest had disappeared into the black of his chest,... Chapter two $$Ch02-Blue$$ August 2017 The slouch in his shoulders was especially pronounced now, and Jacob’s voice had gone nearly monotonous, a far cry from his enthusiasm on their first stop. A guest in the crowd was reading the day’s newspaper, flipping the pages loudly; another was typing almost aggressively on his phone. Pete had to interrupt the session twice within half-an-hour in order to remind some people in the room to shut the hell up or get out. All expressed in professionally polite words, of course. Why have they even... Chapter three $$Ch03-Blue$$ “Name?”, said the barista. She was holding up a paper cup in one hand and jiggled a black Sharpie in the other. Her smile seemed genuine enough to him, but then so did Armstrong’s Tour de France victories, once upon a time. “Pharmstrong,” said Jacob, making it sound like a suggestion. He was still viewing the world through the warped lens of the cheating cyclist, and the fact that it permeated his thoughts was beginning to grind his gears. “I’m sorry?” said the barista. “Tex,” said Jacob. “That’... Chapter four $$Ch04-Blue$$ Jacob, with his right arm folded behind his back, slowly extended his left arm holding onto the pull-up bar, relaxing his muscles slightly. Taking a deep breath, he clenched his right fist and pulled himself up again, beads of perspiration rolling down the side of his face onto the ground. It was quiet in the 24-hours gym at 2 A.M., and there was no one else besides him and another middle-aged man over by the weights - perfect for when he needed to sort out his thoughts, even more so for carryin... Jacob had chosen his outfit carefully that morning and took extra effort to style his hair. While his hands worked quickly, his mind was deep in thought, playing out a mental game of the prospective exchange he would have with the Commissioner later. Things would go well if he played his cards right. He arrived at the Police Headquarters about 30 minutes early, sufficient time to allow him to mingle with the staff with a valid reason without arousing suspicions. The receptionist politely told hi... It had been days since the Mayor's Office said they would call Jacob back but it would appear that his luck in that direction had run dry too. "It is only to be expected," he grumbled. While he surmised that would happen, he still held within his heart a slight hope that things would change but once again was sorely disappointed. Fortunately though, during the time of futile waiting, Jacob had managed to contact Amy Kennedy. He had already failed once, no, twice. At this point, besides Amy, he c... Chapter five $$Ch05-Blue$$ Jacob had been pacing the floor of his apartment for the last twenty minutes. He had a route. From the kitchen counter, around the table, down the corridor past his bedroom and bathroom and into the open plan living area. Here, he had a choice. Left or right behind the couch. Either way he ended up at the large picture with its view over the Tenderloin. Again, he had a choice. Sit at his desk and get on with it, or continue being indecisive and carry on pacing. Jacob took a deep breath, chuckled... It was bleak and drizzling as Jacob pulled up a hundred yards from the gatehouse of Rampworth State hospital. Except for his hire car the road had been deserted for the last few miles as it exited a thickly forested area and crossed an open plain. Now Jacob saw why. The road terminated here. As if in a Hollywood movie, a tall razor wire topped fence stretched from both sides of the armoured gatehouse as far as his eyes could see. Rather than reassuring, it was dark, ominous, depressing, and didn... Jacob has spent the drive wondering what Doctor Lisa Appleton Warne would be like. Normally, he skyped with potential interviewees, as he liked to see their expressions as they talked. Doctor Warne, on the other hand, wouldn’t Skype. She would only talk on the phone, and as she was British and Jacob was unused to the accent, he hadn’t managed to get a to get a lot out of the short conversation other than ‘Appleton was her middle name and he shouldn’t forget it.’ Not that she’d come across as dom... It was unfortunate that the weather was so bleak, Jacob thought, otherwise Lisa’s office would have been cosy and delightful. With several doors off it, that she had said were kitchen, bedroom and bathroom. It was a large space warmly decorated in rich colours, with a royal blue carpet. Two couches facing each other over a large coffee table were in the middle of the room. A overflowing bookcase took one wall, her desk another, a large bank of monitors a third, and then there was a fire. A real,... Apart from the lack of a stone lined corridor, the room where Doctor Warne took Jacob to meet Sleepwalker reminded him of ‘Silence of The Lambs.’ They arrived on one side of a thick glass wall, and on the other, in a comfortable armchair, sat Sleepwalker, reading. To Jacob the man seemed quite normal. He was in his early forties, some six feet tall, with an average build, short dark hair, and, when he finally looked up at them, piercing green eyes. “Go away Doctor Warne. I’m reading.” “I can se... Jacob said his goodbyes to Charlotte, then Lisa. He unlocked his car, got in and let out a deep breath he hadn’t been aware he’d been holding. “Jesus Christ,” he said quietly, starting the engine. He stopped at the gatehouse, handed his security pass to the guard, then slowly drove away. Chapter six $$Ch06-Blue$$ The tapping continued. An attractive brunette in a smart grey business suit peered past her male companion and furrowed her brow. The glint of her earring caught Jacob's attention. He looked up to see her glaring at him. She looked down at his metal-tipped mechanical pencil which still impacted his black marble table. Jacob mouthed a silent, "Sorry." The tapping ceased. The woman turned her attention back to her companion. He put the pencil into his shirt pocket, clipping it in one smooth mo... The bus was packed with people of the city. Jacob bumped and pressed against a man who exhibited all the hallmarks of homelessness, most notably a pungent smell of stale urine. The man got off at the next stop. Jacob noticed several of the patrons began breathing as if they had been underwater for several minutes. He left the bus on Fulton street two blocks away from Emmy's house. His sister lived around the corner of the so-called Jefferson Airplane house, famous to no one now except Jacob,... The next day, Jacob walked down the hill from his North Beach apartment to the favorite restaurant of his agent. He found Pete grinning and waving at a window seat inside The Stinking Rose. The smell of basil, tomatoes and roasted garlic hit Jacob like a brick as he entered off Columbus Street. Pete sat at the usual table, on the side that gave him a good view of the TransAmerica Building. He wiped his hand over his thinning hair as Jacob sat down. "So, how did the follow-up go? Got anythin... It took only two hours to find a room in the Tenderloin, the central hub of Terrordon’s activities from 2001 to 2005, until his disappearance. Jacob found a suitable rate at the Admiral Hotel, a run-down Single Room Occupancy high-rise on O’Farrell Street. It looked safe enough to Jacob in the daylight, but he knew that the night brought out a different set of characters. On several occasions over the previous decades he had found himself smack dab in the middle of the Tenderloin, often after... PINECREST DINER, 11:30 AM — J. She took it and read it while he walked away. Once Jacob was at the door of the hotel he looked around at her and nodded. She took his card and ripped it in half, dropping the pieces on the ground. Jacob saw that she glanced up at the alleyway. Then he went up to his room. Staring down at the street, he realized he was not going to see whoever was in the alley. It was no mystery that it was her pimp. The real mystery was that this seemed to be the only action in the Tenderloin, and it wa... Sitting in the Pinecrest Diner at what had become his usual time, 11:30 AM, and his usual booth, the one farthest from the door, Jacob scratched notes in his hidebound notebook. The project on Terrordon was feeling more like a failure. He was ready to shift over to something else. Willie Brown. Or Jerry Brown. Or John Muir. Maybe even Gavin Newsom. But the current project was not moving along. It hurt him to assess the money expended thus far. He had no advance from a publisher to cove... The next few hours left Jacob numb. Something about the girl, the woman he had covertly observed in order to seek trouble had shook his foundation. And yet, like that, she exited his life. He understood her rationale, and he decided to abide by it. He spent the afternoon walking the streets of the Tenderloin, all the way down Geary to Van Ness, and up O’Farrell to Market. The experience of the breakfast with Sika forced a shift in his priorities. As enamored as he had been in becoming the... Chapter seven $$Ch07-Blue$$ The thunder rumbled ominously, the sky grey and overcast. It seemed to mirror Jacob’s mood, though he knew that was wishful thinking. Stuff like that only happened in storybooks. He was off to see Pete again for their regular quarterly update and he had no progress to show. For all he knew, he had just walked past the Terrordon carrying a kale smoothie. Probably not though, the Terrrordon was definitely taller. Though, maybe his outfit incorporated hidden heels to make him look taller and more i... Chapter eight $$Ch08-Blue$$ 1,600 kilometres of sewer tunnels and pipes wend beneath the city of San Francisco. Unlike most sewer systems built in the modern era, it handles both the waste water output of its human inhabitants above, and the runoff of the storm sewers pocked throughout the hills and streets of the city. Later in the year, through the months of September and October, the larger networks of these brick-lined warrens would be crawling with technicians, tasked with scrubbing accumulated grit and slime from the... Morning came on like a sickness; a coughing in the back of the throat and a steady stream of denials rubbed out of puffy eyes. The futile attempt to spit a dream out of the mouth, a dream that became an irritating hair on the tongue and something important to remember about the Tuesday sirens. Something beyond the closing curtains had left an oddly physical ringing in his ears. Something, something. Jacob thumbed the glass of his phone. Black. The button was never on the right side of the damn t... There are many who will try to explain what I have accomplished today. They will all be mistaken. This is not about war. This is not about politics. This is not about fear. Their mistake will be in assuming that it is about them. They will say this is about you. It is not. You are irrelevant. Those that have died today are only notable for the power they have given me. Today I cast a knot around the heart of San Francisco and pulled tight the net. There will be more. The trawl has only begun. Th... He’ll never be able to say how he got to the shelter that night, caked in dust, blood and mind ablaze with attempted conspiracy. The seed was planted, but would it be found? Would it go viral? Jacob lay curled around his handheld radio on the FEMA cot, twisting the knob from one frequency to another, yearning for the snippets of news he wanted to hear. “Already taxed from an unprecedented summer of fires, volunteers have been worked to a state of utter exhaustion as conflagration devours the Ten... Chapter nine $$Ch09-Blue$$ It was 9:30 in the morning. Jacob had been back from the gym for a couple of hours already. On the table sat his laptop, a copy of today’s Chronicle, folded open to an article called “We’re Clueless, Admit Police,” and an empty saucer. From back in the kitchen came the sound of his grumbling old pastel green espresso machine as it grudgingly spat out his third cup of coffee. One hand on the machine, muscles in his arm tensed, both eyes searching the skyline out his kitchen window, Jacob was not ... He had managed to make up enough biography questions to take them way past the appetiser and into the main course. But finally, it was time for him to get around to his real reason for the dinner with Amy. He closed his notebook and set his pen down and picked up his wine glass again. “But enough about my work. Thank you so much. I guess they’ve got you working really hard on that recent attack,” he said, looking over the glass, and watching Amy sip from hers. “Well, it’s all sort of drying up….... Chapter ten $$Ch10-Blue$$ He went to the store. Usually his shopping was hit and run: go to the corner convenience store, get what he wanted and a couple of impulse items, get out. But this time he took his time, trying to catch conversations among the patrons, or any hint that the Fisherman was starting to catch people's attention. While he was there he browsed the newspapers. It was getting rarer for stores to carry them, but this one did. Jacob bought the San Francisco Chronicle, making sure there was an A. Kennedy by... BOMB THREAT. NEXT TUESDAY. 1 pm (this was crossed over) 3PM. LOCATION? MAKE SURE ALL PAPERS GET IT, BE PUBLIC. DIRECT CALL (crossed over). EMAIL? RECORDED MESSAGE BETTER. He refined the details, got the numbers for all major newspapers in the city and spent a busy half hour drafting a script. He had to sound unhinged but intelligent, credible and also just enough over-the-top to be a believable supervillain. A lone wolf with a bit of flair, not so mundane to make Terrordon think that this would be a matter best left to the police, but not so crazy to be dismissed as a prank. It took him some tries to record the message correctly because he kept cracking up, mostl... It was much later and Jacob was still at the computer. The reaction to his message had been rather quick and, to his mind, mixed. He was currently in Twitter, reading with a mixture of chagrin and fascinated horror: @IllPatriot692 Another Islam threat on American soil!!1!! When will be wake up and destroy the a**holes!!! #MAGA #terrorthreat #PatriotsforJesus @Blndgrrlxxoo Whys nobody saying THE TRUTH! Real threat are the white domestic terrorists stop blowing smoak into our eyes @JacelynMrsBumbi Open you'r eyes this is a FALSE FLAG opperation to keep the people scared and not think about how Congreess is DESTROIYNG AMERICA!!!!!!!! @AryyaStarrk That someone would believe this is actually the work of a lone wolf is SO ridiculous is laughable! #BombThreat #AmericaUnderSiege He had also seen a number of quick-fire articles on his bomb threat; the reaction and tone was generally right, but the analysis was—disappointing. They'd all gone with the international terrorism angle, some even going so far as to dedicate some time pointing out how the terrorists seemed to be 'changing their tactics'. He googled 'Fisherman' again and the relevant articles had dropped to page 4. Also, the Kennedy piece in the Chronicle had suffered a rash of comments, all of which were basical... Anonymous: In this day and age where the world has turned into a hotbed for radicals this naive talk about supervillains is dated and counter-productive. I'm disappointed in the Chronicle's coverage and would recommend that you reporter gets her facts straight before committing her wild theories to paper. K. Johnson: YEAH RIGHT! So we now have what, a supervillain in our midst? Call Spiderman! Or whatever fourteen-year-old power fantasy the writer thinks should save us from this threat. With this kind of journalism is no wonder the country's in the dumps. Stalker99666: You dumb b*tch you cant write to save you're life and your ugly as f*ck why dont you die and stop writing dumb sh*t theres no Fisherman its the illuminati [EDITOR'S NOTE: please be advised that this user has been flagged by our readers and the comment is being reviewed for content and abusive language] Babs H. Newton: If this is the best that the Chronicle can produce in a matter as serious as terrorism I'm canceling my subscription. This frivolous take on the issue only helps terrorists and keep us from adopting the real and bold measures that we need to take as a country and as a society. Jacob pinched the bridge of his nose. This was not going in the direction he had hoped. Most of the articles dealing with the bomb threat had been either dismissive or openly ridiculing the Chronicle's take and Amy herself. There was a short op-ed called 'This is not a story of heroes and villains' that directly cited Amy's article and called it 'silly' and 'childish', and a famous journalists had published a post in her Facebook account in which she called the Chronicle's coverage 'shameful'. T... Chapter eleven $$Ch11-Blue$$ The bright yellow sou’wester hat made a great finishing touch. Jacob wasn’t quite so sure about the full-length black lycra skin suit and brown satchel, but he had no time to change his mind now. He put on the dark glasses and checked carefully in the mirror: there were no distinguishing features leaking out between them and the balaclava mask. Everything was in position, and he had to go. He closed his eyes, let both hands relax by his sides, and allowed his usual self to drift downwards throug... Chapter twelve $$Ch12-Blue$$ The Sleepwalker stirred in Rampworth State Hospital. He’s been a patient in the secure mental facility since 2005, with his 7 year reign of terror throughout the San Francisco area being brought to an end a long time ago. How odd that his capture and incarceration had been at the hands of his archenemy, the masked vigilante Terrordon. As a moniker, the ‘Don of Terror’ should surely have been an accomplice, but no, Terrordon had been the foil to every underhand notion the Sleepwalker had contrive... Medication followed breakfast. Joe stood in line, patiently waiting for his concoction of pills. He’d never understood why he had to wash the assortment down with water rather than tea, but he obliged on every occasion. Each patient was medically assessed for a period during the day, but as there were only so many doctors to patients. The ratio meant there was plenty of leisure time available. Charlotte would always play or draw. Tim’s exuberance would scare other patients back to their rooms. R... Chapter thirteen $$Ch13-Blue$$ Purple. Beautiful, magical, enigmatic purple. The hallmark colour of Roman magistrates, Byzantine rulers, Japanese emperors, Catholic bishops, and Mayor Nenshi could now count the Sleepwalker as an aficionado. Seductive, ambiguous, villainous purple. Enrobed in rich purple like some resplendent monk of an alternate reality, the Sleepwalker swept down a shabby San Francisco sidewalk through an even shabbier neighbourhood. This was not the San Francisco of your summer holidays – far removed from t... The Terrordon clumsily stepped off the Transamerica Pyramid and as the ground rushed up to meet him, spread his cape wide. “Goddammit,” he cursed under his breath as he fought to shape the fabric to effectively create enough lift before he became a Terrorsplat. “I’m getting too old for this shit!” His arms ached from the effort. It had been too long of a hiatus and he knew it, but it couldn’t be helped. The Sleepwalker had escaped from Rampworth, and who but him to bring that turd to justice? He... The bank guard was exactly what he imagined he would be like – middle-aged, overweight and balding. And pale, like someone who didn’t get outside enough and sat in front of a computer too much, drinking Red Bulls and playing Dota. “I’m sorry, mister Terrordon. I really am. I had two roast beef sandwiches and a large curly fries from Arby’s on my lunch break and I just couldn’t…” “Don’t worry about it, I mean I just don’t give a shit,” snapped the Terrordon, realizing too late his poor choice of... The next morning, the Terrordon woke to more antique ringing from the Nokia. Fumbling for the phone on the nightstand, he cursed as he knocked it off the nightstand and under the bed. Finally coming up with the phone, he rolled on to his back and answered it. “Up and at ‘em! We just got another tip on the Sleepwalker from the wanted spots they’re running on the local news. Seems he put in an all-nighter at a local library before the staff opened up this morning and found him in all his purple gl... By the time the Terrordon made it back to the Terrordon-mobile, texts were rolling in on the Nokia about a disturbance at CryptoCon, a marquee gathering in town of movers and shakers in the bitcoin and cryptocurrency world. He threw the armoured car into gear, and with a cloud of blue diesel smoke, lumbered across town. At the convention centre, it quickly became clear something traumatic had occurred. Two of the event staff, a set of raven-haired identical twins, were being consoled by other st... By the following day, the Terrordon was becoming despondent. The trail was growing cold. It had been a full twenty-four hours since the last reported sighting of the Sleepwalker, but he was still nowhere to be found. Another greasy breakfast and too much coffee blurred into a banal, uninspiring lunch and still no news. The Terrordon had heartburn. It was as if the Sleepwalker had gotten into his stomach, an evil, purple tapeworm, gnawing away at the lining. With a chug of Pepto-Bismol right from... “But he was just so kind and friendly,” sobbed the girl at the bitcoin farm, as banks and banks of humming machines toiled in the background. The bitcoin miners of the farm, hard at work hashing data. “I did it exactly how my boss told me. I made him leave his phone with me while he was here, and kept an eye on him the whole time! All he did was take pictures, and with an old-fashioned film camera too! The only time I left his side was when he asked me to stand at the end of the racks for a phot... Passing through the doors to the mission building, the Terrordon looked about the adobe mission chapel, deserted save a young altarboy doing some cleaning. “Hey kid. I’m looking for Father Joe. Is he around?” The boy gestured to the confession booth at the end of the chapel hall. “Father is doing confession. You’re welcome to go talk to him in there.” “Thanks kid.” The Terrordon made his way over and sank into the seat inside the confession booth, not totally disappointed for the chance to give ... Chapter fourteen $$Ch14-Blue$$ Saturday morning couldn’t come fast enough. Outside, the sun shone down through the late morning haze. That was the thing about San Francisco - no matter what the weather, the promise of fog always lingered. Jacob wished it would roll in now - the brightness only served to highlight the layers of filth that coated his car. He’d spent the last evening trying to work through his thoughts about the Fisherman and whether he was on the right track with this, taking a trip up to Point Reyes, but torr... Once the initial thrill had passed, a fresh problem sparked to life in Jacob’s mind. Now that the Sleepwalker was free, the Fisherman was redundant. Compared to a man with multiple personality disorder - and each personality with a shared propensity for pure evil - the Fisherman was decidedly second-rate. That would be unless Jacob took his actions to places where he really didn’t want to go. No, if he were the Terrordon, he wouldn’t even notice this minor minnow of a villain. There had to be s... “Chronicle. This is Amy.” “Hi - it’s Jacob. Jacob Heath, the writer… I was wondering, Would you like some dinner tonight?” Ugh - it sounded like an invitation to a date, and he didn’t have time for anything like that, not now there was a villain to be caught. He needed a third wheel; an extra member for the team. Someone good with people, and who would turn up when required. Of course - the man whose wages he paid, albeit a few cents at a time presently. “Its… it’s with my agent, too - Pete Schl... “Hi - Amy, Pete… great to see you both. I got us the table deal. There are some baby beets, avocado, a few dips…” Jacob tailed off. Suddenly it sounded like the cheap option that it was. His biography of Milk might have brought Jacob fame, but it wasn’t exactly going to be optioned, and money was tight - his only fall back for extra income would be pimping out the details of method writing on talk shows across the nation to audiences who listened politely but were only ever really interested in... At first, Amy couldn’t quite process what she was hearing. She’d been trying to stay professional, but from the very start, the night hadn’t held much promise and she wondered why she’d come. Okay, there was some mild intrigue, but mainly, she’d heard good things about the pizza - only Heath had already pre-ordered a random bunch of starters. That stung. But it paled in comparison to the words she was hearing. Sure, she knew Heath a little from his journalist days. He’d seemed normal then, but a... Chapter fifteen $$Ch15-Blue$$ It was obvious to Sleepwalker that The Fisherman was a fraud. He could tell without even considering any of the oh-so-obvious leads. The name itself gave it away. The Fisherman. It was offensive. Insulting. Demeaning. No serious villain would name themselves after a tradesman. “Better be careful, The Baker might get you! Ooh, look out, The Plumber’s on site,” he muttered. Trades were for honest people, which is probably why Jesus was a carpenter. Smart people worked hard too, but only for the f... Jacob woke up with a headache and his body felt cramped and sore. He didn’t remember falling asleep on the sofa. He didn’t remember much at all. He opened his eyes and, for a moment, had that vague, perplexing sense of unfamiliarity. It quickly turned to a solid awareness of unfamiliarity. He wasn’t home. This wasn’t his sofa. He sat up. “Welcome Mr Heath, it is good to see you are awake.” The voice came from behind. It sounded vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t pick it. “Allow me to introduce my... Chapter sixteen $$Ch16-Blue$$ “Look, it’s quite simple really.” The Sleepwalker stood in front of his henchmen in his favorite purple three piece suit. “All those toys the wretched pterodactyl loves so much must cost a pretty penny. So get me a list of people with money, people with power! We’ll start there. Anyone who can give me a good fight must be Terrordon.” The henchmen scurried away like rats, all save one small, mousy fellow who was doing his best to bore a hole in the ground with his eyes. “Erm, sir?” he squeaked. M... Chapter seventeen $$Ch17-Blue$$ When running for the State Senate, his friends had joked that he was lowering his chances of being kidnapped. That, being a playboy was a more attractive ransom opportunity, rather than a low level public servant. It had been a sense of comfort, in a way, that he was turning towards a safer life. And hopefully a more contented one. But the Sleepwalker's piercing green eyes had changed all that, and now he was laying on his side in a trunk, listening to the car's back tires rumble over the uneven... From a vantage point across the bay, the Terrordon looked at the burning wreck of a house, and through his binoculars he could even make out Jason Richards being treated by a paramedic before being loaded into the ambulance for treatment at the hospital. Retiring in 2005 had been a personal choice, but now the Sleepwalker was back on the streets of San Francisco and had implicated a prominent State Senator. They would all come for him, because they would all want their own kind of revenge. Was t... Chapter eighteen $$Ch18-Blue$$ Back at Rampworth Jacob knocked at the door after having been let through by the receptionist, and a familiar British accent distractedly invited him in. The accent belonged to Dr Warne, who was busily arranging some papers while speaking on an antiquated phone, and skilfully avoided getting her arms caught in the cord. Jacob was surprised that there were even phones like that left over, not to mention in working order. "Uh-hm." voiced Jacob by clearing his throat. "Oh, it's you Mr Heath." remar... The video shows a small room with simple furnishing, the camera looks down at a table at which is seated Dr Warne, her brunette hair braided instead of open. At the other end of the table sits a figure with shoulder length dark hair, bent over a large piece of paper. Several crayons and pencils are scattered in front of it. "This is 'Charlotte', she is the young child personality." explained Dr Warne. "By her speech patterns and behaviour, I estimate that she is around six years old. She's usually busy drawing." From the angle of the video Jacob could clearly see that 'Charlotte' was drawing a picture of a cruise ship. A surprisingly detailed one, he thought. "What are you drawing, Charlotte?" ask Dr Warne's slightly distorted voice. "Just a ship." replies a remarkably feminine voice with perfect child-like pitch. Charlotte's face remains focused on the drawing and her hair sways slightly when she cocks her head to examine a detail. "What kind of ship is it?" asks Dr Warne. "It looks very big." "Aye," grumbles the long haired figure in front of Dr Warne in a deep masculine bass, "t'is a poiret ship. We bein' poirets o'th sea 'n all." The man with lon... "At first I thought it was Charlotte's impression of a pirate, but…" she paused, similar to her image on the screen, at that moment the encounter had refreshed itself in her memory. "…as you could hear, it did not sound like a child impersonating an adult." "You mean it's one of the Sleepwalker's other personalities?" enquired Jacob. He was quite curious now. The new voice did not sound like any of the other personalities he had talked to. "There is more." said Dr Warne calmly. The video continues. The man stands up from the table and looks round. "An' w'ere th' bloody 'ell is t'is?" he half growls. "This ain't no pirate ship, Cap'n." says another voice, it sounds halfway between rude and arrogant, on the way to condescending. The Sleepwalker's figure turns round to tap the drawing with his index finger. His expression is changed again, it looks as if it is on the verge of a perpetual sneer. "This here's a cruise ship." he says. "Th' bloody 'ell we be doin' on a cru'z ... As Jacob watched the video, and although he knew that physically it was the same person, he couldn't help but be amazed at how expressive the Sleepwalker's face was. Subtle shifts in muscle, gestures, and posture gave each personality its distinction. If one were to see them all lined up at the same time, one would surely mistake them for individual people at first, thought Jacob. "These three personalities were new." explained Dr Warne. "I hadn't encountered them before, but it was as if all t... The video continues. The personalities identified as Captain Bane and the first mate Jimmy B. have gotten into an argument. The Sleepwalker's features tirelessly switch between them. They steadfastly ignore Dr Warne, who remains seated and lets the scene play out. Suddenly Jibbles' voice calls out. "Ca…Captain, Sir. I think there is someone else here with us." "You think or you know?" scolds Jimmy B. "I've already seen the dame. She ain't no looker she is." "No, not her." replies Jibbles nervous... Jacob recognised the voice. It was unmistakable. A glance at Dr Warne's nodding head confirmed his suspicion, and sent shivers down his spine. It was the Sleepwalker's voice. The actual Sleepwalker personality. Jacob recalled hearing the same voice during his research of the trial recordings. The Sleepwalker has turned round, his posture indicates that he is strangling the supposedly larger form of Bane. Looking up he reveals the shocked face of Jimmy B. "What's goin' on? Jibbles, what happened to the Cap'n? " shouts Jimmy B.'s voice. "I don't see no…" Gurgling sounds again as the Sleepwalker strangles his next victim, Jimmy B. "Now for you." says the Sleepwalker, his voice is filled with palpable menace. He seems to look into the distance at Jibbles. "Wh…where are you?" cries out Ji... Jacob flinched, looking half away. It was as if he could hear whimpering with each blow he saw the Sleepwalker act out. After several more seconds the Sleepwalker stops, looks down at himself and says: "Ugh, this isn't purple." The figure of the Sleepwalker slumps down on the floor, back against the wall, pulls his knees to his chest. Video pauses "And those three personalities haven't appeared since." said Dr Warne as she let several moments pass to recover. "The Sleepwalker personality actually hurt them." "I thought they were not aware of each other." replied Jacob confused. "True, the 'core' seven do not recall any actions of the others. The Sleepwalker is the only one who knows what all the others have done." "Which suggests that he is the true personality?" asked Jacob. "I do not think so." replied Dr Warne. "I think that these thre... Video continues. A child's whimpering fills the room. The image of Dr Warne hesitantly moves towards the slumped figure. When she is sure who it is, she steps forward. "Calm down Charlotte." says Dr Warne with forced warmth. "What happened, why are you crying?" "It went dark." cries Charlotte. "I lost my crayons." The soft sobs continues as Dr Warne's image moves to a small cupboard and takes out a plastic cup. Crouching back to the sobbing form of Charlotte, Dr Warne proffers the cup and asks: ... "This is 'Joe'." explained Dr Warne casually. "He is the more remorseful of the 'core' personalities. He usually emerges after strong periods of disruption or stress." "I see." said Jacob. He noted that Joe was a strong contrast to the other personalities. "I feel I've done something quite terrible." says Joe as the nurse enters and brings a cup of tea for Dr Warne and him. "Do you know the feeling you have when you wake up in the morning with a terrible headache from the night before?" Dr Warne nods affirmatively. "And then all the old chaps tell you what a brilliant night it was, and how you made a complete and utter fool of yourself?" Another nod from Dr Warne. "And then the shame hits you. Like a ton of gold bricks wrapped in lemon." Joe looks... "I'm sorry." said Dr Warne regretfully after the video finished. "That's all I have from that session, and that's usually all that Joe ever mentions. There haven't been similar incidents since then, and it's why I had thought that we had managed to treat the Sleepwalker." "No, no. It was very insightful." reassured Jacob. "It's just the type of information I can use…for the biography. Thank you for your time, and for showing me the recording." Chapter nineteen $$Ch19-Blue$$ Jacob put down the pen, looked across to where the sun was leaving meaningless, flat squares of light across the carpet and closed his eyes. In his mind, he again saw Lisa, the doctor at Rampworth leafing through the case file. And once again she said the same the thing. He is more than one person. Jacob heard movement out in the hallway and wondered if there were other guests booked onto this very same floor of the hotel. He had managed to find the room fairly easily, and had paid in cash. This... When he awoke, he saw that the squares of light were now tracing their path up one of the walls. He checked his watch. It was now three-thirty. He would have to leave by five. He could hear people arguing in the room next door, the sound of roadworks down in the street below and the voice of a girl out in the corridor, probably the same maid who had helped him up with his suitcase. He found the remote for the small, battered portable TV and thumbed through the channels. On NBC, he soon discov... "Hell of a thing," said the driver, weaving through the traffic. "What is ?" asked Jacob. He found he didn't want to talk but sometimes it took away the anxiety, if only for a little while. "The Sleepwalker. Getting out." "That name," suggested Jacob, "it was something the media came up with. It makes for better headlines." "Well, the guy sure is making them now - what with that girl they found in the pool over on west boulevard. Do you think he picks them?" "I've no idea." The driver nodded at ... After his second drink, he used the lobby bathroom and then returned to where he could see anyone coming into the hotel. He reflected on the photograph Lisa had shown him back at the hospital. In all likelihood, the Terrordon would find a way to blend into the crowd of faces spilling into the reception area. He would need to look for Joe. That was the only option right now. Beyond the doors, a scuffle broke out. The sound of two well-dressed young men fighting. From their slurred speech and aiml... Chapter twenty $$Ch20-Blue$$ He knew there was a lot of blood, but he didn't feel anything. Crimson red. His ears were ringing. His head was pounding fit to burst. A man's face looked down at Jacob. The man had a friendly accent. He was saying something to someone. But his words came through all muffled by the ringing in Jacob's ears. "Oh, that's awful," the man was saying. "That looks bad. You shouldn't have done that, mate. You didn't have to shoot him, for God's sake. Ugh, he's really bleeding out." Jacob closed his eyes... "Finally, some privacy!" Jacob glanced round at the hostages all around the Clock Bar, not to mention Sleepwalker's henchmen. Sleepwalker eyed him coyly. "Oh, ig-nore them, honey. Tonight is all about me and you," and he punctuated each syllable with a tap on Jacob's chest with his finger. Sleepwalker tilted his head with a snap toward Jacob. He lowered his head and looked up under his brows at him. There was a mischievious glint in his green eyes. "How about a highball?" "Bartender," he called ... _”Oh, this looks bad. Ugh, he's really bleeding out. You've bollocksed the whole thing up now, right enough. Why'd you have to shot him?" _Jacob's ears still rang from the gun's loud report. Shots fired. A body crumpled to the floor right there in front of him, bleeding out. A spray of red on the curtain behind. __Jacob didn't know what was happening. Had they been shot? Had he been shot? He looked down to see if he was bleeding. When Jacob and Sleepwalker exited the bar, he was stunned. The old lobby was busy with hotel patrons going to and fro, consulting their schedules, talking in small groups. Didn't these people know there was a hostage situation right there in the bar? The minute they stepped into the lobby area, a booming voice came from above. "Sleepwalker! I've been waiting for you." A darkly caped figure stepped forward on the balcony above the lobby. It was Terrordon, of course. "And I've been waiting for you... Sleepwalker, after the introductions were over, had walked Jacob right back into the bar. He relieved one of this men of his pistol. The bar was a small area but with some conveniently placed pillars. He took up position by the far end of the bar and with a gesture the hostages were arranged so as to flank he and Jacob on both sides. Everything was in position when the bar door blew off its hinges and fell. The Terrordon stepped out of the curling smoke, one caped arm before him. There was no te... There was really only one direction to go from there and that was up. So, Jacob was hustled in Sleepwaker's wake up the stairs that came down right there. Behind them was the sound of gunfire and now also sirens somewhere. They ran at a jog and entered on what looked like an endless hall of mirrors. Sleepwalker made them all stop here, he said, "to admire the view." And then they ran on — deeper and also farther up into the extensive grounds of the old St. Francis hotel. Jacob knew he should be feeling something — pain from his own wounds, horror at the bloody scene before him — but he didn't feel anything. No, that wasn't true. He felt numb. He looked down. He had sunk to the floor on this knees, but he was not bleeding. In his hand was a gun. Why did he have a gun? They were holed up in a snug suite of meeting rooms up on the twelfth floor. Sleepwalker, who was calling himself "Doug" at that particular moment, was rigging something with a gas canister in the so-called Study Room. "Superheroes? Those aren't heroes. Vigilantes. Criminals is what they are. Everyone of them." He twisted hard on something attached to the canister. "Because there is such a thing as law and order, you know. It's downright unAmerican that's what it is." He had finished attaching w... The double doors to the suite burst open and Terrordon appeared in action-ready stance, one caped arm in front of him. "Oh no! It's Terrordon!" cried Sleepwalker in unconvincing surprise. "Quickly, this way!" He ran with Jacob in tow back into the Study room, Terrordon in close pursuit. But when Terrordon entered, the door closed behind him with a clank. Sleepwalker stood in the only other doorway which let onto the Library Room. Jacob had been shoved on into that room and into the hands of a wa... Jacob looked down and saw that he was holding a gun. He knew what that meant. Why did he have a gun? I shot him. It was me. Why did I shoot him? High over Union Square, Jacob looked out over the city. No fog tonight. It seemed that Sleepwalker was just running now without a plan. He had brought him here at gun point and they had come all the way up to the Imperial floor, but when they got to this room — opulent chamber projecting out over the square from the thirty-second floor, they just stopped here. Sleepwalker seemed at first captivated by the view — through floor to ceiling windows on three sides and seemed to forget everything else... "Sleepwalker!" Terrordon stood at the far end of the room. Sleepwalker sprang to his feet, green eyes wide. This was no staged moment. No henchmen, no gas, no escape route. Sleepwalker didn't even have his own gun. Terrordon held a weighted cord in one hand, coiled length of it in the other. As he strode forward, he began swinging it around over his head. There was no place to get away here — on all three sides of them was nothing but floor-to-ceiling windows, thirty-two stories up. Terrordon dr... No one had been paying any attention to Jacob, but he had not run. How could he? This was Terrordon bringing his arch-enemy down. Jacob was rooted to the spot. But now he was faced with a question he had not considered. Was Terrordon just going to kill Sleepwalker like that? And was Jacob going to watch him do it? Sleepwalker sputtered under the weight of Terrordon's foot. Jacob didn't want to see it, but he couldn't just walk away either. "You're not going to just kill him, are you? He's sick. ... Jacob sank to his knees. There was a lot of blood where Terrordon had fallen. Red. Blood red. His ears were ringing from the gun's loud report. He should feel something but he didn't. Sleepwalker was up, towering over him. Jacob looked up. He could hardly hear what Sleepwalker was saying to him. "Oh, that's bloody awful. That looks awful. You shouldn't have done that, mate. Really shoot him, I mean. God, he's bleeding out." Jacob _looked down. The pistol was in his hand. _Why did he shoot him? T... "Hands in the air! Hands in the air! Do it now!" A swarm of armed policemen in tactical gear advanced on Jacob, shouting orders. He was quickly hoisted up and pulled to one side, cuffed. Someone was reading him his rights. "Sleepwalker is the one you want," he said. But no one was listening, no one was asking any questions. They had their man. Time to clear the area, bustle him off and book him. Jacob was dazed, crestfallen. "Wait. Terrordon." He strove to catch a glimpse. Would he see his face?... Draft (Red) Chapter one $$Ch01-Red$$ August 2005 Alcatraz Island. The formidable military installation turned penitentiary that had imprisoned the most notorious villains of our time. Terrordon gazed on it without wonder. There was no surprise why the Sleepwalker had chosen to take it hostage. It was the perfect hideaway sprawled in the middle of the San Francisco Bay with practically no means of ambush, no means of escape. Practically. Everyone knew the island´s infamous escape artists Frank Morris and the Anglin Brothers. But few knew of the... Chapter two $$Ch02-Red$$ August 2017 Pete took Jacob’s arm. “Come on, let’s have something to eat here; the food’s good! And the bookshop isn’t expecting us for another hour.” Pete pushed Jacob through the door into the café. Jacob looked around. The café was eclectic. It was floored with paving-slabs, the tables had recycled wood tops on industrial iron supporting frameworks and were accompanied by rush-seated chairs with their woodwork painted in various vibrant colours. Along the left as they entered was a wide bar with a black ... Out in the street, Pete saw Jacob striding away, and ran after him. When he finally caught him up, he was out of breath and could hardly speak. “Stop, Jacob,” he said, “that’s not the way.” He turned him to lead him back down to walk the two blocks to where Eureka Books was located. “Anyway, now look what you’ve done. Your bad temper has got us, got me, banned from one of the best coffee shops in this area!” “What I’ve done! What you did! If you hadn’t started ogling that freak, he wouldn’t have... Eureka Books occupied an attractive old building on the corner of Eureka Street and 21st Street. The store was lined with bays made of dark oak shelf-units surrounding an area in the centre with a wide oak table with a couple of comfortable chairs. Its stock combined a wide range of titles including many modern works on a wide variety of subjects as well as second-hand and rare books. At the back of the store, a wooden staircase let to an upper floor specialising in artist’s materials and books ... Chapter three $$Ch03-Red$$ The funny thing about San Francisco weather in August is that you never knew what to expect. It could be frigid and windy one day and two days later, you’d be basking in the park in lovely 75 degree sunny weather at noon. And late that afternoon, you’d be back to sweaters because of frigid bone chilling wind and fog spilling in through the channel that separated the Marin headlands from the City shores. And that fog could drill right into your very being. Mark Twain was right when he quipped, “T... Taking San Francisco’s BART train over to Oakland, Jacob landed at the Rockridge station and walked the three short blocks to the Hunter’s home. For all the bad stories about Oakland being a continual crime scene, the Rockridge area felt like a comfortable and calm slice of suburbia. Neat lawns fronted somewhat charming homes with deep lots and an array of late model cars, either SUV’s or small Prius sedans, parked on the curbs or in driveways suggested families and people who worked. “Hey! It... Chapter four $$Ch04-Red$$ Jacob, with his right arm folded behind his back, slowly extended his left arm holding onto the pull-up bar, relaxing his muscles slightly. Taking a deep breath, he clenched his right fist and pulled himself up again, beads of perspiration rolling down the side of his face onto the ground. It was quiet in the 24-hours gym at 2 A.M., and there was no one else besides him and another middle-aged man over by the weights - perfect for when he needed to sort out his thoughts, even more so for carryin... Jacob had chosen his outfit carefully that morning and took extra effort to style his hair. While his hands worked quickly, his mind was deep in thought, playing out a mental game of the prospective exchange he would have with the Commissioner later. Things would go well if he played his cards right. He arrived at the Police Headquarters about 30 minutes early, sufficient time to allow him to mingle with the staff with a valid reason without arousing suspicions. The receptionist politely told hi... It had been days since the Mayor's Office said they would call Jacob back but it would appear that his luck in that direction had run dry too. "It is only to be expected," he grumbled. While he surmised that would happen, he still held within his heart a slight hope that things would change but once again was sorely disappointed. Fortunately though, during the time of futile waiting, Jacob had managed to contact Amy Kennedy. He had already failed once, no, twice. At this point, besides Amy, he c... Chapter five $$Ch05-Red$$ "Heaven's sake, Pete, get off my back. You're harassing me. You're supposed to be my agent. You're supposed to be on my side." "I am your agent," said Schlamme. "That means I am not on your side. I am on my side, which is what you need in an agent. I am also something much rarer. I am an honest agent. And I am telling you you are getting nowhere. The Iguanadon or Pterodactyl--" "The Terrordon," said Jacob, "and I say that tetchily." "Okay. But you're stalled, I know it. You know it. Nobody will... "Lisa?" "This is Dr Warne, yes." "It's Jacob." "I'm sorry?" "Jacob Warne. You remember? From the Chronicle? We met in Cambridge in--" "My God. Jacob. It must be--" "Yes. I've thought about you often. But listen..." Lisa checked the kit, as always. Thank heavens for the transcripts. Used to be a shorthand writer, apparently, which must have been the job from hell -- writing down the ventilations of mental patients and the often clueless and increasingly irritable questioning of the psychiatrists and the raft of ancillaries -- but which didn't touch them, perhaps because, like an experienced psych or a priest in the confessional, they didn't actually listen. Now it was different. They had the Transcription L... When Jacob arrived at Rampworth he knew what to expect and he got it. The ID checks and state-your-business and show-your-authorization and please-open-the-bag-is-there-anything-there-which-can-harm-me-Sir... all the things once the stuff of midnight border exchanges on Berlin bridges, now commonplace for all citizens who travelled or visited others in their offices and anywhere else where security theatre was rapidly becoming the longest-running show in town. "Please take a seat," said the slit... "The thing you have to realise," she said, "is that everyone here is crazy, including most of the staff and the UPS guy, but this sweetie-pie is simply a world-class bugshit crazy lunatic asshole whose disorder, excuse me if I laugh because I have read every edition of the DSM and you have not, is just a convenient resource for a one-man clusterfuck whose sexual, social and financial mores make Weinstein look like a... a..." "Producer?" "Almost, yes." "You say 'sweetie-pie'. Which sweetie-pie?"... TRANSCRIPT 111.A.LW.26 CONVERSATION B/T PT ID #446 "SLEEPWALKER" (S) DR LISA WARNE MR JACOB HEATH Dx MID NON-RESOLVING INPT STATUS: UNLIMITED PERS. CYCLE (ALTERS) LW: How are you today? S: Charlotte is good. Look! New drawing. [laughs]. It's you! Am I good? Am I the bet at drawing? LW: You are very good. You are an artist. S: The best! I am the best! [changes voice] Dahling oh look at you that FROCK. [titters, v exagg. camp diction] and oh my GOD your HAIR who HAVE you COME as? Poor dear Jud... Lisa closed the door of the interview room. "It's always like that. Swings from one to the other quick as a flash. There are God knows how many others, locked inside, waiting. No wonder the judges don't like the defence of insanity when it's this kind of insanity. I don't like it, and I'm a professional." "If you should hear--" "I'm bound by professional confidentiality, Jacob." He looked at his feet. "Pillow talk...?" "That's unworthy, Jake." "No. That's honest." "Think about it. Maybe give me ... Chapter six $$Ch06-Red$$ “Bitch!” “Faggot, don’t you dare call me that!” Jacob’s head pivoted to hopefully triangulate on the Sound of Trouble. He’d built up himself enough to consider the words worthy of capitalization. The book may even take it as a title - lord knows that everything else about writing a novel was hard, the title coming so quickly must be a sign he was finally in the groove. The Castro district may have mellowed in recent years, but violence against the gays, well, anyone not straight, was rising. ... Chapter seven $$Ch07-Red$$ “Please stay out of trouble.” Pete gave him a measured look. “What, Schlamme wants to stay out of the Schlammer?”Jacob joked. “I’m not talking about me, though between you and me, getting called to the stand for one of my clients wouldn’t be good for business. I’m talking about you and your impulsive research habits. Things have changed a lot over the years, but I don’t think judges are any more tolerant of, uh, even socially-beneficial, ‘extra-legal’ activity, regardless of whether said practit... Chapter eight $$Ch08-Red$$ It could have been an art installation – a dark sphere atop City Hall, a spray of scarlet thread, five hundred people frozen in place, eyes wide with pain and disbelief. That hadn’t been the start, of course. Only moments earlier, there’d been bustling, cheery chaos – marchers, vendors, dancers, celebrants of all kinds, from babes in papooses to nonagenarians in gaily decorated wheelchairs. And a bright sparkly ball on City Hall’s short spire. He’d noticed it himself, and made his way up the fro... “It’s probably the AEL,” said the voice on the phone. Jacob rolled his eyes. “Pete, the AEL is not a real thing.” He looked around at the cafe’s other patrons. Just his luck to be eating falafel when his agent got on his discrimination kick. “You telling me there’s no prejudice against Arabs in this country?” Pete didn’t wait. “Of course there is. And atheists, too.” “Sure, fine, yes. But there’s no Elimination Leage, Pete. Not for either group. And anyway, why would they target San Francisco? I... ‘The Artist’ had been his first choice. But it had proven hard to come up with an appropriate meme. A palette? A brush? Not threating, and not exactly iconic. There was no hook. The thought had brought him back to his conversation with Pete. A hook. Fishing. Why not? It was cruel, bloodthirsty, barbaric – just like the terror attack itself. And it came with its own symbol. Who could miss the symbolism of the hook? The web had been plastered with images of the brutal steel barbs that the doctors ... “I saw your article, son. Fine job. Really fine.” “Thanks, Mom.” As a piece of journalism, it had been borderline at best. “I liked the bits about the Terrordon,” his father said, taking another sip of tea. “Your book sounds very promising.” “Thanks.” Not that there was much point in writing it if he couldn’t bring its subject out of hiding for an interview, at least. “I’m not so sure about that criminal, though. The… Hunter, I think you called him?” “Fisherman.” “Yes, the Fisher King,” his fath... Chapter nine $$Ch09-Red$$ 8 00 am, the alarm clock goes off. Jacob jumps off the bed, feverish. It’s been three days since he sent this message to the police, three days since his narks give him the same information: no investigation is launched, the declaration of The Fisherman is not seriously taken. This morning, he wakes up with a certainty: if there is nothing new from the police, he will change strategy. Not a minute to waste, he gets dressed hurriedly with almost clean clothes and stops a few minutes in front of t... “Amy! I put your mail on your office, I’ve got to go!” “Thank you Travis, good day!” answered Amy with a big smile. A coffee in the hand, the stack of files in the other one, Amy skipped between the offices of the open-space with agility up to its desktop where she put down her load in bulk and hurried to open envelopes put on her office. Since the Terrordon did not give any sign of life anymore, its everyday life was much less exciting and she sometimes had the sensation to have been pushed asi... “Madam Kennedy, The police services do not care about it but the population has already undergone an attack the author of which I am. Beware Amy, because I planned to lead other assaults against the population of San Francisco. District after district, I shall come to fish for souls to fill my net… Tremble, population of San Francisco, and take cover if you do not want to die! In three days, the fisherman will be alongside the wharf. The Fisherman.” The Fisherman. It was maybe one of the most absurd names that she had the opportunity of discover. The Chronicle received about ten these letters every month, they finished generally in a big shoe box which acted as archives – just in case. She felt however a small push of adrenalin, her heart accelerated. This letter reminded her years Terrordon, when she walked across San Fran to collect testimonies and photos with his inhabitants. Unfortunately, this period was ended from now on and she had m... Jacob drank his third coffee in the terrace of the Gary Danko. The first part of its strategy had quickly been executed, he bet from now on some human behavior. He remembered years when he had worked for the Chronicle. He remembered this journalist who got involved so much into the cover of the interventions of the Terrordon. When he worked on Harvey Milk's bio, he enjoyed observing the habits of others and had been surprised by the application with which this Amy seemed to live her life. Every ... “Amy come on, does not muse you, the fisherman is not some serious stuff." The letter, it’s contents, the cut newspapers, maybe it was even possible a colleague it as a joke. Amy tried however to reassure herself. The “Terrordon years" had left some aftermath, and she felt that she was about to fall again into this spiral where collection of scoop and report had urged her to put herself in danger, and all this for that? To sort out the archives of the Chronicle a few years later. She has to prot... Chapter ten $$Ch10-Red$$ He went to the store. Usually his shopping was hit and run: go to the corner convenience store, get what he wanted and a couple of impulse items, get out. But this time he took his time, trying to catch conversations among the patrons, or any hint that the Fisherman was starting to catch people's attention. While he was there he browsed the newspapers. It was getting rarer for stores to carry them, but this one did. Jacob bought the San Francisco Chronicle, making sure there was an A. Kennedy by... BOMB THREAT. NEXT TUESDAY. 1 pm (this was crossed over) 3PM. LOCATION? MAKE SURE ALL PAPERS GET IT, BE PUBLIC. DIRECT CALL (crossed over). EMAIL? RECORDED MESSAGE BETTER. He refined the details, got the numbers for all major newspapers in the city and spent a busy half hour drafting a script. He had to sound unhinged but intelligent, credible and also just enough over-the-top to be a believable supervillain. A lone wolf with a bit of flair, not so mundane to make Terrordon think that this would be a matter best left to the police, but not so crazy to be dismissed as a prank. It took him some tries to record the message correctly because he kept cracking up, mostl... It was much later and Jacob was still at the computer. The reaction to his message had been rather quick and, to his mind, mixed. He was currently in Twitter, reading with a mixture of chagrin and fascinated horror: @IllPatriot692 Another Islam threat on American soil!!1!! When will be wake up and destroy the a**holes!!! #MAGA #terrorthreat #PatriotsforJesus @Blndgrrlxxoo Whys nobody saying THE TRUTH! Real threat are the white domestic terrorists stop blowing smoak into our eyes @JacelynMrsBumbi Open you'r eyes this is a FALSE FLAG opperation to keep the people scared and not think about how Congreess is DESTROIYNG AMERICA!!!!!!!! @AryyaStarrk That someone would believe this is actually the work of a lone wolf is SO ridiculous is laughable! #BombThreat #AmericaUnderSiege He had also seen a number of quick-fire articles on his bomb threat; the reaction and tone was generally right, but the analysis was—disappointing. They'd all gone with the international terrorism angle, some even going so far as to dedicate some time pointing out how the terrorists seemed to be 'changing their tactics'. He googled 'Fisherman' again and the relevant articles had dropped to page 4. Also, the Kennedy piece in the Chronicle had suffered a rash of comments, all of which were basical... Anonymous: In this day and age where the world has turned into a hotbed for radicals this naive talk about supervillains is dated and counter-productive. I'm disappointed in the Chronicle's coverage and would recommend that you reporter gets her facts straight before committing her wild theories to paper. K. Johnson: YEAH RIGHT! So we now have what, a supervillain in our midst? Call Spiderman! Or whatever fourteen-year-old power fantasy the writer thinks should save us from this threat. With this kind of journalism is no wonder the country's in the dumps. Stalker99666: You dumb b*tch you cant write to save you're life and your ugly as f*ck why dont you die and stop writing dumb sh*t theres no Fisherman its the illuminati [EDITOR'S NOTE: please be advised that this user has been flagged by our readers and the comment is being reviewed for content and abusive language] Babs H. Newton: If this is the best that the Chronicle can produce in a matter as serious as terrorism I'm canceling my subscription. This frivolous take on the issue only helps terrorists and keep us from adopting the real and bold measures that we need to take as a country and as a society. Jacob pinched the bridge of his nose. This was not going in the direction he had hoped. Most of the articles dealing with the bomb threat had been either dismissive or openly ridiculing the Chronicle's take and Amy herself. There was a short op-ed called 'This is not a story of heroes and villains' that directly cited Amy's article and called it 'silly' and 'childish', and a famous journalists had published a post in her Facebook account in which she called the Chronicle's coverage 'shameful'. T... Chapter eleven $$Ch11-Red$$ The Fisherman. In his head, it had sounded predatory, malevolent. The sobriquet of a serial killer. Something Stan Lee himself might have come up with. It had sounded clever, too: the irony of the fisherman being the bait. But now? Now it just sounded stupid. The doubts had begun to rain down on Jacob as soon as he had creaked and squeaked into his costume at the top of the stairwell. By the time he had shuffled out onto the rooftop overlooking the Moscone Center, the doubts had become torrentia... Doubts weren’t the only thing raining down on Jacob—precipitation of the watery variety was also raining down on him. Heavy San Francisco splats thudded out a plasticky rhythm on his head and shoulders. That was at least one thing his costume had going for it—it was waterproof. He was decked out in a buttercup-yellow knee-length raincoat, a black souwester (which he now realised was two sizes too small and was compressing his skull), red waders and yellow rubber boots. The final touch to this en... He had spent a day criss-crossing the streets below, scanning for the perfect lookout. The rooftop he had chosen not only gave him a clear view of the entrance to the Moscone Center, but also had a fire escape that provided a quick exit to an alley at the back. The concrete walls of taller buildings either side blocked him from the view of surrounding office towers with their glass windows and bored occupants. All he had to do now was hunker down in his chair, keeping hidden behind the low wall ... The letters of the “MOSCONE CENTER” sign glowed through the gloom. It was only noon, but the squally skies were already dusk-dark. Tourists in brightly-coloured anoraks and windbreakers milled around the entrances beneath the sign. Guileless guppies. A banner ran along the top of one of the entrances. It read: DINOSAURS OF AMERICA. Was there a more fitting way of teasing out the Terrordon than at a paleontology exhibition? The Fisherman allowed himself a satisfied smile. He swung the binoculars ... It was the rain that gave him his chance. Another squall blew in from the bay and the skies dimmed. The buildings around him suddenly seemed small and unreal, as though he had zoomed in on some scale model built for special effects in a film. Explosions. All he could hear was the drumming of the rain on his hat and coat and the slushing of wet car tyres below. The rapid thud of his own heart. This was it. The lenses of the binoculars were distorted with droplets of rain, but he could see that th... Another thing he hadn’t been prepared for: this feeling of power. One moment his thumb caressed smooth plastic. Applied a modicum of pressure. And then the air was rent as the toy pteranodon became a thunder clap that ricocheted off the walls of the surrounding buildings and changed everything. For a moment it felt as though even the rain hung suspended in the air. In that split second of perfect still, the Fisherman could see individual shards of glass sparkling as the windows of the central en... That was when he heard it. Sirens. He’d expected it, of course—you could hardly set off an explosion in the middle of San Francisco and not expect the emergency services to show up. But something about hearing them rather than imagining them—the mundanity of their wail on the wet city streets—brought back the doubts. It seemed obvious now, the reality of it: the police were going to arrive; the Terrordon would not. Like a chink of light in a cave, he caught a glimpse of the insanity of his plan.... The crack of the second explosion reverberated for blocks. For a moment, nothing of the pedestrian bridge could be seen except for a plume of concrete and masonry. It reminded Jacob of a dirty wave breaking against rocks in a storm. This time, even the building beneath him shuddered. For seconds afterwards, his ears buzzed and the world became muffled cotton wool. As the dust cleared, he saw the twisted ironwork ribs of the bridge now exposed. There was a lull, and then the middle of the bridge ... EMMY you ok? He thrust the phone back in his pocket, unable to process the juxtaposition of what he had just done and his sister’s simple act of caring. All around San Francisco right now, people were sending similar texts—because of him. But he was okay and everyone else was okay. He had been so careful of that. Except everyone else wasn’t okay. More of the smoke and dust had cleared and now he saw where those fresh screams were coming from. There was someone on the bridge. She was young, blonde. Her rainco... On the tram home, trembling with adrenaline, something began to nag at him through the hysterical euphoria that had embraced him since his escape. He couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something familiar about the build and demeanour of the Terrordon. Something very familiar. And yet it remained maddeningly out of his mental reach, like a word stuck on the tip of the tongue. Chapter twelve $$Ch12-Red$$ “Gimme the remote, you ass. Nobody cares about “Say Yes to The Dress”. Andy sat across from the old lady who clutched her remote like a prized toy on Black Friday. Maryann sneered, waving the remote between arthritic fingers. “My granddaughter loves this show, and I’m going to find her the perfect dress for her wedding…”. She smiled, eyes glued to the box as some pretty and irritating blonde tried on yet another identical gown. The remote fell from her fingers, skittering across the floor, clac... Chapter thirteen $$Ch13-Red$$ Rog snapped awake, the monitor dimly lighting the dark room. The screen lock display was a brooding picture all flat green tones, a point of view between tracks on a lonely railroad bed that slashed a cut through an overgrown cliff on one side and trees on the other, curving away to disappear in a dark mist. He was glad to see it partially because he liked the picture -- the lonely feel of the picture touched something in him — but mostly because it was a tripwire, a flag that told him that th... He stood in front of the bathroom sink staring at himself in the mirror. He had a ferocious headache, and was having trouble concentrating. He turned the hot water up high and soaped his hands and arms, scrubbing hard, the lather turning maroon-inflected pink. He'd just been out back finishing that porch swing he'd sanded to bare wood the other day, and the stain got into everything. He hoped this wasn't going to be the color it dried to. His clothes were covered and already in plastic bags. ... Chapter fourteen $$Ch14-Red$$ Jacob dropped the phone, barely noticing the crack as it hit the wood flooring. He was too busy trying to get his head around the news he had just received. The Sleepwalker was free, earlier today he had broken out of Rampworth State Hospital, although how the hell that happened he had no idea, Rampworth was meant to be a secure mental hospital, holding some of the worst villains in society. It was not meant to be like a hotel, somewhere you can just go open a door and walk out. The scary pa... Jacob walked into the reception area of the San Francisco Chronicle and looked around before walking over to the reception desk. The young girl sitting behind a computer screen seemed to be in another world, totally absorbed in the screen she was looking at. Jacob coughed, no reaction, impatient to get on with his meeting he brought his fist down hard on the desk. The girl jumped, and Jacob felt guilty, but time was short, so he smiled and said, “Amy Kennedy, is expecting me.” The girl checke... Chapter fifteen $$Ch15-Red$$ The radio was blasting out Ability Ghana OFM when the neighbour knocked on the door. The Sleepwalker was running his Doug personality, doing a little renovation, and the music covered the noise of the drilling. When the neighbour knocked, though, Doug was taking a refreshing break, shouting along with the lyrics of Sarkodie's azonto anthem U Go Kill Me as remixed by Wizkid, EL, Ice Prince and Navio, jerking his hips left and right and pumping the air. He stopped in mid fist-bump, swivelled hi... The room was full and the speeches were over. Jacob was backed against the marble fireplace with a line of people waiting for him to sign his new book. "I loved your book about Harvey Milk," the woman said, and he felt his cheek twitch. He looked over her head to get his equilibrium back, and then he saw — no. It couldn't have been. "James!" the guy said, pushing past the line, hand out to shake. He engulfed Jacob's hand in a clammy, icy two-handed clasp. "Darling, don't you remember?" The guy... Chapter sixteen $$Ch16-Red$$ Shredding a man alive was something that the Sleepwalker was looking forward to. He was a ruthless man, his life and success depended on it, but even he had a code; unlike the Jew. The Sleepwalker was crouched outside an old barn scanning for heat signatures across the Sacramento Valley. His disposition and barbed-wire-hair blinked hurt in the moonlight with each passing cloud. Satisfied, he stood and yanked at the barn door with a purple gloved hand; its hinges groaned as wind raced inside the ... Two hours later, the Sleepmaker was parked and behind the wheel of a black SUV. In front of him, his three-remaining crew in a police car dressed in full uniform. “Looks like he’s asking for the check.” “To re-iterate, I need you all on high alert. We’re almost through our list of candidates, it’s highly likely Richards is the Terrordon. Remember, stay back and don’t put your lights on until he turns off the 101 onto March road. Keep him busy until I get there. If shit goes wild and he gets the ... Jason Richards pulled his Aston Martin 777 over just after the Chevron at Menlo Park. He’d just switched off the engine when an officer tapped a torch on his window. “Drivers license and registration please.” Richards gave the officer what he needed with a forced smile. He recalled the journey home to determine if he’d been speeding at any point. He had not. “One moment.” said the officer as he headed back to his car. Richards tapped his right forefinger into the steering wheel as he wiped his d... Chapter seventeen $$Ch17-Red$$ When running for the State Senate, his friends had joked that he was lowering his chances of being kidnapped. That, being a playboy was a more attractive ransom opportunity, rather than a low level public servant. It had been a sense of comfort, in a way, that he was turning towards a safer life. And hopefully a more contented one. But the Sleepwalker's piercing green eyes had changed all that, and now he was laying on his side in a trunk, listening to the car's back tires rumble over the uneven... From a vantage point across the bay, the Terrordon looked at the burning wreck of a house, and through his binoculars he could even make out Jason Richards being treated by a paramedic before being loaded into the ambulance for treatment at the hospital. Retiring in 2005 had been a personal choice, but now the Sleepwalker was back on the streets of San Francisco and had implicated a prominent State Senator. They would all come for him, because they would all want their own kind of revenge. Was t... Chapter eighteen $$Ch18-Red$$ “Damn it Pete! You know how this works.” “Just because I know doesn’t mean I like it. This isn’t Milk you’re talking about.” Pete Schlamme was talking about Jacob Heath’s biography of Harvey Milk. Jacob went to the extreme of dating other men to understand what Milk and others endured as homosexuals living openly in America. “Knock that shit off. You know I never f…ed any of those men.” “Exactly!” Pete saw a chance to make his point. “You were safe. You could say ‘no’ and retreat. This bastard ’... • Dissociative Identity Disorder: in extreme cases it presents as multiple separate ‘people’ ‘sharing’ the same body, with those personalities exhibiting substantially different behavior, emotional reactions, and a lack of shared memories • Dr Lisa Appleton Warne: Clinical psychiatrist; Rampworth State Hospital; maximum-security; mentally ill convicts committed to psychiatric facilities by California’s courts • Sleepwalker: sadist; diagnosed with DID; under care of DrLAW; nemesis of Terrordo... Jacob realized he didn’t really know anything about Sleepwalker for the umpteenth time that morning. He needed to think like Terrordon if he was going to provide his readers the ‘inside thoughts’ of his current subject. To think like Terrordon he would need to know as much as he could about his quarry. He’d read the books, but now he needed to know the details. The details that only the Dr would have. Dr. Lisa. She was a distraction. A “too easy on the eyes” kind of distraction. Those men had no... “Dr Lisa War…” “We know who you are here to see. You know your crazy, right?” The orderly stared at Jacob like a teacher looking at the class idiot. “That man was in here for a reason. Leave this alone and let the po-po handle it.” From over his right shoulder he heard the heels on the floor. Click-tap, click-tap, click-top. The slight rustling of the white coat over her hips as she walked, barely audible over the sound of the facilities noisey air handler. When smell of jasmine reached him he k... Lisa’s BMW M5 was a bit of a surprise. “Listen, I know what you’re trying to do. You realize this guy is messed up? It’s likely to end poorly for you. I don’t think I’ve been been too subtle regarding my personal interest in … well … you. Why should I help you knowing that I’m endangering something I’m interested in?” “For a psychiatrist you sure don’t hide your emotions well.” “Why should I?” Lisa was clearly irritated by his response. “I guess I just figured …” “As a psychiatrist I know what... “When you said ‘around the corner’ I was expecting a few blocks, not 30minutes of high speed curves.” “Why? You’re entering a world, this world of the Sleepwalker, where every statement means something different than the surface of the statement suggests. Right about now you should be wondering ‘is she serious about me?’ And I’d answer ‘yes I am.’ And then it will hit you ‘it doesn’t matter what Lisa answers because I can never know what is true and what is false.’ And then you begin to understa... There are at least 8 personalities inhabiting one body. We don’t know who that body was before these other personalities emerged. Normally, in a case of D. I. D. there are clues; a common last name, one that has a cohesive past life that can be confirmed, something. With this case, nothing. We have no place of origin. No family. No age. No missing person report. Nothing. Of the identified personalities the following information has been compiled: • Doug : New Jersey native. Contractor or other... As Jacob finished reading his notes out loud, Lisa sat silently. Jacob looked over all he had written and realized there was nothing there to point him in the right direction. Before he could say anything Lisa reached across the table and placed her hand over his. “Do you understand? Please tell me you understand and have come to your senses. Drop this. Let it go.” “How an I? How else can I write this book?” “Like every other author. Sit at home. Make phone calls. Look up things on the internet.... Chapter nineteen $$Ch19-Red$$ No hero can exist without a nemisis, and so it is with the figure who calls himself the “Terrordon”. One might be inclined to think that even someone with the nearly fetishistic collection of superhero acouterments would be battling his own, personal demons, that his nemisis is sanity itself. While there is some small merit to that hypothesis, insomuch as his disappearance a decade ago mirrors that of serial killers who seem to go dormant for long periods. Jacob stopped his typing and stared at ... The Westin stood above Union Square like the last giant’s step down from the clouds. It was a strange architectural choice that Jacob filed away for later research. He paid the ride-share guy, who had chatted amiably at Jacob the whole way without requiring any real conversation, and headed through the front entrance. The two story, green marble columns, dwarfing the hug grandfather clock in one corner, were just a blur as Jacob rushed to… where, exactly? The hotel was huge, and poking about on ... Chapter twenty $$Ch20-Red$$ Blood spilling from the throat of one of the patrons didn’t do much to the dark brown colour of the carpet. It pooled in the lines and grooves at his feet, startled eyes wide as his hand went to his throat, dropping the cigar he lit seconds before. Jacob glanced at the Sleepwalker, stumbling back when the image caught up to him. He slit his throat. Slit his throat from ear to ear and for what? The Sleepwalker crushed the smoldering cigar with his foot, taking a step back when the patron fell to... Draft (Orange) Chapter one $$Ch01-Orange$$ August 2005 From three hundred meters up, the Terrordon blended in with the night. Mostly. His new vantablack supersuit was created just for operations like this — where dropping out of the sky onto a heavily guarded island with thirty hostiles could get him killed. The suit actually absorbs light, which was really cool until the Terrordon stepped in front of a mirror. Where did the muscles he worked for years to sculpt go? And the pteranodon symbol on his chest had disappeared into the black of his chest, ... Chapter two $$Ch02-Orange$$ August 2017 The phone on the other end of the line rang out once more as the car pulled up to the kerb. It was the third time that morning that Pete had tried to call Jacob, with no success. While this wasn't unusual during downtime or even when he was writing, it wasn't like Jacob to be so unavailable during book tours. Turning off the ignition, Pete grabbed his phone and got out of the car. They had arrived back at San Francisco early yesterday evening and both men had gone their separate ways. Pete to h... Chapter three $$Ch03-Orange$$ The funny thing about San Francisco weather in August is that you never knew what to expect. It could be frigid and windy one day and two days later, you’d be basking in the park in lovely 75 degree sunny weather at noon. And late that afternoon, you’d be back to sweaters because of frigid bone chilling wind and fog spilling in through the channel that separated the Marin headlands from the City shores. And that fog could drill right into your very being. Mark Twain was right when he quipped, “T... Taking San Francisco’s BART train over to Oakland, Jacob landed at the Rockridge station and walked the three short blocks to the Hunter’s home. For all the bad stories about Oakland being a continual crime scene, the Rockridge area felt like a comfortable and calm slice of suburbia. Neat lawns fronted somewhat charming homes with deep lots and an array of late model cars, either SUV’s or small Prius sedans, parked on the curbs or in driveways suggested families and people who worked. “Hey! It... Chapter four $$Ch04-Orange$$ Jacob, with his right arm folded behind his back, slowly extended his left arm holding onto the pull-up bar, relaxing his muscles slightly. Taking a deep breath, he clenched his right fist and pulled himself up again, beads of perspiration rolling down the side of his face onto the ground. It was quiet in the 24-hours gym at 2 A.M., and there was no one else besides him and another middle-aged man over by the weights - perfect for when he needed to sort out his thoughts, even more so for carryin... Jacob had chosen his outfit carefully that morning and took extra effort to style his hair. While his hands worked quickly, his mind was deep in thought, playing out a mental game of the prospective exchange he would have with the Commissioner later. Things would go well if he played his cards right. He arrived at the Police Headquarters about 30 minutes early, sufficient time to allow him to mingle with the staff with a valid reason without arousing suspicions. The receptionist politely told hi... It had been days since the Mayor's Office said they would call Jacob back but it would appear that his luck in that direction had run dry too. "It is only to be expected," he grumbled. While he surmised that would happen, he still held within his heart a slight hope that things would change but once again was sorely disappointed. Fortunately though, during the time of futile waiting, Jacob had managed to contact Amy Kennedy. He had already failed once, no, twice. At this point, besides Amy, he c... Chapter five $$Ch05-Orange$$ Jacob shifted in his sleep, trying to avoid the sliver of light that fell across his face. Unable to move in just the right direction, he slowly opened one eye, in hopes of determining the source. Of course, he thought. The blackout curtains on the southern-facing window had gapped, allowing the sunshine to blaze through. He grabbed his phone and looked at the time… 8:02. Great. The universe was telling him to get moving. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, simultaneously scrolling throu... Jacob’s stomach felt like it was filled with lumps of lead even though he hadn’t eaten since the day before. The drive to Rampworth had been unpleasant, and he’d been forced to make two bathroom stops to relieve his nervous bowels. During the trip, his mind had summoned up all kinds of nasty tricks and replayed nightmare images from childhood featuring his much-older cousin Stan… who was both physically and mentally impaired and liked to torture Jacob when the adults weren’t in the room. Outside... “I’m Dr. Warne. It’s nice to meet you.” Lisa Warne extended her hand out and shook Jacob’s noting that it was moist to the touch.” “I’m Jacob Heath. Thank you for agreeing to this on such short notice,” he replied. She took in his appearance and realized that even though she’d never seen him before, he was definitely pale and sweating. “Are you… alright?” she asked. “Just nerves,” he replied, his mouth too dry to smile convincingly. “Let me get you a can of Sprite,” she offered. “It helps.” She ... “I’m sorry you came all this way and went through so much stress with no real results.” Lisa said as she walked Jacob back to the front of the building. “It is frustrating. That is for sure. But it was also fascinating. I didn’t realize that I’d get to talk to so many personalities,” he agreed. “I do find it hard to believe that none of the personalities knew who the Terrordon was though.” “What will you do now?” she asked. “I’m going to have to think about that,” he replied honestly. “I’d lov... Chapter six $$Ch06-Orange$$ “Bitch!” “Faggot, don’t you dare call me that!” Jacob’s head pivoted to hopefully triangulate on the Sound of Trouble. He’d built up himself enough to consider the words worthy of capitalization. The book may even take it as a title - lord knows that everything else about writing a novel was hard, the title coming so quickly must be a sign he was finally in the groove. The Castro district may have mellowed in recent years, but violence against the gays, well, anyone not straight, was rising. ... Chapter seven $$Ch07-Orange$$ The thunder rumbled ominously, the sky grey and overcast. It seemed to mirror Jacob’s mood, though he knew that was wishful thinking. Stuff like that only happened in storybooks. He was off to see Pete again for their regular quarterly update and he had no progress to show. For all he knew, he had just walked past the Terrordon carrying a kale smoothie. Probably not though, the Terrrordon was definitely taller. Though, maybe his outfit incorporated hidden heels to make him look taller and more i... Chapter eight $$Ch08-Orange$$ The driver hit the brakes just in time, making a gesture at Jacob, as he was crossing the street, deeply immersed in his thoughts. The sudden rain was slowing down the traffic and people were hurrying to find repair in stores and cafes. Jacob entered the shop and took off his baseball cap. “Hey Emmy, wonderful weather!” he grinned. Emmy was stacking new souvenirs and gadgets while at the same time greeting the people looking for a shelter from the rain. “Good morning Jacob, perfect timing!” she ... “What’s going on?” a man looked outside the window. “There must have been an accident, I just received several notifications on my twitter feed”, the girl replied without looking away from her smartphone. The sirens’ sounds were loud and coming from all directions, Jacob grabbed his phone and immediately opened his twitter account for the SF hashtag: ‘terror attack in San Francisco, police is cordoning off the area.’ “Emmy text me later, tell mum and dad we’re ok and all, I must dash!”, Emmy cou... “Pete, you ok? I guess we have to put your grand soirée on hold. No, I’m not running around screaming his name…I’m actually entering home right now, I’ll probably display the light signal in the sky and call him out.” Jacob was famous for using irony and sarcasm in delicate situations. He saw them as weapons and as a cheap instrument to stay away from psychologists. Jacob was assorted in his plotting and by the time he entered the flat he was soaking wet. Damn it! he thought, I might as well tak... “Hey Billy, guess what? It’s time you return me the favour. Meet me at the spot, tonight, same time.” Jacob felt a lot like a spy, one of the things he liked the most when writing for the San Francisco Chronicle was the relationship he had to establish with outcasts, pimps and generally dubious people that kept him in the loop in turn of small favours, like avoid pressing chargers for minor violations. One of them was Billy, a smart kid who was too good with computers for his own good. A hacker.... “What?” Jacob startled aloud while frantically looking for other news and police reports. There was no mention of The Fisherman whatsoever, none in the news or in the SFPD report. He checked every news report in the San Francisco Bay area, even very social network with the SF hashtag and the local tv news, but they were all reporting other organisations claiming responsibility for the terror attack of the day before. What happened? Jacob was anxious and sweaty, did the police receive the claim ... Chapter nine $$Ch09-Orange$$ It was 9:30 in the morning. Jacob had been back from the gym for a couple of hours already. On the table sat his laptop, a copy of today’s Chronicle, folded open to an article called “We’re Clueless, Admit Police,” and an empty saucer. From back in the kitchen came the sound of his grumbling old pastel green espresso machine as it grudgingly spat out his third cup of coffee. One hand on the machine, muscles in his arm tensed, both eyes searching the skyline out his kitchen window, Jacob was not ... He had managed to make up enough biography questions to take them way past the appetiser and into the main course. But finally, it was time for him to get around to his real reason for the dinner with Amy. He closed his notebook and set his pen down and picked up his wine glass again. “But enough about my work. Thank you so much. I guess they’ve got you working really hard on that recent attack,” he said, looking over the glass, and watching Amy sip from hers. “Well, it’s all sort of drying up….... Chapter ten $$Ch10-Orange$$ He went to the store. Usually his shopping was hit and run: go to the corner convenience store, get what he wanted and a couple of impulse items, get out. But this time he took his time, trying to catch conversations among the patrons, or any hint that the Fisherman was starting to catch people's attention. While he was there he browsed the newspapers. It was getting rarer for stores to carry them, but this one did. Jacob bought the San Francisco Chronicle, making sure there was an A. Kennedy by... BOMB THREAT. NEXT TUESDAY. 1 pm (this was crossed over) 3PM. LOCATION? MAKE SURE ALL PAPERS GET IT, BE PUBLIC. DIRECT CALL (crossed over). EMAIL? RECORDED MESSAGE BETTER. He refined the details, got the numbers for all major newspapers in the city and spent a busy half hour drafting a script. He had to sound unhinged but intelligent, credible and also just enough over-the-top to be a believable supervillain. A lone wolf with a bit of flair, not so mundane to make Terrordon think that this would be a matter best left to the police, but not so crazy to be dismissed as a prank. It took him some tries to record the message correctly because he kept cracking up, mostl... It was much later and Jacob was still at the computer. The reaction to his message had been rather quick and, to his mind, mixed. He was currently in Twitter, reading with a mixture of chagrin and fascinated horror: @IllPatriot692 Another Islam threat on American soil!!1!! When will be wake up and destroy the a**holes!!! #MAGA #terrorthreat #PatriotsforJesus @Blndgrrlxxoo Whys nobody saying THE TRUTH! Real threat are the white domestic terrorists stop blowing smoak into our eyes @JacelynMrsBumbi Open you'r eyes this is a FALSE FLAG opperation to keep the people scared and not think about how Congreess is DESTROIYNG AMERICA!!!!!!!! @AryyaStarrk That someone would believe this is actually the work of a lone wolf is SO ridiculous is laughable! #BombThreat #AmericaUnderSiege He had also seen a number of quick-fire articles on his bomb threat; the reaction and tone was generally right, but the analysis was—disappointing. They'd all gone with the international terrorism angle, some even going so far as to dedicate some time pointing out how the terrorists seemed to be 'changing their tactics'. He googled 'Fisherman' again and the relevant articles had dropped to page 4. Also, the Kennedy piece in the Chronicle had suffered a rash of comments, all of which were basical... Anonymous: In this day and age where the world has turned into a hotbed for radicals this naive talk about supervillains is dated and counter-productive. I'm disappointed in the Chronicle's coverage and would recommend that you reporter gets her facts straight before committing her wild theories to paper. K. Johnson: YEAH RIGHT! So we now have what, a supervillain in our midst? Call Spiderman! Or whatever fourteen-year-old power fantasy the writer thinks should save us from this threat. With this kind of journalism is no wonder the country's in the dumps. Stalker99666: You dumb b*tch you cant write to save you're life and your ugly as f*ck why dont you die and stop writing dumb sh*t theres no Fisherman its the illuminati [EDITOR'S NOTE: please be advised that this user has been flagged by our readers and the comment is being reviewed for content and abusive language] Babs H. Newton: If this is the best that the Chronicle can produce in a matter as serious as terrorism I'm canceling my subscription. This frivolous take on the issue only helps terrorists and keep us from adopting the real and bold measures that we need to take as a country and as a society. Jacob pinched the bridge of his nose. This was not going in the direction he had hoped. Most of the articles dealing with the bomb threat had been either dismissive or openly ridiculing the Chronicle's take and Amy herself. There was a short op-ed called 'This is not a story of heroes and villains' that directly cited Amy's article and called it 'silly' and 'childish', and a famous journalists had published a post in her Facebook account in which she called the Chronicle's coverage 'shameful'. T... Chapter eleven $$Ch11-Orange$$ Jacob kept his head down as he turned off Colma Boulevard and into the Home Depot parking lot. He knew it couldn’t be true, but, for some reason, it felt like everyone was watching him. No-one could have guessed from looking at him that, underneath his crusher hat and trench coat, he was clad head-to-toe in turquoise spandex. His initial preference had been for some sort of suit – more like The Penguin or the Joker – but since he’d already chosen The Fisherman as his moniker that left him with f... Jacob glanced at his watch. Three minutes to twelve. From his vantage point behind the bushes, he could see the warehouse staff heading inside for their lunch break. They would be shielded from any flying debris once the first device went off, but it would still be loud enough for them to hear. Then, once they had alerted the managers, the store would be evacuated via the main entrance at the front – far enough away from the second device to avoid hurting anyone, but still near enough for everyo... Chapter twelve $$Ch12-Orange$$ The Sleepwalker stirred in Rampworth State Hospital. He’s been a patient in the secure mental facility since 2005, with his 7 year reign of terror throughout the San Francisco area being brought to an end a long time ago. How odd that his capture and incarceration had been at the hands of his archenemy, the masked vigilante Terrordon. As a moniker, the ‘Don of Terror’ should surely have been an accomplice, but no, Terrordon had been the foil to every underhand notion the Sleepwalker had contrive... Medication followed breakfast. Joe stood in line, patiently waiting for his concoction of pills. He’d never understood why he had to wash the assortment down with water rather than tea, but he obliged on every occasion. Each patient was medically assessed for a period during the day, but as there were only so many doctors to patients. The ratio meant there was plenty of leisure time available. Charlotte would always play or draw. Tim’s exuberance would scare other patients back to their rooms. R... Chapter thirteen $$Ch13-Orange$$ Doug was irritated. He just couldn't make up his mind. Walking down California Street from the Presidio and heading downtown, he kept looking over his shoulder, anxious. It was like something in the back of his mind kept urging him on, but he couldn't put a finger on what it was. Like when you forgot a book on the train, one you'd already read, one that didn't hold much value to you anyway, but it just bothered you that you forgot it. It keeps nagging you and you don't really understand why. Scr... The San Francisco Fire Credit Union on California Street was perfect for his needs. It was a gigantic bank, it was very stylish, but most importantly, it conveyed the message that you must be crazy to attempt to rob it. He was crazy so that seemed like a very kind invitation to do just that. As always, he had multiple plans with multiple avenues of approach ready at his disposal. Still, he needed another half hour or so to decide which one to tackle and how best to go about it. The Sleepwalker... Not entirely unexpected, the six-year-old girl showed up a few minutes later. By herself. As she stood in front of the mirror, contemplating how to clean up the mess she made with the maple syrup all over her shirt, the Sleepwalker stepped behind her. Their mirror images looked at one another for a moment, and as she was about to scream, a soft suede hand slid over her mouth. He smiled and nodded at her: It's alright. Not to worry, not to worry. An infuriating eight minutes later, her father app... The Sleepwalker was unsure whether he would have liked to hear shots fired. But as such things go, not everything can be under one's control, so it might as well end happily for the little family. More importantly, he hoped that the restaurant would keep its business. The coffee really was outstanding there. He pulled a large black bag out from behind the red brick wall next to the bank. Moving swiftly, he walked back towards Spruce St. Station further down on California. He walked past Wells Fa... Chapter fourteen $$Ch14-Orange$$ The curtain fluttered, letting in a sharp sliver of light that danced across the Jacob’s sleeping face. Jacob stirred, stretching an arm in reflex. The mug crashed to the floor, splashing the remnants of his late night coffee on the worn carpet and the side panel of his oak desk, rousing Jacob fully. “Damnit!” Jacob sat up. He glanced at the clock on the wall. Another night wasted falling asleep at the desk. He looked over at his computer screen and shuffled his mouse impatiently. The cursor re... “Do you know what this is about?” Amy asked as she sips on a latte. Pete sat on the couch opposite her, in Cats and Fiddles, the café where Jacob had asked to meet them. Pete shrugged. “It’s getting hard to tell these days. He’s been… intense. I don’t think his latest novel is going well.” “That’s the one about the Terrordon?” Amy asked. She didn’t know Pete well, but remembered their last meeting a month ago at the book launch of her friend where she found herself chatting with Jacob, an old ac... Chapter fifteen $$Ch15-Orange$$ It was obvious to Sleepwalker that The Fisherman was a fraud. He could tell without even considering any of the oh-so-obvious leads. The name itself gave it away. The Fisherman. It was offensive. Insulting. Demeaning. No serious villain would name themselves after a tradesman. “Better be careful, The Baker might get you! Ooh, look out, The Plumber’s on site,” he muttered. Trades were for honest people, which is probably why Jesus was a carpenter. Smart people worked hard too, but only for the f... Jacob woke up with a headache and his body felt cramped and sore. He didn’t remember falling asleep on the sofa. He didn’t remember much at all. He opened his eyes and, for a moment, had that vague, perplexing sense of unfamiliarity. It quickly turned to a solid awareness of unfamiliarity. He wasn’t home. This wasn’t his sofa. He sat up. “Welcome Mr Heath, it is good to see you are awake.” The voice came from behind. It sounded vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t pick it. “Allow me to introduce my... Chapter sixteen $$Ch16-Orange$$ At first glance, The Sleepwalker’s secret headquarters looked like a poor person’s idea of how rich people lived: intricately patterned wall hangings, overstuffed uncomfortable chairs, gilt fixtures everywhere. But on closer examination, the years of disuse while The Sleepwalker was in Rampworth had taken a toll: the wall hangings were torn and faded; the chairs had become homes for moths and other, less respectable, insects; the gold-colored paint was cracked and chipped, exposing the brown and... “Look, Mister Kelly, I drew a picture for you. It’s that pretty place with all the white walls and all the nice people where we used to stay. I want to go back there. I don’t like it here. When can we go back?” “Thank you, Charlotte, that’s a beautiful picture. We’ll talk about when we can go back. But later. Right now, I need to talk to The Sleepwalker.” “Oh, him. You always make me go away so you can talk to him. I hate that. I hate him!” “I’m sorry, Charlotte, but it’s really important. Pleas... Whirrr. People looking up; helicopters weren’t unusual here, but they usually stayed higher up. WHIRRR! Getting closer. Nearly on the ground! WHIIIPPP. Three ropes trailing down from the chopper. ZIP! Thee men sliding down the ropes. EEEKKK! People running. HHEEELLLLP! Cries from the crowd. Open space below the chopper. Three men in that space, facing toward the entrance and the few people clustered there. One man stands out from the cluster as the others cower in fear. Jason Richards, sharply d... Chapter seventeen $$Ch17-Orange$$ The Sleepwalker pressed his foot against the accelerator just to feel the g-force of an exceptional drive train. The resulting pressure exhilarated him. In the rearview mirror, he could see his men falling back unable to keep up with the rich man’s car. “You have a state senator in the boot,” Rog whispered. He clicked the cruise control then allowed the vehicle to slow back to the posted speed limit. “I am slowing down for them Rog, not for you.” He said. “What boss,” a voice asked from the rear... Chapter eighteen $$Ch18-Orange$$ “Damn it Pete! You know how this works.” “Just because I know doesn’t mean I like it. This isn’t Milk you’re talking about.” Pete Schlamme was talking about Jacob Heath’s biography of Harvey Milk. Jacob went to the extreme of dating other men to understand what Milk and others endured as homosexuals living openly in America. “Knock that shit off. You know I never f…ed any of those men.” “Exactly!” Pete saw a chance to make his point. “You were safe. You could say ‘no’ and retreat. This bastard ’... • Dissociative Identity Disorder: in extreme cases it presents as multiple separate ‘people’ ‘sharing’ the same body, with those personalities exhibiting substantially different behavior, emotional reactions, and a lack of shared memories • Dr Lisa Appleton Warne: Clinical psychiatrist; Rampworth State Hospital; maximum-security; mentally ill convicts committed to psychiatric facilities by California’s courts • Sleepwalker: sadist; diagnosed with DID; under care of DrLAW; nemesis of Terrordo... Jacob realized he didn’t really know anything about Sleepwalker for the umpteenth time that morning. He needed to think like Terrordon if he was going to provide his readers the ‘inside thoughts’ of his current subject. To think like Terrordon he would need to know as much as he could about his quarry. He’d read the books, but now he needed to know the details. The details that only the Dr would have. Dr. Lisa. She was a distraction. A “too easy on the eyes” kind of distraction. Those men had no... “Dr Lisa War…” “We know who you are here to see. You know your crazy, right?” The orderly stared at Jacob like a teacher looking at the class idiot. “That man was in here for a reason. Leave this alone and let the po-po handle it.” From over his right shoulder he heard the heels on the floor. Click-tap, click-tap, click-top. The slight rustling of the white coat over her hips as she walked, barely audible over the sound of the facilities noisey air handler. When smell of jasmine reached him he k... Lisa’s BMW M5 was a bit of a surprise. “Listen, I know what you’re trying to do. You realize this guy is messed up? It’s likely to end poorly for you. I don’t think I’ve been been too subtle regarding my personal interest in … well … you. Why should I help you knowing that I’m endangering something I’m interested in?” “For a psychiatrist you sure don’t hide your emotions well.” “Why should I?” Lisa was clearly irritated by his response. “I guess I just figured …” “As a psychiatrist I know what... “When you said ‘around the corner’ I was expecting a few blocks, not 30minutes of high speed curves.” “Why? You’re entering a world, this world of the Sleepwalker, where every statement means something different than the surface of the statement suggests. Right about now you should be wondering ‘is she serious about me?’ And I’d answer ‘yes I am.’ And then it will hit you ‘it doesn’t matter what Lisa answers because I can never know what is true and what is false.’ And then you begin to understa... There are at least 8 personalities inhabiting one body. We don’t know who that body was before these other personalities emerged. Normally, in a case of D. I. D. there are clues; a common last name, one that has a cohesive past life that can be confirmed, something. With this case, nothing. We have no place of origin. No family. No age. No missing person report. Nothing. Of the identified personalities the following information has been compiled: • Doug : New Jersey native. Contractor or other... As Jacob finished reading his notes out loud, Lisa sat silently. Jacob looked over all he had written and realized there was nothing there to point him in the right direction. Before he could say anything Lisa reached across the table and placed her hand over his. “Do you understand? Please tell me you understand and have come to your senses. Drop this. Let it go.” “How an I? How else can I write this book?” “Like every other author. Sit at home. Make phone calls. Look up things on the internet.... Chapter nineteen $$Ch19-Orange$$ Jacob put down the pen, looked across to where the sun was leaving meaningless, flat squares of light across the carpet and closed his eyes. In his mind, he again saw Lisa, the doctor at Rampworth leafing through the case file. And once again she said the same the thing. He is more than one person. Jacob heard movement out in the hallway and wondered if there were other guests booked onto this very same floor of the hotel. He had managed to find the room fairly easily, and had paid in cash. This... When he awoke, he saw that the squares of light were now tracing their path up one of the walls. He checked his watch. It was now three-thirty. He would have to leave by five. He could hear people arguing in the room next door, the sound of roadworks down in the street below and the voice of a girl out in the corridor, probably the same maid who had helped him up with his suitcase. He found the remote for the small, battered portable TV and thumbed through the channels. On NBC, he soon discov... "Hell of a thing," said the driver, weaving through the traffic. "What is ?" asked Jacob. He found he didn't want to talk but sometimes it took away the anxiety, if only for a little while. "The Sleepwalker. Getting out." "That name," suggested Jacob, "it was something the media came up with. It makes for better headlines." "Well, the guy sure is making them now - what with that girl they found in the pool over on west boulevard. Do you think he picks them?" "I've no idea." The driver nodded at ... After his second drink, he used the lobby bathroom and then returned to where he could see anyone coming into the hotel. He reflected on the photograph Lisa had shown him back at the hospital. In all likelihood, the Terrordon would find a way to blend into the crowd of faces spilling into the reception area. He would need to look for Joe. That was the only option right now. Beyond the doors, a scuffle broke out. The sound of two well-dressed young men fighting. From their slurred speech and aiml... Chapter twenty $$Ch20-Orange$$ Blood spilling from the throat of one of the patrons didn’t do much to the dark brown colour of the carpet. It pooled in the lines and grooves at his feet, startled eyes wide as his hand went to his throat, dropping the cigar he lit seconds before. Jacob glanced at the Sleepwalker, stumbling back when the image caught up to him. He slit his throat. Slit his throat from ear to ear and for what? The Sleepwalker crushed the smoldering cigar with his foot, taking a step back when the patron fell to... 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