learned_the_truth (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
learned_the_truth) wrote2012-07-09 09:51 pm
learned_the_truth) wrote2012-07-09 09:51 pm
Do Your Research
He really should have brought it up with Murphy.
When John finally left Milliways after his first visit, it had still been pouring the rain in Blue Earth. He had turned his steps back toward the parsonage, completely forgetting that he was supposed to go to the bank.
In fairness, there was a lot on his mind.
The downpour had petered out (as sudden downpours tend to do) by the time he got back. He should have gone to Murphy right then. Just bypassed the house and gone straight to the pastor’s study in the church next door. Instead, John had tromped around to the back door, through shallow puddles that practically sheeted the yard, and let himself in the kitchen.
The boys were still there with Mrs. Gustavson. Sammy was in the playpen babbling earnestly at a stuffed dog. Dean was at the table with paper and a shoe box full of odds and ends of crayons. John finally felt his shoulders completely relax.
There was something about being whisked to the End of the Universe that made you want to make sure people were where you left them.
When Dean saw him, he squirmed down from his chair and came over to give him a hug. John watched in amusement as Dean pulled away from his legs with a disapproving face.
“You’re all wet.”
John found himself grinning in response.
“Yep. I guess I am.”
He should go straight to talk to Murphy. Because, door to another dimension? That had to be some next-level shit, even for a hunter.
Instead what John found himself saying was, “Have you seen all the water in the backyard? Tell you what. You go grab your shoes and I’ll grab Sammy and we’ll all go get wet.”
All disapproval disappeared from Dean’s face and he turned and raced to the front of the house to get his sneakers. Sammy had pulled himself up on the side of the playpen, bouncing and hooting, excited apparently just because his brother was excited. John picked him up and cast a cautious glance at Sandra Gustavson, half expecting a They’ll both catch their death of pneumonia!
But the older woman just quirked a smile at him and said, “I’m headed home soon. The stew in the crock pot will be ready for dinner, and there are rolls in the freezer. Just bake at 350 for about half an hour.”
After an afternoon of all but swimming in the backyard, the boys crashed hard and were in bed by seven o’clock. Which meant that it was the perfect time to bring up Milliways with Murphy.
Except John didn’t. He couldn’t say why, but he felt that that was a card best kept close to his vest. At least for now.
Which was not to say that he didn’t want more information. At nine o’clock, Murphy came into the den to find John surrounded by most of his occult library.
He looked over the carnage with a raised eyebrow.
“I was going to see if you wanted a beer,” he said. “Should I come back later?”
John closed his book and pinched the bridge of his nose.
“God no. A beer sounds good.” He looked around. “I’ll put all this back and be right there.”
Murphy shook his head. “Leave it. It won’t go anywhere.” He picked one book up and checked the cover. “Something in particular you’re looking for?”
“No. Nothing in particular.”
They took their beers out onto the front porch. The air was thick with the sound of spring peepers. It was amazing that a bunch of frogs could raise such a racket.
John waited until they were halfway through their bottles before he snuck around the blind side of his topic.
“Have you ever,” he said, “heard reports—I mean real reports—about people who…get pulled out of the real world by something supernatural? They get pulled to other places and then sent back?”
Murphy took a long pull on his beer before he answered.
“There are stories,” he said. “I’ve never met anyone who’s dealt with one directly, but there are a lot of stories. Time slips. Vortexes. Mystery spots. Some unexplained disappearances have been attributed to them. Why do you ask?”
John shook his head.
“No reason.” He stretched his legs out in front of him. “I remembered seeing something about it on one of those TV specials. Learning about all of this stuff…..I’m still trying to figure out what’s bogus and what’s not.”
“I’m sure.” Murphy chuckled a bit. “There’s a lot less bogus in the world than I ever used to think. Except Bigfoot. Bigfoot ‘s bogus.”
“No shit?”
“No shit.”
So there were answers of a sort. And as companionable evenings went? It sure didn’t hold a candle to sitting on the porch with Mary back in Lawrence.
But John would take it.
When John finally left Milliways after his first visit, it had still been pouring the rain in Blue Earth. He had turned his steps back toward the parsonage, completely forgetting that he was supposed to go to the bank.
In fairness, there was a lot on his mind.
The downpour had petered out (as sudden downpours tend to do) by the time he got back. He should have gone to Murphy right then. Just bypassed the house and gone straight to the pastor’s study in the church next door. Instead, John had tromped around to the back door, through shallow puddles that practically sheeted the yard, and let himself in the kitchen.
The boys were still there with Mrs. Gustavson. Sammy was in the playpen babbling earnestly at a stuffed dog. Dean was at the table with paper and a shoe box full of odds and ends of crayons. John finally felt his shoulders completely relax.
There was something about being whisked to the End of the Universe that made you want to make sure people were where you left them.
When Dean saw him, he squirmed down from his chair and came over to give him a hug. John watched in amusement as Dean pulled away from his legs with a disapproving face.
“You’re all wet.”
John found himself grinning in response.
“Yep. I guess I am.”
He should go straight to talk to Murphy. Because, door to another dimension? That had to be some next-level shit, even for a hunter.
Instead what John found himself saying was, “Have you seen all the water in the backyard? Tell you what. You go grab your shoes and I’ll grab Sammy and we’ll all go get wet.”
All disapproval disappeared from Dean’s face and he turned and raced to the front of the house to get his sneakers. Sammy had pulled himself up on the side of the playpen, bouncing and hooting, excited apparently just because his brother was excited. John picked him up and cast a cautious glance at Sandra Gustavson, half expecting a They’ll both catch their death of pneumonia!
But the older woman just quirked a smile at him and said, “I’m headed home soon. The stew in the crock pot will be ready for dinner, and there are rolls in the freezer. Just bake at 350 for about half an hour.”
After an afternoon of all but swimming in the backyard, the boys crashed hard and were in bed by seven o’clock. Which meant that it was the perfect time to bring up Milliways with Murphy.
Except John didn’t. He couldn’t say why, but he felt that that was a card best kept close to his vest. At least for now.
Which was not to say that he didn’t want more information. At nine o’clock, Murphy came into the den to find John surrounded by most of his occult library.
He looked over the carnage with a raised eyebrow.
“I was going to see if you wanted a beer,” he said. “Should I come back later?”
John closed his book and pinched the bridge of his nose.
“God no. A beer sounds good.” He looked around. “I’ll put all this back and be right there.”
Murphy shook his head. “Leave it. It won’t go anywhere.” He picked one book up and checked the cover. “Something in particular you’re looking for?”
“No. Nothing in particular.”
They took their beers out onto the front porch. The air was thick with the sound of spring peepers. It was amazing that a bunch of frogs could raise such a racket.
John waited until they were halfway through their bottles before he snuck around the blind side of his topic.
“Have you ever,” he said, “heard reports—I mean real reports—about people who…get pulled out of the real world by something supernatural? They get pulled to other places and then sent back?”
Murphy took a long pull on his beer before he answered.
“There are stories,” he said. “I’ve never met anyone who’s dealt with one directly, but there are a lot of stories. Time slips. Vortexes. Mystery spots. Some unexplained disappearances have been attributed to them. Why do you ask?”
John shook his head.
“No reason.” He stretched his legs out in front of him. “I remembered seeing something about it on one of those TV specials. Learning about all of this stuff…..I’m still trying to figure out what’s bogus and what’s not.”
“I’m sure.” Murphy chuckled a bit. “There’s a lot less bogus in the world than I ever used to think. Except Bigfoot. Bigfoot ‘s bogus.”
“No shit?”
“No shit.”
So there were answers of a sort. And as companionable evenings went? It sure didn’t hold a candle to sitting on the porch with Mary back in Lawrence.
But John would take it.