Episode 123 Previous Episode	Next Episode
“Ya’ll see the man hanging out of the spaceship with the really big gun? I’m not saying you weren’t easy to find, but it was kind of out of our way and he didn’t want to come in the first place. Man’s looking to kill some folk, so really it’s his will ya’ll should be worried about thwarting.” Captain Malcolm Reynolds, Firefly “Erik,” said Donovan, his British hooligan accent sitting atop the hum of the lead car as the knights sped down the road. In the back seat with Armand, Donovan held the cell phone to his ear, saying, “Bad news; Morgan’s gone nuts. We’ve been framed. We think he may be on his way to you now.” In the hotel room, dressed in a bathrobe, Erik listened intently. Silent for a moment, he finally blinked, then exclaimed, “What?” “Morgan’s ma got pinched, probably by Vick,” Donovan said, leaning into the turn as Everett slid the car through the intersection, Roland’s car staying a car length behind. “We got blamed. They made it look like at least Richard was the one who did it. Morgan’s pissing fury apparently and we’re pretty sure he’s going to make for the hotel. You’ve got your sword handy, I hope.” As Donovan spoke, Erik hobbled into his bedroom, grabbing up his sword. With a flick of his arm, he sent the scabbard onto the bed. “I sure as hell do now.” “Good. Fortify the room if you can and stay put. We’re on our way there.” “Donovan,” Erik said. “Yeah?” “Hurry.” Erik shut the flip phone with a flick of his wrist and looked around the room. In the hotel suite, he suddenly felt very small amongst the shadows of the nighttime. With the sword in hand, he walked to the windows and checked the locks before closing the blinds tightly. Heading back into the main room, he picked up the phone, dialing ‘0’. “Front desk,” said the woman on the other end as Erik propped the phone against his shoulder. “Good evening,” he said. “This is Erik Karlsson. I need to know if anyone has approached the desk asking about my room number.” The voice on the other end hesitated for half a second. “No sir, it’s against our policy to let out that kind of information without the guest’s permission. Is everything alright, sir?” “I believe so, but tonight is a night for caution,” he said poetically, adding, “Thank you,” before hanging up. He looked around the gold and tan living room and sighed. He shuffled uncomfortably for a second before appraising his bathrobe, chuckling. “If I’m going to die, it won’t be in this.” Erik stood before the bedroom’s full-length mirror, adjusting his dark blue shirtsleeves. Dressed in white pants, his sword within reach, he evaluated his appearance with absolute scrutiny. He turned a bit, wincing as he did. “So long as I don’t move,” he observed, “you wouldn’t even notice I’m…” There was a loud bang, followed by the sound of the door opening. Erik froze, his heart skipping a beat. “Erik!” Donovan called. “It’s me.” Erik hobbled out of the room to find Donovan leading the others inside. He rushed to Donovan, hugging him with relief. “I’m glad it’s you,” he said with a smile to Everett and the others. “But now what’s all this about Morgan going crazy?” “We’ll explain on the way,” Ledger said, heading for the door. “On the way?” Erik puzzled. “On the way where?” “Our only other option as to where Morgan might be,” Edgar said. The two cars full of knights pulled up in front of Morgan’s house. Everett didn’t bother hiding Sunstorm as he drew the weapon from within his trench coat. Taking the cue, the others knights did the same readying their weapons. Feeling awkward amongst the blue and silver, Marilyn took out her tonfas. Everett pointed at Ledger, gesturing over the house, then at Roland and Armand and pointing to the sides. Roland nodded and broke off with Ledger, both running along the right side of the house, Armand doing the same along the left. Everett ran up to the front steps without a sound, touching the door. Unlatched, it opened with the slightest pressure. He looked back at Sydney and Edgar, with Marilyn behind them and Donovan and Erik at the rear. He pushed the door open fully, then stopped. “Oh my god,” he whispered. The door swung slowly in, revealing the devastated house. Water covered the hardwood floor, while the whole room was littered with the remains of destroyed books, demolished furniture, and other debris of what had once made the home inviting. Everett stepped cautiously inside, the razor tip of his double-bladed katana leading the way. As he entered the dark home, Sydney came in behind him, quietly moving to the far side of the room, her footsteps managing to make no sound on the watery floor. Edgar came in next, but turned to face behind the door, opening the entrance to the recording studio. He quickly rushed inside, Marilyn staying defensively at the entrance. Everett moved towards the entrance of the kitchen, pausing. He waited for a breath, listening to the perfectly silent house before swinging around, his sword ready. On the other side of the dividing wall, Roland was waiting. The two knights came within a hair’s breadth of slicing the other’s head off with their katanas. Lowering his sword, Everett looked to Ledger and Armand. “Clear?” he mouthed. They all nodded. He pointed up the stairs and Ledger nodded, Roland and Armand following him to the second floor. Everett watched them go before he came back into the living room. Sydney was staring at a small stain on the wall. “What is it?” he asked quietly. “Blood,” she said. “But it doesn’t look human.” Curious, Everett leaned in close to study it, then looked around. It didn’t take him long. “Oh my god,” he repeated. “What?” Sydney asked, just before gasping and looking away. She kept her eyes closed, focusing to keep herself centered. Next to her, Erik walked up, staring in disgust at the object of their reaction. “Is that…a turtle shell?” he asked. “Part of one,” Everett said. He couldn’t keep from looking at Marilyn. She returned his worried glance, fighting to keep from looking at the remains of Ralph. “What did this?” Donovan asked, walking into the center of the living room. Standing equally far from the devastated walls, he marveled at the destruction. Sydney sniffed the air, looking at Everett knowingly. “Even if Alan is behind this, I’ve never seen a knight so…unconcerned with collateral damage,” Erik said, kicking the remains of a few books away, sending ripples of water across the room. “Why do this? Was Morgan here and there was a fight?” “If there was a fight, there’d be more blood,” Everett said. “And there’d probably be a body.” “Morgan may be tough, Everett, but he isn’t invincible,” Erik said. “Even if he lost the fight, it’d be his body left behind,” Everett said. “Morgan will die before he loses, to anyone.” “It’s true,” Sydney said. “I made him tap once when sparring. Once. And after it was over, he was ready to go again. I wasn’t ready to spar again for another week.” “Okay, so Morgan probably isn’t dead,” Donovan spoke up. “But then where is he? And more, who did this?” “Morgan’s stepmother got attacked from behind in her own home,” Everett said, counting off, stepping around slowly, his hiking boots causing soggy splashes to echo his every step. “At the scene of the crime was a very distinct, if someone subtle, scent that we would associate with Richard, with the Blue Knights.” In a flash, Sunstorm was at Erik’s throat, the blade within a breath of his skin. “The point, Erik,” Everett asked with a quiet anger, “is prove to me, irrefutably and without any question, that you had nothing to do with this.”
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