-

Hours pass, most of the time spent in silence, occasionally broken by light conversation; often Andrew asking for clarification on some points. It is only when the windows begin to darken with sunset that Irene begins packing things up from the room.

“I’m afraid I must go collect some items we may need like I said.” Irene says, slinging her bag over her shoulder. “Should anyone come to the store before me I beg you not to respond, let alone even open the door, we don’t know how much they know about you.”

Andrew just nods in response, his nose buried in one of the books and his face screwed up in a deeply focussed expression. Irene chuckles, heading out through the door and locking it behind her. A thick, low fog clouds the streets at this time of day, Irene pulls her coat around her and pushes through in the direction of the Estate.

-

The Estate reception is mostly empty, a lone younger woman manning one of the desks, in the same receptionist attire. Irene’s sharp clacking from her heels across the tiled floors resound from the arches in the tall ceiling, turning off through a door on the right-hand wall.

The room beyond is lined with desks, a handful of tired looking people scribing notes out in ledgers, stacks of books off to their sides. They seem to be studying a collection of strange items in glass cases that line the far wall. She briefly stops to say a few words to a small, wiry older man sitting behind a screen, taking a long brass key from him.

Turning back and heading through the room toward a backroom, Irene uses the key in a smaller door and moves beyond.

-

Quiet has taken the shop since Irene’s departure, Andrew nearly nodding off into the many books piled in front of him. The book he is currently engrossed in is a detailed recollection of prior investigations into the ‘infection’. According to the scrawled notes set aside the books, William believed that the cult is using some unique infectious fungus to spread their influence and to terrorise the country at large, its most common symptom being short-term blindness followed by the fungus consuming the eyes of the victim. Or at least, that is what the recovered cadavers suggest.

According to the research, William has never been able to find a cultist, or meeting places for such activity, however given the particularly sporadic appearances of matching iconography in places of ‘outbreak’ it is behaving similarly to some underground cults. Hence the conclusion of it being a cult’s activities.

The research done into the ‘being’ that the cult worships has turned up with minimal results, the Mayweather Estate’s extensive resources and experiences pertaining to the occult and eldritch showing no previous encounters with a ‘burning light’. As a result, William concluded that, with regards to the infection, whilst the occult cannot be ruled out, he believed the chances are it’s a cult tactic to gain power through fear mongering.

“What sort of people would do such a thing? Blinding people en-masse just to gain some sort of political strength? That’s barbaric.” Andrew complains, his fingers curling into a fist in his hair, the disgust apparent on his furrowed brow. “Made all the worse by the fact it’s probably vulnerable people who have been indoctrinated into doing this. They wouldn’t know any better."

Absent-mindedly he pulls out the red crystal, spinning it on the desk with his fingertip for a minute. He pauses, pushing his palm onto it to halt its spinning, the sound of a cart rolling past striking a panicked nerve.

He sits suspended in a moment of tension, before an inspired look takes over his face, his left hand reaching out to his notebook from the briefcase. He quickly thumbs through the pages, the rough paper crinkling in his hurry, stopping at a page dated only a little over a year back that is titled ‘Charles Morris, Eleven, Traumatised, Suffering from delusions’.

“If I recall correctly….” His fingertip tracing across the paper, stopping at a line regarding the child’s parentage. “‘…trauma as a result of running away from his family in fear of an infectious disease. As a result of this, Charles aggressively reacts to the sight of other people’s eyes. Must wear eye covers.’ His previous address is even within the quarantine areas, it must be connected.”

Nodding to himself, he begins jotting down some details on Charles’ previous address, and finding a scrap of paper, writing a small note for Irene. ‘Irene, should you read this before I return, I’ve found a connection between this mess and a previous patient I worked with. Head to Queens Street across from the Fishmongers on Walkers Lane, I’ll meet you there.’

Grabbing his woollen jacket from the rack alongside his umbrella, he reaches for the front door, his hand pausing a few inches short of the handle. The door is open, only by an inch or so, but a stiff breeze rolls through the gap. His face pales, his hands clenching and unclenching anxiously, he turns slowly into the room, peering into the darkness of the aisles at the back of the store.

-

At the Mayweather Estate, Irene is making her way through a large clutter of eclectic and unique items, beads of sweat forming on her brow, searching for something in particular. She seems to be actively avoiding making contact with some of the glass cases on pedestals to either side.

The light of the open doorway behind her giving her just enough to see, she lets out a relieved sigh. Reaching down to an open tray and pulling out what appears to be a rosewood box, with tarnished silver gilding along the edges.

“Hopefully, this works. Now just for some medical bits, and I’ll have to pick up some masks on the way back.” Mumbling to herself, Irene quickly double checks the contents of the box, revealing an intricate brass knife. “Probably the best I can do for the Doctor.”

Collecting a leather first aid kit from the inside wall of the room, she closes and locks the door behind her as she leaves. She hands off the long brass key, curtseying briefly to the man behind the desk, and exiting the building as quickly as she entered.

The time spent in the Estate made the difference between evening and night, with the fog now obscuring most vision, the light coming through the windows of residences down the street create a loose path to follow. Irene manages to make it back to the store relatively fast, only to stop a few feet short of the door.