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purkinje-effect · 3 months

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The Anatomy of Melancholy, 97: Nothing Beside Remains

Table of Contents Third Instar, Chapter 28. Go to previous. CWs for religion, unreality, and delusions.

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“...Round the decay / Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare / The lone and level sands stretch far away.” -- Percy Bysshe Shelley’s “Ozymandias”

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“Why are we headed to Sutter Grove, then, Sir?”

Angel followed along behind ‘Choly as the pair walked the Upper Level, from the GCC to the southern end of the Concourse. Unlike the near-abandoned Lower Level, the second story of the Concourse housed many residents. Leases didn’t seem to have opened up shop, like an animal in hiding until the coast was clear… or possibly even an animal lying in wait. He bit at his lip for a ways. Eventually, he replied.

“I can’t leave it alone. Consider it bribery if you have to, but I must get more information out of Haidinger, even if it costs me.”

The Mister Handy wanted to hesitate, but resisted what would put any distance between them.

“But we haven’t anything in the way of funds at present.”

“We still have several brokering chips, by my count.” ‘Choly stopped only long enough to wag a mindful finger at it. “Many things are worthless unless the man in possession of them knows exactly what he has.”

“I do hope you know what you’re doing, Sir.”

“I probably don’t, but let’s have some faith.”

As they stepped into the entryway for Sutter Grove, they passed the miniature replica of Pheasant Lane Mall on display. ‘Choly straightened in his orthotics. His eyes trailed the odd glowing recessed filigrees of Burlington glass which illuminated the hallways. He quashed his nervous, wandering attention, and pulled his eyes from the architecture.

He didn’t need to locate an Atomite to ask after the Sacristan. Haidinger sat with the door open in an office not too far from the entryway. The glowing, ghoulish priest noticed Angel’s metallic scrabbling and rushed to his feet to greet them.

“Ah! You there.” Haidinger’s shoulders locked square. His gloved hands refrained from reaching out, if even simply to gesture in admonition that the robot risked scuffing the floors by crawling out in this manner. “Atom keep you, cousin. How is your robot?”

‘Choly looked to Angel, then back to the Sacristan.

“It’s still going to take time, but Angel is improving. Thank you.”

Haidinger tried to smile.

“And your hand? How is it?”

“That… will take more time than Angel will, but I’m not snagged up, if that’s what you’re asking.” He held up his still-blistered left forearm for emphasis. “I don’t understand why this was your reaction to the situation, but I want to.”

‘Choly produced a holotape from his pocket and took Haidinger’s hands to place it in them. He clasped his hands around Haidinger’s with an apologetic tenderness.

He also tried to smile.

“We got off on the wrong foot, Sacristan.”

His wandering fingers traced Haidinger’s exposed wrists. Haidinger withdrew his hands, gripping the holotape in one hand while gripping that hand with the other, and with a somber but pleased sigh he upturned his hand to read the tape.

“When you said you had a transcript for your experience during the Division Day storm, I believed it to be a physical text. No matter.”

“It’s a duplicate. I brought it to give to you. Transcribed most of it by holotape. If the holotape proves interesting to you, I could be persuaded to share my physical notes as well. You have a way to read this?”

“I have a way, yes. Thank you.” Haidinger squinted at the holotape at length, almost as though he didn’t understand the gesture. “Something bothers you. Do you wish to discuss it?”

“What, the holotape?” A misleading, distracted chuckle slipped out of him. “I don’t know what about it that I would need to discuss. …No, what bothers me might somehow tie back to that tape, but the tape itself isn’t it.”

Haidinger placed a sympathetic hand on ‘Choly’s shoulder.

“We have quiet, open spaces nearby that will afford a bit of privacy. Come, speak with me in my office.”

“It’s true. I have a motive. I…”

Haidinger led them back to where they’d found him. The tart musk of incense crinkled up in ‘Choly’s nose. Contrasting the dark, holographic corridors of the church, countless specimens of Burlington glass adorned every open surface of this space, drawn into all manner of arcane shapes he found at once oddly familiar and unusual. Concentric rings traced seemingly impossible fluorescent sigils. Shocks of fabric and lengths of fiber intermixed with the glowing artisan glass and incorporated dozens of bones of uncertain origin. ‘Choly squirmed inside that some of the larger ones, used to intimate a more organic concentrism, may once have belonged to a whale. He didn’t give his legs the chance to grow unsteady with grief, and sat in one of the available wooden chairs opposite Haidinger’s low, round desk. Angel parked itself directly next to him and curled up its tendrils to occupy as little space as possible. He set one needful hand upon it, and lowered his voice.

“...We're going to give living at Ant Lane another try. Sticks won't tell me why he’s been reluctant, but I know the one thing that eats at me more than anything. Tell me that any unease I feel around that pit is unfounded. I don’t know why it made sense in my head to seek you of all people about it. I’m no Atomite. I’ve never been much for religious sentiment. It’s just a hole.”

Haidinger sat beside him rather than opposite him.

“You came here seeking reason. May Atom provide. You were right to come to me. You mean the sinkhole caused by the tunneling damage, n’est-ce pas? You needn’t worry. The Hall may have blocked funding for further repairs, but the Mayor has provided the Church with increased funds in recent months. Sutter Grove intends to pay for any repairs our Glassworks cannot ourselves provide.”

‘Choly wanted to sit on his hands to keep from wringing them, but handwringing felt like the only appropriate thing to do at the time. He hemmed.

“My unease goes deeper than that. You misunderstand me. The red and green hallucinations. The things people thought they saw right before the storm didn’t necessarily mean anything, but I can’t stop thinking about what I saw.” His gaze raced over every feature of glass and bone it could find, sooner than make direct eye contact. “I hope we’re not interrupting anything.”

‘Choly only trembled more by trying not to, and Haidinger noticed. His brow pitied the chemist.

“Many have described their Burlington visions to me,” he said, grave but kind. “It sounds as though you believe your visions may have caused you unease. Are you comfortable describing to me what you saw? I have the time for you now.”

As ‘Choly spoke, Haidinger turned the holotape over in his hands. He nodded along softly, calculating what response might best help him.

“I’ve done my best to forget about it, but neither the storm nor flood helped with that. I feel this… horrendous dread deep in my gut over it. I saw some distressing green things, but… I had this red one, too, standing right over the sinkhole, a few hours before it caved in.” He struggled to join his words with his meaning. “Blood red. There was a… spinning. Rot. So much rot. The Clark girl, the younger one. For some reason, I noted on that tape that she personified something about that hole as hunger. Seeing how the ants dragged all those bodies into it… It sounds absurd now, to speak it, but I can’t shake feeling like the ants were trying to feed us to it.” A brief, desperate display of enamel softened the conviction in his voice and squinted his eyes into slivers. “Of course, I know none of this happened. Only a series of images created by my brain in a magnetic field.”

“Witnessing things out of sequence can distress even the most resolute. Some Burlington shifts embody emotions and energies rather than giving us concrete, literal projections in time. It’s more common with ‘red’ ones, as you put it. That said, the spinning did potentially harken to something literal. Years ago, this place once had what’s called a carousel. A riding amusement from the time before. It was one of the last remaining things the Concourse continued to use as a visitor attraction, even after it swore off all other technology.”

‘Choly leaned toward him. Rigor locked his eyes wide open as he gripped the geometrically carved armrest. He rejected any implication he could in any capacity see the future--not after everything Jared had put him through.

“...Carousel. I know what those are. They have… animals to sit on. Sleighs and carriages sometimes. Lights, and music. And they rotate, but slowly. My vision spun dizzyingly fast. What… what happened to it?”

Haidinger patted the back of his hand with a murmur.

“The winter of 2258 happened. It was the first time in Ant Lane’s history that the barriers lapsed. We had multiple nor’easters that year, after thirteen years without any. At the same time the storms’ resonance did not manage to activate the Granite, some property of the storms seemed to compel the Lane’s denizens to… experience things, behave a particular way. With each storm that season, people further dismantled the carousel. You can still find pieces of it scattered around the property, if you know where to look.”

“How odd. I saw people digging there. In my hallucination. How deep did they actually dig? The tiles in that area were different from the rest of the mall.”[97-1]

Haidinger couldn’t rein in a look like ‘Choly must have grown a second head.

“I’m telling you that your vision was metaphorical. Isn’t that reassuring?”

‘Choly’s mouth hung open as he formed the resolve to insist upon it.

“How deep.”

The sacristan shifted in his chair, and broke eye contact.

“They were trying to breach the barrier. They did not succeed.”

“That doesn’t make any sense!” He caught himself raising his voice and his fingers went to his mouth in apology. “Why would they upend an entire amusement ride just so they could dig under it? They could have just broken open the gates, if they only wanted the Granite to activate. And the ground is the least effective side they could’ve picked to expose the Concourse to the storm, too.”

“Many things in Atom’s domain are beyond us to comprehend. You’re correct. At the time, I too presumed the Granite begged for its voice. I’ve dedicated decades of study to this place, not just as its sacristan, but as someone troubled deeply by the things I witnessed the Concourse denizens do that winter. I have not seen even the Fog-Lost be so compelled as they were. The Concourse attempted a lockdown, but many found disturbing means to circumvent it that I still cannot explain. Before Division Day, I worried the Lane would fall into the same obsession. The two winters thankfully had next to nothing in common.”

This was the first ‘Choly was hearing of Haidinger dreading any aspect of the storm.

“Almost nothing isn’t nothing.”

“How to put it. You’re aware we monitor the ants, as a means to predict the weather, yes?”

‘Choly carded the fingers of one hand in the air to jog his memory, and raised a finger.

“Yancy. The Lane’s meteorologist. We’ve met.”

Haidinger nodded briskly. He hadn’t expected a full response.

“Right. It’s the ants, you see. Usually we know of imminent storms whenever the ants go dormant. Both in 2287 and 2258, they were active during the nor’easters. Now, they invaded the Concourse and enacted devastating carnage. Then, they were directly responsible for the barrier’s failure.”

“Maybe the intensity of the storm drove the ants to seek shelter, but it frenzied them. If there’s been multiple times the ants have posed this level of risk, why won’t the Lane just exterminate them?”

“I have heard this sentiment come up a great deal since Division Day. I am reluctant to agree with it. Even if it were so simple as to kill a few insects, they are denizens of this structure as well, and they even cultivate a crucial food source for those who cohabit it. Yancy Mercer is adamant that the Satellites would suffer without the forewarning to take shelter. Atom’s Children thrive and endure just fine all throughout this land no matter the weather, but this is the only settlement between here and the Galleria with any protection from the storms for anyone else. I will tell you in earnest: though I want nothing more than for the Granite’s procession to become manifest, I also know it’s not destined to come to be by the relentless chewing of myriad ants.” The weight of the conversation finally shook a haunted look from the sacristan. “No, that hole cannot remain.”

“It should reassure me more than it does that the Atomites’ leadership is in agreement to keep the Granite ‘Quiet.’ You do agree that we must repair the AEGIS, right, not just the building itself?”

“At any cost,” Haidinger replied, a little too quickly. His eyes narrowed in thought before opening again. “In agreement? You’ve spoken with Fresnel about this, too, then. I take it she could not ease your mind much, either.”

About other things, maybe.

“No, we didn’t share many words. We were both focused on our respective tasks.”

“She’s been busy indeed. You know, I confided in her about your crates. I hear she’s done her best to locate them. I’ve beseeched a handful for the recovery effort as well. Thanks to the mayor’s donations, I’ve been able to afford to pay our cousins and siblings for their labor in this. So far, we’ve found only one crate, but the effort is ongoing.”

“You’ve found a crate--?” He barely withheld a too.

“It’s nothing of use. Several dozen of some kind of board game.” Haidinger knit his hands in his lap and trained his gaze on them. “That many more of a holotape of the same name. I loaded one, and it seems to be some kind of… Oh, how is it called. Video game.”

A smile broadened the corners of ‘Choly’s mouth at the absurdity.

“Jangles’ Big Day. Lockreed’s storage was full of them.” His smile plastered a bit as he turned to glance at the Diorama in the hallway still within view. Somehow, it only served to unnerve him further to have the door open. He couldn’t shake the unease that someone, or something, could be following him. “Of course that was the first crate to resurface. Hopefully, the next dozen won’t be more of the same.”

“Atom abound! Still your tongue.” Haidinger steadied his breathing, and settled back into his chair. “Forgive me, though. The subject has wandered. You came to me to ease your worries. Have you discussed everything with me that you wished to?”

As he turned again to face the sacristan, the plaster smile deliquesced into one of misshapen, dopey clay.

“I kind of regret bringing it up, and welcome a chance to change the subject. Say, the Diorama is where you archive the film and holotapes you come across, right?”

“Once I transcribe your holotape, the tape itself will be stored there, yes.”

“I would love to borrow from that library sometime.”

Haidinger whipped ramrod and wide-eyed.

“The Vault is not a lending library. It is an archive.”

‘Choly shrank, if even mostly mentally. He raised a reluctant finger.

“But… what if it were? Humor me. Did you happen to keep the JBD holotapes?”

Haidinger’s brow furrowed.

“I wasn’t sure what to do with them. The crate is still in the maintenance room where I left it. You wish to borrow… a board game?”

“Not as such. They’re not completely useless. I understand being protective of things you might have only one copy of, if that's the trouble. I can use those JBDs to create duplicates of any analog item in your archive. Then, maybe you would be more inclined to allow a little lending? Backup copies.”

Haidinger’s indignant confusion softened into a certain deference. He rose to encourage ‘Choly to follow him to the Diorama. ‘Choly pushed off from the desk to follow the sacristan. Angel unfurled itself to crawl along nearby.

“You come to Sutter Grove for help, only to offer your own. You would do that? For the Church? And how? These Jangle holotapes, they already contain something.” He lifted the lid for ‘Choly. “What do you believe you stand to gain from this lending? What do you hope to find in here?”

The chemist sighed. He didn’t want to push his luck asking for several, but narrowing his selection to a single holotape daunted him nonetheless. Though the film reels interested him most, owing to his offer, he kept to his holotapes. His eyes repeatedly wandered to the model of the large carousel in the back of the Concourse replica.

“Mm, I offer moreso for you. It is selfishness on my part, though. I used to drown out my anxieties with fiction. All the books, television, movies, and radio I could cram into my day. I'm looking for entertainment, distractions. Have you always enjoyed film, or did you only come to appreciate it after the war made it scarce?”

“I take my curation duties very seriously, but I admit it’s as much a passion as a calling. These stories must have been lovely to experience firsthand in the last world, but they have taken on an entirely new value, through surviving into this one.” Giddiness tugged at the corners of his mouth, but he remained collected. “You love films, and you’re familiar with things such as carousels. Society by large, as it existed before the last known Division… it fascinates you, then, does it not? If it’s so, then we share a passion for history.”

‘Choly brightened a shade when he came across a section of radio dramas, and plucked one out at random.

“Ah! You have copies of Lights Out. Lovely.”[97-2] He eyed the episode’s label–’Murder in the Script Department’--sooner than let himself continue to glare off into the Diorama. “Oh, it’s not so much that I’m fascinated by it, as it is that I experienced it firsthand. You’re probably older than I am, especially accounting for the time I spent unconscious, and you certainly got good looks for it where I became laden with health complications, but… To put it simply, I might not be a ghoul, but because of what Vault-Tec did to me, I’m as old as one.”

Haidinger remained still and silent for some time. ‘Choly gnarled up all over again, having just chastised Angel for disclosing his age freely, only to do so himself, and with indiscernible purpose in having done so at that. He anticipated Angel would have cross words for him later, and he’d have nothing to say for himself. As the glowing ghoul pursed together what remained of his thin, sinewy lips, the chemist hung on his every reticent word.

“In strictest confidence, not all of those as I am are as old as the Division.”

“Verity. I know he only got that way somewhat recently. I understand he’s an unusual case.”

Haidinger could only look again to his upturned hands, at a loss.

“Well, I am myself an unusual case. I don’t remember much from before I stayed my valence at the Lane. For all I know, I could have become a conduit of Atom’s Light the day before I stepped foot here in 2205. I’ve always supposed this gift came at the cost of knowing who I was before it was bestowed upon me.”

‘Choly could only stare. His gaze tried to swerve across Haidinger’s body, but a quiet, raging jealousy locked his attention on his face.

“So for all you know,” he quavered, “you might be just like Verity.”

As Haidinger spoke, regret eroded his composure, and any softness in his tone crumbled to an exigent hush.

“It’s common belief that Atom created all of the Undying Glow during the last Division, and none since. I’ve never corrected anyone on this presumption, since I do not know for certain. I don’t know how my congregation would take the possibility that my existence might prove that Atom continues to create more like me. And oh, would I need Her Grace, were I found wrong in my speculation.”

‘Choly loosed a nervous chuckle.

“Surely, they wouldn’t take it any more poorly than learning just how much copper is in this place.”

Haidinger’s bright eyes slashed with grief, and he clutched at his chest.

“May your tongue consume away in your mouth![97-3] You wouldn’t say such irreverent, callous things so freely if only you understood.” With stony revulsion, he reached into the Diorama for himself, to produce a holotape of his own. He caught himself trying to drag ‘Choly along by the wrist, but still pushed him along by the shoulders back into the office. “I won’t stand for this a moment longer. It’s my duty to demonstrate as best I can how you handle a subject so delicate as filigree glass with the callous abandon as though it were mud.”

‘Choly returned to the chair. He and Angel sustained bated eye contact as Haidinger shut the door and sat on the edge of the desk in front of him.

“You’re not in trouble. And the door isn’t locked, I promise.” Haidinger shoved the holotape at him, sneering with pity. “Your Pip-Boy. Use it to play this.”

“I’m sure I could find time later this evening--"

“--You’ll listen to it now. This one does not leave my possession.” The priest laced his gloved hands in his lap. “My reverence for archiving and constructing Ant Lane’s Chrestomathy[97-4] is second only to my upkeep of the building itself. Understand that what you now have in your hands is neither fiction nor entertainment.”

“Should I be more frightened of the nightmare I described to you, or this holotape?” ‘Choly’s attempt at nervous laughter choked to a halt when he regarded the tape in his hands. A deteriorated printed label still legibly read Taskerlands, B. 08/10/2077. He sucked on his teeth. His lips parted but imparted nothing. Shutting his mouth, he huffed with a thin smile. “You’re trying to scare me. It’s working.”

“You have more context than many. It should prove most educational for you.”

He snapped the recording into the tape deck of his Pip-Boy and clicked it shut, then tuned the audio output to the tape.

People chatted in the distance. A register till’s bell dinged. At places, faint music faded through.

‘Hit an impasse.’ The brusque male Canadian voice sounded so lost. ‘Need to talk it out, make sense of it. The blueprint calls for twenty-nine. Been coming up all but empty-handed. Doubtful that replicas would work. And these need to work.’

‘Choly shifted in his seat.

The man in the recording slid from contemplative distress into a scattered call-to-action.

‘Couldn’t convince Dunwich to part with any. Their contacts were actively unhelpful. Maybe... maybe Bysshe. No margin for error. Got to keep moving on fresh leads. Not that there’ve been any. Last expert went missing. What was the name... Need to be able to verify the authenticity of any deathmask that pops up. Why won’t Norliss[97-5] help anymore?’

A gruff growl came, then a crash. Nearby people began to whisper.

‘Don’t know what to do...! Can’t leave the blueprint incomplete. Running out of time. Have to keep it contained here, at any cost.’ The viscosity of his diction intensified as he pressed the device closer. ‘If you find this holotape, you must ensure the design is in tact and to the letter. It’s the only way.’

‘Mister, Mister Taskerlands,’ stuttered a proper young woman, mustering as much deference as she could. ‘I see you’ve... spent the night here. Again.’ An unnerved laugh escaped her. Under her breath, she murmured something about DeMarco-Boyle’s. ‘That’s the ninth time this month, that I’m aware of. Need I remind you that we don’t permit staff or patrons to sleep on the furniture here. Is there anything we can do for you, Sir?’ Deliberate choice in words could not belie her frustration or disbelief. ‘With how you carry on to yourself into that recorder there, well, Sir... It scares the customers. You’re starting to cost Sutter Grove sales. And costing Sutter Grove costs Pheasant Lane, wouldn’t you say, Sir? You don’t want anyone to think ill of your mall, do you?’

A long pause.

‘It’s cost everything.’

‘Oh, good. You can still communicate. Presumably.’ Despite the possible shift in his behavior, his habits still elicited her jaded ire by this point. ‘He’s not going to budge. The annexation has been taking a serious toll on him, you know.[97-6] Harry, get the security detail for an escort.’

‘But it still won’t be enough, will it?’

The recording ended with a mechanical click. ‘Choly stared at the device on his right arm, bewildered. A chuckle cracked out of him tandem to a bewildered, lyrical affect, but he could neither smile nor laugh.

“What exactly is it that you want me to learn from this? That Taskerlands was even more unstable than I thought? What was he even going on about?”

The moment he had ejected the tape, Haidinger yanked it from him.

“The Great Marbled Taskerlands endured tremendous duress to accomplish all he did in the before last world. What more is there to explain to you than what’s come straight from his mouth? This recording is the closest I’ve ever come to understanding the truth of this place. You heard him: we must preserve this space and design.”

A gaunt wetness lingered in Haidinger’s luminescent chartreuse eyes. ‘Choly scanned for meaning in the ghoul’s features, but found nothing unspoken.

“Or else what?”

“I… I don’t know.” Haidinger’s exasperation crumpled into anxious self-consciousness. He turned away from them, to face the neon sigils on his far wall, and his voice once more became a thin whisper. “One might imagine that what transpired on Division Day this year is all the proof we need that he was right to appoint the Aldermen.”

“Alder-- But none of this is real!” ‘Choly tossed his hands out at him, incredulous and in great deficit of patience. “Don’t you see!? Nothing is real! That’s my whole damn problem, isn’t it!”

The sacristan’s eyes shot wide with shock, and he staggered when he whipped around on his feet to face them again.

“Where did you get such ideas,” he uttered. “Say you didn’t find such lies here. There can be no apostate in this house.”[97-7]

“If I’m alone in having Division Day shatter my sense of reality, I would shoot myself in the foot. This whole thing has been fruitless and meaningless. The red shift, that recording… it all means nothing.”

“And I cannot reassure you otherwise? Or sway you from such... abandon?”

“You’re a priest, not a psychiatrist, and it was my mistake to believe otherwise. I don’t know what I thought you could tell me that could possibly quieten my swirling whalefall nightmare.”

Haidinger sniffed, a shallow, damp click.

“I think... that for the moment, unless there is anything else you must discuss with me, you should leave, Melancholy.” Eventually, Haidinger nodded, mostly to himself. “You should seriously consider joining us for services. Sutter Grove can give you the footing and clarity you desperately need.”

‘Choly patted at the drama holotape in his pants pocket, and tried to swallow the lump in his throat.

“I told you I don’t mind making copies for you of anything I take out. I’ll bring back the original and a duplicate before the week’s out.”

Austerity defeated Haidinger’s agitation, and he simply drooped.

“Promise me that, cousin. And promise me our chat remains between us. All of it.”

‘Choly’s internal deflation amounted only to the slight slouch of his shoulders.

“You have my word.”

Haidinger went to his door to reopen it for them. They followed.

“Do not mistake my severity for the absence of compassion. You are deeply troubled, but I do not deny you. Just because I see you out of my office now, does not mean I turn you away for good. As you are, you are unable to truly heed Atom’s truths. If in the future you decide I am trustworthy and authentic enough for your regard, my door is always open to you. It is up to you to put this... Nothingness out of your mind. Only then can you accept Atom’s warmth and light, and only then can your vessel heal and grow from within.”

‘Choly nodded with solemnity, for lack of any better reply.

“Thank you for humoring me in all this, Sacristan. For what it’s worth, it means something that you tried to be of comfort. If you’re not here when I bring the holotapes, I’ll deposit them in the Diorama for you myself. If that’s all right.”

“I’d rather you brought them to me, but I also understand if you don’t wish to invite discussion. Just… don’t take anything from it without first telling me personally that you have it. You may have the rare advantage of technology that can access the contents of the Chrestomathy’s hard copies, but remember well: it is stealing to take without permission.”

“I understand.”

The sacristan’s furrowed in a gracious pity.

“Atom keep you then. Atom find… and keep you. You know where to find me.”

“Thank you for your time, Sacristan,” Angel said.

‘Choly nodded in gratitude. They walked out, but he kept glancing back. Before they even crossed paths with the Diorama again, he saw Haidinger prostrate himself in the far corner of his office, uttering some feverish Keb contrition.

They started back toward Anchor Inn. Once he and Angel got to the Concourse, he stopped and opened up Angel’s storage compartment. He glanced around to ensure no one was nearby to notice, then he deposited the holotape for safekeeping. He hesitated, and pocketed the radio drama instead. He pressed shut the compartment once more.

“Mister Carey,” Angel started, as they resumed walking. ‘Choly flinched, but said nothing, expecting rebuke. “I knew there were some understandable stressors at play as of recent, but I had no idea you were struggling enough to consider seeking religious counsel. You know you can always talk to me, Sir.”

He eventually unclenched.

“This is no spiritual crisis, I assure you. In lieu of an available psychiatrist, I had to settle for a priest. That’s all. Besides, I doubt very much that there’s anything you could tell me that would assuage my nerves regarding that damn sinkhole pit. --I have no clue what I said to set him off like he did.” He wiped the sorry off his face. “...You’re okay with us staying, right?”

“I stayed quiet while you chatted with the Sacristan, but I was there for moral support. I’m worried that you’ve been under such stress, Sir. I must tell you. I used to worry about staying in this Hinter area long-term, but things seem much better now. Ant Lane’s denizens will successfully repair the mall. It will be a safe haven again well before the next storm season. Besides,” it said with an unconvincing lyric to its audio, “as Haidinger said, they don’t get storms like that here every year.”

“...I think I need this vacation more than Bledsoe.” Weary, he snapped his fingers. “Right now, though, I need some air after the morning we’ve had. Let’s go see how Blue holds up.”

“Understandable! Hopefully, we won’t distract them too much.”

__________________________

[97-1] Tile usage in Pheasant Lane Mall. When the real Pheasant Lane Mall was remodeled into its contemporary design, they kept a certain amount of the original concourse facade in homage, including sections of floor tiling.

[97-2] Arch Oboler’s Lights Out, “Murder in the Script Department.”

[97-2] Quoted scripture from the Crater House terminal entries, cut from the final version of Fallout 4.

[97-4] Chrestomathy. A compilation of texts, which in sum serves a didactic purpose. Most frequently, the texts provide a lens by which to learn a language, but the educational value can be for any subject. Here, the archive Haidinger curates is a series of media which provides documentation and reference for the culture, history, and living language of Ant Lane.

[97-5] The Norliss Tapes. One of the earliest examples of found footage horror, wherein the tale is told through a series of cassette tape recordings of an investigator who went missing during a case with occult involvement. It’s a namesake as ever, not a crossover, though, promise.

[97-6] Canadian Annexation. The US declared ownership of Canada for its oil rights and geographic advantages in 2072, and by 2077, it succeeded in fully annexing its territories. The invasion and occupation came at great cost and duress to Canadian citizens.

[97-7] Nothing. [redacted]

Included as unmarked footnote, wrt the mention of replicas: A major tenet of the “Metro men conspiracy” lay in the fact so many of these bronze deco-esque sculptures keep cropping up deep within the earth across the franchise, sometimes embedded in solid granite. It’s been theorized that, since there are asset variants for both “Metroman” and “Metrowoman” with exposed rebar, but none of the aberrant subterranean sculptures have been of the damaged/incomplete variant, those used as architectural fixtures are in fact replicas… and that the buried heads predate any human civilization, or may even be extraterrestrial in origin. It bears mentioning that multiple buried bronze sculptures appear in mines, most notably the Dunwich Borers near Salem, MA, as though the companies involved sought to excavate the sculpture, making their mining operations secondary.

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