I entered the nondescript business park and went for the subdivision that the security guard had pointed out to me. It looked like any other non-profit office; they were clearly understaffed, file cabinets were placed haphazardly throughout the workspace, and more files were stacked on top of the cabinets and on desks. The office was open, with no divisions between the various desks. Everyone looked busy, checking their computers or talking on the phone. No one seemed to be a secretary. I stood there for a few minutes before a middle-aged women with colored hair finally took notice.
"Oh, hello there! Welcome to the Society of St. Martin," she said, with entirely too much saccharine in her voice. "How can I help you?"
"Um, I'm <NAME>. I was Alex's brother." I said. I didn't know what else to say; it wasn't like I actually wanted to be here.
"Oh my. I...umm...I'm so sorry for your lose..." She stuttered. "I...hold on...I'll...oh my."
She got up from her desk and ran to the corner. A military-looking man was sitting there with his back to the door. He did, however, have a large post of St. Martin behind his desk in a glass frame; it acted as a mirror. He could see everyone in the office, including whoever walked into the room. He stood up when the secretary approached. He had crew cut hair and was muscular, the kind of muscle you get through hauling packs full of equipment through jungles and deserts. He was a military man, or was at one point.
The secretary moved close to him and whispered looking at me. He swung his head over to me and nodded. He walked over and sized me up.
"I'm Douglas. I worked with your brother. I'm sorry he's dead," he said.
"Thanks," I responded, not expecting such forwardness.
"Come with me please, sir," he answered, walking out the door.
I followed him to the elevators. Without speaking, we got in and went all the way down. We got out and walked down a short corridor to a door marked "CELLA MORTIS" in a handwritten sign. The official sign said it was the Society's storage closet.
"In here," he said, pointing to the closet.
The closet was less a closet and more a decent-sized room. Shelfs had been put into just about all available space, leaving barely enough room for Douglas and I to walk through the room. We walked past weapons, notebooks, clothes in sealed bags. We walked into the far corner. Here was a cardboard tube, like something a poster comes mailed in, and a canvas bag with some papers in it.
"Oh, hello there! Welcome to the Society of St. Martin," she said, with entirely too much saccharine in her voice. "How can I help you?"
"Um, I'm <NAME>. I was Alex's brother." I said. I didn't know what else to say; it wasn't like I actually wanted to be here.
"Oh my. I...umm...I'm so sorry for your lose..." She stuttered. "I...hold on...I'll...oh my."
She got up from her desk and ran to the corner. A military-looking man was sitting there with his back to the door. He did, however, have a large post of St. Martin behind his desk in a glass frame; it acted as a mirror. He could see everyone in the office, including whoever walked into the room. He stood up when the secretary approached. He had crew cut hair and was muscular, the kind of muscle you get through hauling packs full of equipment through jungles and deserts. He was a military man, or was at one point.
The secretary moved close to him and whispered looking at me. He swung his head over to me and nodded. He walked over and sized me up.
"I'm Douglas. I worked with your brother. I'm sorry he's dead," he said.
"Thanks," I responded, not expecting such forwardness.
"Come with me please, sir," he answered, walking out the door.
I followed him to the elevators. Without speaking, we got in and went all the way down. We got out and walked down a short corridor to a door marked "CELLA MORTIS" in a handwritten sign. The official sign said it was the Society's storage closet.
"In here," he said, pointing to the closet.
The closet was less a closet and more a decent-sized room. Shelfs had been put into just about all available space, leaving barely enough room for Douglas and I to walk through the room. We walked past weapons, notebooks, clothes in sealed bags. We walked into the far corner. Here was a cardboard tube, like something a poster comes mailed in, and a canvas bag with some papers in it.
