“We’d just wrapped up another show, people wouldn’t believe the amount of work and preparation that goes into producing and recording a two hour morning show, normally I wrapped up a show and was straight onto researching and reading up on the next subject for discussion; it was a lonely life with not much room for anything else, family or friends, i’d found this out the hard way when my wife of five years rang me to tell me that she couldn’t put up with this life anymore and that she was taking our daughter, I tried to reason with her but she told me that i’d left them both years ago, every since i’d starting working for the station. I’d been out drinking with a friend at the time, one of my rare breaks from the show, trying to comfort him and tell him that he didn’t have to worry about the big presentation he was giving (I was lying, anyone could see he was nervous as hell) when my wife rang me; an hour later I was convulsing in one of the lavatory cubicles as a noxious mixture of recreational drugs and alcohol killing my body as surely as the news of my wife’s departure had killed my heart.
Five minutes after that, I was Sitri, the once Demon Prince of hell, he who makes men love women and women love men; my friend was shaking me and asking me if I was alright.
Ten minutes later we were both leaving the club, my friend had seen a little of my new self (although it was a vague and flickering candle flame compared to the celestial being I had once been) and had the confidence that he needed to pull of his presentation and have his business partners hanging on his every word, and I had what I needed, his faith and belief.
The voice of Eric, a promising young gruaduate from Seattle-U who was getting some work experience on the station as a researcher, caused me to start out of my reverie, “Mr Price, Sue says that we’re running with the Duwarmish story tomorrow, i’ve taken the liberty of putting all the material I could pull from the net onto this CD and have catalogued it for you so that you can do some background research, but you’ll need some music for the segment as well.”
“One of the elders of the tribe, a Mr Noah has been booked to speak on the show, apparently he had some new evidence or information that’s gonna force the government to recognise the Duwarmish claim to their lands” continued Eric.
I smiled at Eric, the kid was a great researcher, young and full of enthusiasm for his job, “Eric, you’re an angel, i’ll get this read this evenign and will swing by Seattle-U to see if their library has anything on it; as for the music, tell you what, since you’ve been such a big help around here recently why don’t you put together a playlist i’ll have a look at it and make some selections, maybe even slip you a credit in the show, how’s that?”
Eric beamed at the thought of getting mentioned in the show, his role had been strictly backstage so far, but hell (yes I know that I use the word ‘hell’ a lot but once you’ve been to the Abyss, it’s like a part of you never leaves) he’d done such a good job it was about time he saw some sort of reward, and it cost me nothing to give him a hand. This was one of the things I like about being Max, he genuinely believed that mankind could be better than it was, they only needed to be told the whole truth and shown the way, and I was Max now, even since i’d climbed into this body and his hopes and dreams had baptised me, washing my soul clean of the hatred and anger that had engulfed me during my time in the Abyss.
An hour later I was sat in my small office reviewing the information that Eric had given me on the Duwarmish tribe, turns out that were a native-american indian tribe who historically had settled land now occupied by a huge chunk of downtown Seattle; despite the Duwarmish signing the Treaty of Point Elliot with the US Government in 1855 they were not recognised as an official tribe and it seemed as though they’d been pretty much conned out of their land, ever since then the leaders of the Duwarmish tribe had been looking to ratify their claim to their historical land. I flicked through a couple of pages on the document, seemed to me that the Duwarmish had been playing entirely by the rules, going through all the appropriate legal channels and such-like, but everytime their claim got to court it was thrown out because of some bullshit legalise or loophole; I could see a picture forming in my mind, it looked like someone with knowledge and influence within the political system of Seattle would find it very inconvenient if the Duwarmish were to reclaim their land and was doing their damndest to make sure that it didn’t happen.
I frowned and felt a vague flicker of the old anger and darkness, but it was quickly drowned in sadness, the world was so big, this country was so big and all humans were originally of one tribe (I should know), there should be room for all the tribes of man; I couldn’t remember what had happened to divide them, was it something they had done, or was it our defiance that caused them to still be punished to this day. Still, being Max had it’s advantages, using my renewed confidence and the social talents of Sitri I had been able to pull my show out of the tailspin that it was locked into and had made it popular enough that I had become something of a local celebratory, and more importantly I was able to tell people the truth; for a couple of hours while they were listening at home or in their car on the way to work, the human population of the city listened to me, it was just what Max (and Sitri) has always wanted.
Folding my laptop up and tucking it under my arm I waved goodbye to Eric and the show’s scheduler Sue before jumping in my car, i’d read on the CD that the original Treaty of Point Elliot was on display at Seattle-U, they also had a great library when it came to native mythology and history, seemed like a good opportunity to get some more research so I sped over there and quickly found myself looking at the historical document (behind glass of course). Whenever I go anywhere or look at anything, as well as taking notes, I like to snap a couple of photos with my smartphone, most of the time they don’t come out particularly well (hell, i’m no photographer) but they work as little memory aides; well I was taking some photos when a young girl (probably no more than 16 or 17) who was sat reading nearby snorted, telling me that I wouldn’t get any decent pictures because of the glass. I’d been going over my plan for the radio broadcast in my head and hadn’t noticed the young girl, she looked to be of native-american indian descent but her clothing was distinctly modern, goth I think they call it, all brooding blacks and velvet, that sort of thing; thanking her for the advice I explained that I was going to be doing a radio show with one of the tribal elder of the Duwarmish, at which point she began to reveal her thoughts that a conspiracy of freemasonic nature lurked behind the continuous denial of the Duwarmish claim to their lands. Now a couple of years ago Max probably would have scoffed at that notion, but I have to admit that it did seem odd how these legal loopholes always appeared to block their claims in court and, having been given a chance to walk amongst manking again, I had swore to myself that I would always take them seriously (no matter how ridiculous the claims sounded).
I was starting to sense a vague feeling of otherworldly energies at work in the library, seemingly centred around a waste paper bin but I didn’t want to alarm the young woman, so I attempted to make conversation about her theories and asked whether she had a personal interest in the Duwarmish; she revealed that she was searching for the grave of Isaac Stevens, the person originally responsible for compelling the american-indians to sign the Treaty of Point Elliot (along with some others), I had always wanted to help humanity I think, even at the start, so I offered to have some of my contacts look into it, the young woman seemed initially suspicious but relented and gave me a mobile phone number before leaving. Let alone I scooped up a couple of books on local mythology and history before wandering over to the waste paper bin, inside was a book, crumbling to dust as though the weight of hundreds of years bore down on it, but the binding looked new – perhaps the energy I had sensed had acted on this book, unfortunately the smallest disturbance caused it to collapse into illegible dust; I raised an eyebrow, was the girl like me? It seemed unlikely but possible, I resolved to try and keep her close.
Whilst standing at the checkout desk waiting for the librarian to scan my books out a tall dark skinned man came in asked for a book on Duwarmish mythology, it just so happened that it was the only copy in the library and I had just booked it out, I apologised to the man (who introduced himself as Mr Christmas) but said that I would have the book back tomorrow; he seemed to accept this and expressed a knowledge of the Duwarmish, thinking that he might be useful should we get any more shows out of this subject I gave the man a business card and bid him farewell.
Back in the office I was surprised to hear from Sue that apparently the news had just come in that our guest for tomorrow’s show Noah had been murdered at his home (a small village outside of Seattle proper); I didn’t want to cancel the show, after all the injustice done to the Duwarmish wasn’t any less due to this unfortunate event, and I felt sure that the tribal elder would want his people’s voice to be heard. Thinking that perhaps this show could be done as a memorial to the memory of Noah I decided that a bit of firsthand research was in order and, taking one of the vehicle from the car pool drove out to where my research notes indicated that Noah had lived; there seemed to be no-one about besides a couple of neighbours twitching their curtains and a very large man who was welding some sort of metal sculpture in his garage. I called out to the heavy-set man who told me that his name was Frank Chapelacre and that he’d been a neighbour and friend of Noah’s for years, I took the opportunity to get a bit of a feel for the deceased man’s character and was about to ask Frank whether or not he’d consider recording a few respectful sound-bites for us, giving us a bit of local interest in the matter, when we were interrupted by a young woman shouting at us. The woman was wearing baggy clothes and, it was soon revealed, was Frank’s wife, her breath smelled of cheap lager and her glazed expression screamed “alcoholic” at me in this same way her manner towards Frank shouted “abusive relationship”; it always struck home when I saw the gift that humanity had been given squandered in this way but I turned on the charm and (along with the promise of money to re-imburse Frank for his time) soon had her eating out of the palm of my hand.
Following Frank’s mention of a TV repairman from Connor’s Rentals and Repairs visited the house earlier and the police bafflement at Noah being found dead in his locked house with no sign of forced entry we decided to explore the house, with the profit-minded wife of Frank’s waiting on look-out outside; it was easy to force the door (after all the police had already broke it down once to get into the house), nothing seemed unusual at first besides for a pile of magazines that were extremely damp. A chalk outline of a body was drawn on the floor near to a crack telephone that appeared to have been pulled from the wall, we had a look at the new TV aerial and Frank seemed quite interested in it; as we continued to explore I started getting the feeling that some sort of celestial energy had been used and decided to explore the roof, I was surprised to find that the old aerial cable had been cut deliberately. Back inside I following the new cable and found a piece of silken fabric bearing celestial symbols tucked behind it, Frank touched parchment and I felt a flare of demonic energy from him, that explained the sensation that I had been feeling whilst exploring, after a few tense moments I decides to take the risk and asked Frank who he had been before he had been Frank, his real-name Gadriel was not familiar to me, but he seemed to have heard of Sitri.
Two (possibly more of us) getting drawn into this affair could not be coincidence but I had precious little time to ponder it before I got ready for my show; re-iterating my promise of monetary compensation to Frank’s wife and pressing some money into her hand (it was easier and quicker than a long conversation) myself and Frank sped back to Seattle-proper, given our ‘mutual interests’ I offered Frank my couch for the evening.”