Journal of the Late Noel Aig


The strangest thing happened this evening. Strange things happen all the time to me, it’s in my nature to seek them out, but this in particular really gave me quite a start.

I was walking down the street this evening. The air is getting warmer, so I’ve been enjoying weeknight walks through downtown when it’s relatively quiet. I realized that I was a true resident of Orlando when the symbol of this city stopped being a theme park and, in my head, became the fountain in the middle of Lake Eola. Sentimentality took me to the lake that evening.

My shoes softly fell on the sidewalk that rings the lake, and I could hear the black swans squawking behind the amphitheater. It was then that I heard the barest of whispers, like a faint disturbance in the air. I felt another Mind approaching, and turned abruptly only to find that it was right on top of me already.

He stood like a wall, frighteningly huge yet graceful as a ballerina. I didn’t understand how he could have gotten to within a foot of me without my noticing, but there he was. Something didn’t feel right about him, and I silently woke Hirata from his slumber in my sword in case I needed backup.

“Mr. Aig?” The man’s voice rumbled like the Piccadilly Tube station.

I though for a moment of lying my way out of this, but the investigator in me wanted to know what would happen next if I played along. Besides, the man’s manner suggested that he already knew exactly who I was.

“Yes, I’m he. Who are you?”

“That’s not important.” He reached into his coat, and I braced for the chance that he might pull out of gun. Instead, he held a small, black folio. Inside of the plastic cover was a letter with my shadow name on it. “This is our gesture.”

With that, he handed me the book and took off. I paused for a moment, considering my position. Again, curiosity got to me. While I slipped the majority of the collection into my duffel bag, I took the letter out and began to read.

“Mr. Aig,” it read, “I apologize for this antiquated method of communication…” The letter continued, mentioning a cult called the Fiat Illumina that I had never heard of before. That in itself was curious, but I tried not to focus on that aspect of things.

I continued reading, learning about how this group was interested in prophesies related to what they call “The Mother of the Awakening,” and that they were coming forth with some of their information to me hoping that should I run across anything related to their work that I would somehow get in contact with them.

This all seemed fine and fair, and I was beginning to smile at the silliness of such a melodramatic transfer when my breath caught. Although I knew it was just me, it felt as if something were actively crushing my lungs for a split second.

“…as we quite naturally have a vested interest in your sleepwalker, McAfee Tenpenny, whom we believe to be the one of whom the text foretold.”

Fee. My bonnie girl Fee was wrapped up in a plot of prophesy. I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to calm myself. Now entirely sure that I couldn’t examine those documents in public, I willed myself to relax, going so far as to magically urge my emotions in less hysterical directions, and hurried back to the office.

I tried to read the documents, but the events of the night kept intruding on my concentration. That brings me to this journal entry. I hope that by the time I finish, I will have regained some measure of composure. I can even feel the anger that I so often, irrationally, feel toward Fate that She chose Fee for whatever sick game this is a part of. Now I just have to decide how to tell her, or if I should at all with what little information I have. All I’m sure of is that for the moment, I have no choice but to respect the wishes of Mr. Oren Brody and continue my own research into this.