They didn’t stop. The voice said that they would stop. They promised that they would stop if I had did it. I chiseled their entire litany upon my flesh. It hurt so much. But I did it because they wouldn’t stop. They kept poking at me in my dreams! Carving their initials in my gray matter with little needles until I would wake up, screaming for them to stop! I begged them! I pleaded with them!

But they didn’t care. Every night. Every single night they laugh at me, haunting the shadows of my room, lurking behind my eyes, raking their claws across my nerves and biting deep into my bones!! Then…I wake up! Again and again and again!! They keep haunting me! Pestering me! They just won’t stop!!!

They said they would stop though. They had a message for the world. So long as she cooperated and wrote down their message, they would stop torturing her.

They didn’t.

Every night since she carved out their words, she was tortured again and again. They said she did it wrong, that it wasn’t where the world could see it. That she needed to do more.

Even with the pain in my body I press on. I know exactly what they mean. Daddy will be mad. He won’t like that I’m doing this. He’ll probably just thing I did it for the attention or something like that. He’ll never admit to people that I saw the demons, that I felt them crawling around in my head. He’ll lie.

But word will get out. When one falls out of the window of a 20-story building, it always does…

***

The next day, the headlines in all the papers said GRANT HOTEL HEIRESS FOUND DEAD. Elizabeth Grant was the only (legitimate) daughter of hotel mogul, Stephen Grant. For years she was one of the spoiled rich girls, clubbing, appearing on D-list celebrity TV shows, and using her father’s name and money in any way that she saw fit. But two years ago her mental state started to decline, a condition that was kept out of all media circles.

Quietly she disappeared from sight. Whisked away to celebrity therapists who only wanted to make a buck. Her condition only worsened.

Now she’ll be seen again. But in a far different light.

Celebrities, they never die. Their names just get archived…
Let's

YES!!!

Uh, actually, no. Yelling 'yes!' was not the appropiate thing to do when some poor rich girl had died. It was appropiate when her father's lawyers had called your agency to take on the case, but that buzz of happiness at the incoming money and recognition was the sort of thing one enjoyed in private.

The Crow's Eye was quick to put it's resources and experience behind it. The police deemed it suicide but the father wanted to get to the bottom of it. Lyle, Harlan's resident hacker and computer guy took off to the web, fetching all the media information they could find on her online. Burke had a lot of experience as an ex-cop, so he handled talking to some of the family members, the police and the doctors who dealt with the body. Harlan dealt with the father himself. He wouldn't have it any other way.

Burke still had to report in and Lyle found precious little information about her that wasn't two years old. She suddenly disappeared from the public scene but Mr. Grant was able to fill the void of information. She hadn't been... well. 'Disturbed' was the word that he had used to describe his daughter in the past two years, but he was not the right man to talk about this however, so Harlan was referred to the right person. Her doctor. One of them, anyway. Mr. Grant still kept Dr. Lovecraft's business card among several others.

Talking to shrinks was tricky. The information they were prone to give to a private investigator was flimsy at best, since P.I.'s did not have the weight of the law behind them to force them to do anything and doctors could always shield themselves behind the privacy of their doctor-patient relationship.

Harlan made the call from the comfort of his office on a cold afternoon. Shrinks were particularly good at knowing how the brain worked so he had to be very careful on how he phrased himself and slowly work his way on what he wanted. Above all, he had to be agreeable, unless he wanted to be left with nothing for show.

Harper sighed as he sat in his office. Sitting back in his chair, the young therapist kicked his long legs onto the desk and sighed a bit sadly as he read the newspaper again. He just…he couldn’t believe that Elizabeth Grant was gone. He remembered the last time he spoke to her, about a week ago, she was in here, complaining about demons that were whispering in her ear and telling her to do things that were so wicked that she couldn’t finish her sentences without crying. It was so terrible for that she was on the brink of absolutely losing her mind.

And now…she was dead.

Such a pity. He was so particularly enjoying torturing her dreams. She was one of his favorites and now she was gone! Why did all the bad things happen to him? Just…so…terrible.

He sighed again and tossed the newspaper onto his desk next to his Gucci-clad feet. He was momentarily saddened by this news but he had to remain resilient. That is why Elizabeth would have wanted, right? For him to find a new playmate. Though, maybe the next time he wouldn’t push his torturee so much. After all, he needed to keep SOME patients alive.

Still…terrible.

Riiiiiiiing!!

Hmm, who could that be? His next appointment was not until later today and it was supposed to be that with that nice old man who kept having emotional distress due to the death of his dog. He really hoped that he was not cancelling…

Quickly running his fingers through his dark hair, Harper reached out for his phone, plucked it off the cradle and answered in his sweetest voice yet.

“Lovecraft Counseling, this is Harper Lovecraft speaking, how may I help you?”

His feet were up in the desk as he leaned back in his cushy chair. He held his phone with his shoulder and the side of his head as his detached hands floated and sifted through documents on the desk, including Elizabeth Grant's friends lists, credit card records, phone numbers and other notes.

>>“Lovecraft Counseling, this is Harper Lovecraft speaking, how may I help you?”

"Dr. Lovecraft? My name is Harlan Crowe, from The Crow's Eye, a private investigations firm" he said, giving his last name right along the name of the company, which usually made people realize they were talking to the boss and he liked it that way.

"I'm calling regarding a tragic incident I'm not sure if you've found out about in the news. One of your patients, Miss Elizabeth Grant? She has passed away."

He waited a few seconds, expecting the 'oh my gods', the 'oh so terribles' and the sighs that usually followed whenever he delivered news like these. A few years of doing this and you learn to simply lock your emotions away, wait and nod politely and once the shock reactions are over, jump straight to business.

"I've been hired by her father to investigate the cause of her death. Would it be possible for us to meet somewhere? I'd like to ask you a few questions..." he said, succinct and to the point. From all the information they had gathered so far, the woman had suffered a sharp turn somewhere, from rich socialité, desperate for fame and glamour to unhinged recluse and Harlan had no idea what had triggered any of it. If there was one man who could have a clue what happened, he was sitting in the other end of the line and meeting with him was crucial.

"I'm available whenever you desire. Anytime, anywhere, so if you could make some space for me in your schedule, I'd really appreciate it."

>> "Dr. Lovecraft? My name is Harlan Crowe, from The Crow's Eye, a private investigations firm…I'm calling regarding a tragic incident I'm not sure if you've found out about in the news. One of your patients, Miss Elizabeth Grant? She has passed away."

“Oh…my…” he breathed with well-acted surprise…

Harper paused. He didn’t know why. He knew that he was safe from any accusations because, really, what could possibly be attributed to him? Elizabeth was raving before her end so even if she had her suspicions about him, she never would have been able to connect the dots. Harper was safe, he knew that much, but he didn’t want to draw unnecessary light upon himself or his practice. Yes, certainly he did help the majority of his patrons, but there were those that were just too succulent to aid quickly. Those ones needed to be drawn out.

Elizabeth was one of those people. Honestly, though, he never would have expected that she would have snapped so quickly. Normally he was a better at judging how much a person can take his nightmares. Oh well. No crying over spilt milk.

He turned his attention back to the phone conversation he was having.

>> "I've been hired by her father to investigate the cause of her death. Would it be possible for us to meet somewhere? I'd like to ask you a few questions...I'm available whenever you desire. Anytime, anywhere, so if you could make some space for me in your schedule, I'd really appreciate it."

Damn. This was already starting to get complicated. He really didn’t want to meet with nosy investigators, but lack of doing so would only bring about suspicion. No, it was better to get it over with.

“Oh, of course. I understand. Just let me look at my schedule,” he said as he grabbed his date book. Flipping through the pages, he stopped on today’s date and realized that the sooner he got this over with, the better. “Hmm, well, I unfortunately have sessions everyday this week, and plans every evening. But, OH, if you don’t mind meeting me tonight I’m having dinner at La Grenouille on east 52nd street. You are free to join me, if you like. Say, 8:30pm?”

The voice sounded handsome enough. Maybe it’d be worth it…

What? Tonight? Aw, come ON! Anytime and anywhere did not mean today! Tonight was poker night with some buds over some buds. Burke was invited, he'd gotten his hands on a bonus and he was terrible at poker!

Still, Harlan was known for setting his priorities straight where business was concerned and this meeting was important. Also, there were certain cues from body language, eyes and face expression you simply couldn't read over the phone, so the detective had to accept that he would not get to despoil Burke of his hard worn earnings.

"Tonight... should be fine" he replied, looking at his watch. "I'll meet you there."

----- o -----

Harlan made it to the restaurant at 8:20 p.m., not knowing if Dr. Lovecraft was rigorous with punctuality and trying to cover his bases with a good first impression. The locale was pretty fancy, specializing in french cuisine and wines. They had some flowery decor, making the place look warm and cozy. He couldn't help feeling a little out of place in his dark grey coat and suit that screamed 'plain!' where fashion was concerned, but it was obvious that a shrink for the rich and famous was not hurting for money and likely wined and dined on places like this in a regular basis. At least he had shaved, realizing a two day old beard worked against him in this scenario.

"Good evening, monsieurgh" asked a tall, light haired man with a fake accent behind a small counter. "Do you have a reserghvation?"

"Try Dr. Lovecraft" he said to the man, craning his neck and trying to read the upside down list on the counter.

"Ah, here it is" said the man as Harlan took off his coat and gave it to a young lady who was waiting for it and gave him a ticket before stashing the coat away.

"Dr. Lovecraft and companion" said the man reading his list. "Please follow me."

Harlan followed. He didn't know if the doctor had already arrived or if he would have to wait for him at the table but he'd soon find out.

Harper sighed as he glanced at his watch. It was only 8:20pm so there was no reason at all to think that the investigator was going to be late. Sadly, though, that was not his concern. He could care less if the man was late, but Harper sincerely just wanted to get this little formality out of the way. There was nothing that could connect him with Elizabeth’s death, but it was still an unwanted attention that the young therapist didn’t care to have.

Oh well, he would simply have to deal with it. Glancing over the menu, Harper sighed as he tried to think of what he would have for dinner this evening. He really didn’t want to eat something too heavy since it was so late, but something the food was just too impossible to pass up. Ah, the hard decisions of life.

Harper had just finished flipping one of the pages when he caught movement at the front door. He had glanced up and spied another man walk inside, dressed in attire that was…interesting. That was not to say that the man was POORLY dressed, he was just…simply dressed. Could this possibly be his mysterious phone companion? Granted he was a little rough around the edges but…things could definitely be worse.

Harper was just about to convince himself that his luck certainly wouldn’t be this good (since his experience with investigators have always been short, portly, baldly men who love garlic), when he saw the host leading the young man in his direction. Certainly the gods must have indeed smiled upon him. But, he played it cool and instead averted his eyes back to the menu.

“Monsieurgh? Your dinner companion…”

A glance up and Harper smiled as he locked eyes with the investigator. Dressed in his own fine, Gucci suit, the therapist beamed wide, flashing all of his pearly white teeth as he stood and gave a small nod to the man.

“Mr. Crowe? Certainly is a pleasure to meet you,” he said with a dangerous (or seductive?) twinkle in his eye. He waved his hand to the chair. “Please, join me.” He turned to the host again. “Jacque, a bottle of your finest red wine, Château Canon Saint-Emilion should suffice.” After sending the man away, Harper returned to his seat across from the investigator and smiled again. “Certainly is a pleasure to meet the face behind the voice. How may I be of service?”