Writing Project #14 - Writing on the Wall
So, once again, hopping back to another realm and its continuity which has a jagged and uneven sort of feel. Entirely my fault, but I don't really finish scenes in any order or any particular line of interest.

As for why this isn't getting updated as often? It's relatively difficult to find time to sit and write something which makes sense when every time you do, you're perceived as "not doing anything" and are free to be disturbed.



Jerry sat in the parlor with the iced tea before him, listening absently as the guests described the lot of antiques they wished moved. They had provided photographs, which he leafed through slowly. They didn't show every angle, so he was reasonably certain they were hiding damages. Scuffs, scratches, dents, whatever.

He set the photos back down and closed the folder. "Mister and Miss . . . Lyndon." He smoothly let his mind fill in the blank for their names. "I'm willing to act as your agent for placing these items. Naturally, my fee is fifteen percent of the sales."

"Ten percent." The woman said stiffly. "Standard commission."

"With respect, madam, standard commission is whatever I agree on. And it may take some time and effort to place these. So as fair compensation I would like to deal for fifteen percent. It's either that or we haggle with a flat rate, but for that I'd have to inspect each piece individually before seeking buyers." As the silence dropped leaden between the two parties, Jerry cleared his throat. "If I can place these items within the first two months, I'll accept a ten percent commission. I rather hope I can move them so fast, to prevent you holding on to them for too long."

Five minutes later, the contracts were signed and Jerry filed the folder away in a drawer, sighing. "Not that it will be so fast. Bunch of old junk." He walked out to the foyer and paused as he saw a man standing outside the door in a long forest-green jacket.

"Hello Jerome. I need to talk with you."

"Max, what brings you to this side of the river?" Jerry opened the door and led his guest to the parlor. "Tea? Or wine?"

"Neither, actually, I'm not going to take too much of your time. You remember that one case over in Avon Lake I mentioned?"

"Yes, nice house, seriously bad fire. It's a shame I'm not into real estate, it could have been worth something." Jerry settled into his seat, and looked up. "Or do you mean what I found in the basement?"

"That's what I meant." Max sat down and reached into his pocket, pulling out a photograph. "But what else interested me was this, and I doubt you got that far. You never made it out of the basement, hmmm?" The photo was placed on the table. "Second floor, it was scrawled on the wall . . . does it mean anything to you?"

Jerry peered at the picture and frowned. "No." Written on the wall in large bold strokes of black soot was: 'The Light is Broken'.

"Are you sure?"

"Should it mean something?" He asked kindly, and looked up to Max's eyes. A long pause, then he sighed and looked down. "It could mean anything, really, but I don't have a good idea where to begin unraveling the mystery. I could probably list off half a dozen possibilities within a day of looking into it, but I don't have enough information to put a clearer picture together."

"I sort of expected that." Max rose to his feet and collected the photograph. "I'll see what more I can learn." After he left, Jerry paced for a while in the parlor, and moved into another room where a whiteboard was set up. He scrawled the phrase down and studied it for a moment, shaking his head.

A lot of the potentials could be eliminated if it was known who had written it, and in what state of mind . . . without that, there was indeed too much in the way of potential and not enough in the realm of answers. He hoped things would clear up, but it was probably something outside his area of expertise. Also quite likely it was outside his 'jurisdiction' as a mortal being.