EPISODE 4: The Stranger You Know
Life goes on. A simple phrase. Common after loss or failure. Lingering in silence after something breaks. Meant to comfort, maybe? But really, it’s a reminder time waits for no one. There’s no mercy or pause. The world keeps turning, indifferent to mental wounds. And life goes on. Not out of hope or strength, but because that’s what time does. Ticking forward, oblivious to plan or circumstance.
Reginald Black, architect of the Order of Wormwood, drew his final breath just before midnight on October 17th, 1888. A mournful day for his fellow members of the Order. Twenty years after their inception, the secret society had scores of members all over the world. The clandestine advocation for real practitioners of magic had ushered in a new era, and the Order evolved. No longer just an enclave for the gifted — they had become something else. Watchers. Hunters. A sort of detective agency, investigating all things supernatural and what the waking world refused to see.
But in the years following Reginald’s death, the threat he’d seen in his dreams had yet to materialize. Though more and more of the members began having the same visions...the figure in a field, blood raining from the sky. A sign of the end of times. And despite the inability to identify this mysterious silhouette, and unable to trace its origins...the Order was not idle. They watched, prepared, built to be ready — or so they believed.
On a dark and stormy night in 1894...a meeting of the Order of Wormwood was interrupted by the house servant, WILLIAM...
WILLIAM: Sirs, may I have your attention? Mister Orem Black has requested entrance into the parlor for an address.
A shocking announcement...as Orem Black was home unexpectedly for the first time since Reginald’s death, some 6 years prior. No one was aware of his return. Of how long he’d been back in London. Or even where he was staying. Not his childhood friends Joseph Frost, or Veera Sarin...no one had a clue.
And though the estate where the enigmatic society conducted its business was technically Orem’s childhood home. Gifted to the Order upon Reginald’s death. To them, Orem was an outsider, never allowed in the West wing, where business of the fraternity was held in secret...so his request to speak in the Order’s lair was unexpected and drew objections from some members. To decide the matter, all eyes would be drawn to Banerjee, who had taken over as leader of the Order, since Reginald’s death.
BANERJEE: He’s Reginald’s son, and if he has a need to speak, we owe him nothing less.
By 1894, Orem was 34, and the spitting image of his father, at that age. Entering the Order’s inter-sanctum, he carried a handful of notes at his side, standing at a podium and lectern. Members of the Order crowded around to hear him out.
OREM: I understand despite my name, to all of you, I’m an outsider. But as a child, my father often spoke of fate and the importance of being open to what the universe reveals to each of us. He also raised me to believe in something magical... But my father was a fraud! And for some selfish reason wanted me to join this Order in hopes I’d perpetuate his lie...
Still unaware of the true reason of the Order’s existence, Orem declared he returned to seize control and dismantle what his father had built.
OREM: I look out and see all the falsehoods my father tried to get me to believe...What difference do any of you make? You’ve given yourself fictional titles of importance. All-Powerful, The Great, The Magnificent. Imposters, the lot of you. Gentlemen, the universe has spoken, showing me my destiny. And it’s far more significant than any of you could imagine. It’s a destiny fate wants me to show you tonight. I have found real magic in the world and I’m here to take control of the Order of Wormwood and make it into something powerful. No longer will any of you be known as fakes or frauds. I will teach you all to be Gods!
There were confused and astonished looks in the crowd between members of the Order...And then, from his notes, Orem began reciting an incantation...
OREM: Verum signati reliquis caeca...
The air behind him mysteriously swirled. Something supernatural was happening.
OREM: ...Videtur quod non est sonni, somnium...
Banerjee, seeing unworldly forces being wielded, objected.
BANERJEE: Orem, don’t do this!
But it was too late...
OREM: ...Quies regni ultr aumbra...Ambulans in libero--
A blinding light overtook the room, Orem vanished into thin air...and a horrified hush fell over all, as in the place where Orem stood moments before, was a stranger...
A MAN, with long, unkempt grey hair and a matted beard. Wearing clothes from the Baroque period, a dingy shirt with a ruffle collar, burgundy waistcoat, black breeches, stockings, buckled shoes. The emaciated man looked confused, exhausted. He tried to speak, but couldn’t...then, he dropped to his knees, falling over, losing consciousness.
In the aftermath, Orem’s talk of real magic and fate guiding him, piqued Banerjee’s suspicions. He knew Orem possessed no abilities in the mystic arts and lacked knowledge of the Order’s true purpose. Dark forces were certainly at work. But the depth and scale were yet unknown...as was the identity of the mystery man taking Orem’s place at the podium. The search for answers would begin immediately.
TO BE CONTINUED…