273 lines
13 KiB
Plaintext
273 lines
13 KiB
Plaintext
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ÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜ
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ݱ11 Aug 89±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±_ROR_-_ALUCARD_±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±Ý Þ°
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Ý Ý A Þ°
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Ý "The Ballad Of Andrew Pritchard" Ý Þ°
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Ý A ßßßßß°
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Ý / \ Tfile Þ°
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Ý Written By: Dark Nite / 666 \ Distribution Þ°
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ÜÜÜÜÜ \ 999 / Centere Þ°
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Ý Þ \ / - RoR - Þ°
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Ý A Þ_____________________________________________________________________Þ°
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Ý Þ Shawn-Da-Lay Boy Productions, Inc.úúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúÞ°
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ÝÜÜÜÞÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÞ°
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°°°The°Pirates'°Hollow°-°415/236/2371°°The°Electric°Pub°-°415/236/4380°°°°
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The Ballad of Andrew Pritchard
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by
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Darrel Smith
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The white, sterile, unfriendly walls form a path down the hospital corridor. I
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stride down this path, listening to the sounds of mental anguish. This is the
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Lakeside Institute for the mentally ill, and I am an intern here. My name is
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Edward Locke, bu
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t people just call me Eddie. At least most of the patients here do, if you can
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call them people. A more commom term is vegetable. That's one of the nicer
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names, or categories, rather. Me, I just call them afraid.
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I glance down at my watch, and then realizing the time, force my feet to move
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faster. They've become accustomed to the leisurely pace I take when I do my
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appointed rounds. In a way, they're spoiled. I don't jog, cycle, play
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racquetball, or even dance
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. So when I do have to run, it seems alien to them, and I look like a duck on
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dry land. The corridor walls zip past me, an endless field of white, and I
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turn the corner instantly. Pulling up, I stop to rest and I open the door to
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the conference room.
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"Glad you could make it." a harsh voice reprimands. "Next time, be on time."
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it continued.
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Without even looking up, I could tell the origin of the voice. Only one man in
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the whole hospital sounded like that. Paul Raymond. I was ashamed in the
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presence of my idol, and I remained stooped over, panting. It also served a
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dual purpose, as I did
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n't have to make eye contact with him. "Sorry Mr. Raymond" I panted between
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gasps.
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"Fine, just... don't be late again, alright?" already the voice was softening.
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It always did. Paul's temperment was in direct contrast to his size, he was
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6'6, and his generally pleasant attitude seemed out of place in a frame so
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large.
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"Yes sir," I grinned, standing up straight now, fully rested. 'Sir' was a
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little joke between Paul and me; he and I were good friends, and we had long
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ago dispensed with formalities. I studied his face for a reaction, and my
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smile grew larger, as his
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grin cracked the stern expression of a second ago. We laughed, and then,
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turned our attention to the matter at hand. I moved next to him, and felt
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dwarfed by his immense frame. I was tall, 6'1, but Paul was huge.
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"There, look." Paul started. I followed his gaze, and I looked through the two
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way glass at the outline of what appeared to be a hunched over man, lying on
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the floor. It remained motionless, and I tried to discern any sort of
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features, but to no avai
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l.
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"Who or what is that?" I remarked, never taking my eyes off the lump of flesh
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which sat there, perhaps pondering some unfathomable thought. Or, at least
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unfathomable to a sane person. I wondered about the thin boundary between
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sanity and insanity, wh
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ile I waited for Paul's answer.
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"That, is a he, and he, is Andrew Pritchard." he said without emotion, Paul
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always was fascinated by subjects, but he never allowed himself emotional
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commitment. I on the other hand did, and that is why Paul is a world renowned
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doctor, and I am still
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an intern.
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"Isn't he that westside strangler, the one who raped all those rich women." my
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interest was peaked, and I peared more intently at the figure inside.
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"One and the same. They say that he had some sort of Psychic power. I don't
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really believe that, but some people do. They said that he could touch the
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women, and instantly know everything about them. He singled out his victims
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that way. Imagine it. T
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ouch a lady in a crowd, assimilate her entire background, and then, carefully
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plan your next move. The opportunities would be endless." he finished, his
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breathing more intense as his excitement grew.
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"But I don't understand." I questioned. "How could they catch a man who
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possessed such an ability."
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"Ability?" Paul said, without looking at me. "I'll tell you what happened,
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then judge for yourself whether or not this power is an 'Ability' or a curse."
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Paul turned away from the glass, deep in thought, and headed towards the door.
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He turned as if he forgot something, then he brushed it aside, and continued
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on. "Let's go." He said simply. I followed him out the door into the hallway.
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There, he turned
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and headed for the double doors at the end of the corridor. As I turned to
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close the door behind me, I thought, for an instant, I heard a scream, but if
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it every truly happened, it was gone now, and I closed the door. Twisting the
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handle, to insure
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that it was locked, I turned to follow Paul.
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"Hurry up Eddie," Paul urged, its a long story and I only have until three so
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get moving." I forced myself to move quicker, and I found myself at the his
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side in a matter of seconds. Then, we pushed open the double doors, and
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entered the lounge area.
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Paul sat at his favorite chair, a tan e-z-boy, and I settled in to listen to
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this morbid tale of psychtic murder. My spine tingled in anticipation, and I
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blocked out all thoughts and concentrated on Paul.
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"You may have read about it in the paper," he started. "You know, about his
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capture."
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I tried to picture the article in my head but couldn't "Vauguely," I said,
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"Why?"
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"Because of the journalist who covered the story," Paul paused as if waiting
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for me to answer.
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"VanBuren was his name, if i'm not mistaken" I said, completing his sentence.
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"Her name." he corrected. "Kathi VanBuren. Andrew Pritchard's final victim,
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and also, his jailer." Paul made a queer face at this last statement, and I
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thought he was joking.
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"Jailer? What so you mean..."
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"Shh. Let me finish." Paul said sternly. "Just pay attention. I didn't or
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rather couldn't believe it myself when I first heard it, but it seems to be
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the only explanation. " he paused a second, and seemingly regretted the last
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statement he made, but
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continued anyway. "Andrew Pritchard. In and out of reform schools since the
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age of twelve. He was first convicted of raping his nine year old sister, and
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spent six months in juvenile hall, and then, various hospitals. At the age of
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sixteen, he began
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to get really bad." Paul looked as if this statement was funny, and I looked
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at him quizzically, and he continued. "State of Maryland police record. Nine
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arrests, five convictions. Everything from stealing cars to sodomizing a nun.
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This guy's done it
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." I thought about the last part for a second, and wondered if God really
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punished you for something like that. Like putting a double whammy on
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somebody. I decided he must, and picked up again listening to Paul. "Finally
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in 1984, at the ripe age thir
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ty one, he was let out of prison for the final time. He served thirteen years,
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and was let out, to, supposedly begin a new reformed life. Ha-Ha big joke. He
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went on to rape and murder an estimated 69 women in the next 5 years, before
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he was caught fo
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r the final time. But, as you already know, something was different about
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these murders. Something was extremely different. Every single one left no
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clues, and it seemed impossible that the same man could be committing the same
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crime. He was everywhe
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re. He didn't study their houses, he didn't study their lifestyles. There was
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no way on earth he could have known all he did about every lady he murdered.
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No way on earth!" Paul began screaming this."No way on earth! None! N-O W-A-
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Y!!"
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"Paul, Paul!" I stared at him as he continued to scream."PAUL!! " I reached
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out and began to shake him. "STOP!!"
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"Alright, Alright. I'm fine, I just got a little excited" Paul's face was
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flushed a bright red, and he had beads of sweat dripping down his face.
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"Are you sure you're all right?" I asked.
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"Yes. Yes. I'm fine. Now where was I." Paul began searching his thoughts to
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find his mental bookmark, and I relaxed somewhat. I still searched his face
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for any signs of a sudden relapse, but I found none." Oh yes," Paul
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interrupted, breaking my train
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of thought. " I remember now. Anyway. There was no way anybody could have
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committed these crimes under normal circumstances. It was discovered later
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that while in prison though, Pritchard had done some dabbling in black magic.
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He was sort of an acol
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yte voodoo priest of some sort. But, nobody thought anything of it until the
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sheer impossibility of volume was considered during the investigation. For a
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long time, it was believed to be a group or a gang behind this atrocity. That
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was why he got awa
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y with it for so long. No one ever considered that a single man could
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accomplish what he had. It seems that he had given himself some sort of evil
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power. What it did was allow him to instantly know everything that ever
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happened to that person by shee
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r touch." Paul stopped and let me comprehend the meaning of what he had just
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said.
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"So.. he was sort of like a human sponge. Absorbing their knowledge. Then, he
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could easily devise a plan to attack that indiviual, using their
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vulnerabilities to do maximum damage." I deduced.
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"Exactly." Paul responded. "But, he didn't count one thing."
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"What's that?" I questioned.
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"Pritchard dabbled in the black arts. Every spell is perverse so that the
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desired effect may be achieved, and even controlled for some period of time.
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But, eventually, it would consume the user in some way, related to the effects
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and purpose of the s
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pell. In this case, he became able to absorb information from inanimate
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objects."
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"You mean like a rock, or a book?" I asked.
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"Yes, those. But Andrew Pritchard's downfall was not from a book or a rock.
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You see, his last victim Kathi VanBuren..." he stopped and looked at me,
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waiting.
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"VanBuren... Vanburen..." where had I heard that name before? I racked my
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brain for that one small bit info. that was eluding me. "VanBuren... Wait!!! I
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know. Her father was some sort of collector, wasn't he?" I asked excited at
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remembering.
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"Right! Not just a collector, but a collector of old coins. In fact, he had
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quite an extensive collection. One of his coins in particular, a 1888 penny,
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one of only twelve hundred made. Can you imagine all the people that must
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have handled it? It was
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in circulation until 1965!"
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I began to form a conclusion from all this and asked Paul what Pritchad had
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done besides rape the VanBuren girl.
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"He was also a petty theft. He saw those coins under the glass, and he wasn't
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stupid. He knew they were old and valuable. So he smashed them and the first
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coin he grasped was that 1902 copper head."
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My heart dropped into my stomach as I realized what then must have happened.
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"Oh my God." was all I could manage to say. "The torment..." then I tried to
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understand what could not be explained.
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"Yes. I can read in your eyes. You understand. Millions of people. All their
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experiences. All their thoughts, their hopes, their dreams. All this
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contained within the brain of one very ordinary man." he paused and we both
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considered the cosmic impact
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that this event had had. " They say it wiped his mind clean. He for an
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instant knew the thoughts of millions. His brain couldn't handle it. Whose
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could. Full, sensory, overload." Paul emphasized the last few words,
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stressing each one. "Insane."
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"You know what.." I asked Paul.
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"Hmmm?" he responded.
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"For an instant in time. For the briefest of moments. Andrew Pritchard was
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God." I sunk back into my seat, and wandered off into the cosmos of
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imagaination. The greatest gift of life, while nearby, the demi-god Andrew
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Pritchard sat. Only existing.
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·,|
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Call these other fine boards.....
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-= The Legion Outpost.........................................415/521/7413 =-
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-= C.A.M.E.L.O.T..............................................415/887/0983 =-
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-= RAT HEAD...................................................415/524/3649 =-
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-= International House Of Leeches.............................415/527/9444 =-
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