The Road to Nowhere • Fantastic Beasts x OC

five • an obscure murder

I buy a paper the second I leave the hotel early that next morning.

I imagine a few headlines about last night as I dress in my reporter's get-up, tie up my hair (an even more lengthy process in the midst of what I suppose was adrenaline (but I think some of the struggle was also because my hat rendered my hair fluffy and sticking up in a weird fashion when I woke up and finally pulled it off)), grab some fruit from the breakfast bar and hurry outside. Part of me wonders if I'll be interviewed about my sighting, like whoever wrote the paper knows I was there. Part of me also wonders if I should interview myself, just to stay in character. I quickly decide against it, simply because I don't know how.

The actual headline is a lot worse than I imagine, and I'm frozen in place for a few minutes after just reading the first paragraph.

SENATOR SHAW MURDERED

Senator Henry Shaw Jr, 37, was murdered shortly after 9.00 last night in the City Hall during a fundraising dinner for his supporters. His tragic death has been ruled as a murder, and witnesses say it's one of the supernatural kind.

I stop reading there. That's already enough evidence for me.

I stand up straighter when a woman bumps into me, trying to grab a report herself. Apparently, I forgot to walk much further than where the little paper boy was standing. I start moving then, putting the paper in my satchel and taking out my notebook and pen to hold instead, adjusting the camera once again hanging around my neck.

A thrilling new day of "Hello, my name is Abigail Dolman and I'm a reporter for the Daily Telegraph in London. May I have a few minutes of your time?" awaits, so I pick up my pace and head for New York City Hall.

Well, I head for several random passer-by so I can find out where it is, and then I take a taxi over there.

---

I'm initially disappointed when I see a long line of police tape strung along all walls of the building, but luckily they're letting reporters inside, so it's easy enough to flash them my fake ID and swagger onto the crime scene in a state of false calculatedness.

Even with the cameras clicking, pens scratching, witnesses talking and footsteps wandering over the debris, the room holds a scary silence. Though the body has long been moved from the scene, I still feel very uneasy as I lay eyes on what was obviously where the man was killed.

A large poster of him hangs at the end of the hall, large rips jaggedly made across it. They look like scratches. I snap a photo of it without looking away.

The rest of the room is a mess. Every chandelier has been shattered to pieces, fragments of glass scattered everywhere from those and the broken glasses that once stood on the tables, a lot of them now turned sideways or upside-down completely.

The organ looks rusted, and I knew they wouldn't have left it in such a condition during the speech. A few of the keys are missing, and a couple of the pipes themselves have burst. Curiously, I press my hand to some of the remaining keys, and the familiar morbid sound rings out. Everyone turns to look at me, a lot of their eyes glaring, so I gulp nervously and take a step back, taking a photo of the instrument as if that was my plan all along.

Even after most have looked away, I can still sense another pair of eyes on me as I circle the tables, running one hand along the smooth white cloths on repeat. I have a quick scan of the room, trying to figure out who's watching me. Nobody is. For a moment I think I'm just imagining it, but then I see a man watching me from a hallway. He only stares for a second before disappearing again, but I know he intended for me to see.

I look both ways as if I'm about to cross a road, and then stumble over the mess on the floor and follow Percival Graves out of the room.

"Why are you hiding?" I ask once the door closes behind me, a confused smile bright on my face. "You have the authority to look around, don't you?"

"Have you got anything?" he asks back, ignoring my question.

I hand over the two photos I took a moment ago, but he only glances at them before he hands them back, unimpressed.

"I mean, have you got anything about the Obscurus itself?" he sighs, as though it was obvious.

"No," I say. "I'm still working on that."

"Well, hurry up."

"What's got you in such a...?" I gesture towards him, struggling to find the right word.

"Nothing," he replies. "Just stay put, I've got it covered."

I stare into space, thinking a sudden thought.

How did the Obscurus make those scratches? Did that mean it had hands, claws? If it did, I hadn't seen any, and I feel like it would have been pointed out by witnesses at least a hundred times before. Unless it was caused by something bumping into it, but it would have to be something very sharp striking very fast. But how would that thing have got up there in the first place?

"I've got a meeting," Graves announces, checking his watch. He turns on his heel and begins to walk away.

Suddenly, I snap out of it and register what he just said.

"Wait, you've got it covered? What do you mean y-" I begin, but let go of my sentence and sigh loudly.

When I turn, he's already gone.

It's only the second time that it's happened, and I'm already getting fed up with it.

Some conversation that was, I think sarcastically as I trudge back to the main room. We barely said a word to each other.

The room is rapidly becoming crowded with reporters, photographers and witnesses, to the point where I wonder if half of these people might just be pretending to be those things. Of course, if that were true, I'd blend right in.

As I walk over all that rubble again, I feel my face flush. I'm not too sure why. I don't deal well with crowds, so it could have just been that. However, the fact that I'm standing ten feet from where a man had been murdered a few hours ago seems more likely.

And so I leave, with one thought in my mind:

I need to find this child, and fast.

---

A/N:

Bit of a short chapter, but I just wanted to make sure I got another one out sooner or later, since otherwise you'd all think I've given up on this. I can't say I'd blame you.