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The morning air was saturated with mist as the Greyhound bus from Seattle pulled into the small depot. Gabriel Fluret looked out the windows at the mist-covered buildings, the fishing boats leaving the misty harbor in their quest for fish. As he watched them leave through the window, he wondered if he would bring these people any help or else just deepen their strife. Father Luc had said that they needed him, that he would be doing god's work by finding out what lay here, but Gabriel seriously doubted that what lay here was any worse than the beast inside of him.

The bus stopped, creeking to a halt. Gabriel was the only passenger to get off in Longshore, apparently this was not a place many people sought out. Gabriel thanked the driver as he got out onto the cold, foggy curb. He pulled his black trench coat closer as he retrieved the card that Father Luc had given him: "The Violet Inn, Fine Bed & Breakfast. 234 W. Oak Street, Longshore, Washington." He picked up a map of the city from a damp set of neglected brochures. The small map didn't give him a very precise picture of the city, but seemed good enough to find this Violet Inn.
Gabriel walked off into the fog, a dark silhouette against the whiteness of the morning.

"Fleuret," replied Gabriel cooly and coldly. Gabriel tended not to encourage people to get closer to him and a professional demeanor turned off most. He wasn't surprised they put him in a relatively empty place. The last two places he'd stayed had had several occupants "check out early," courtesy of Jean Valentine.

Gabriel was impressed with the room. It certainly looked better than any of the places the order had shoved him in along his trip. They must be anticipating this to take a while.
"It seems quite satisfactory, thank you. I prefer to eat alone, please send my meals up here if you can, starting with breakfast if you're serving it now. Also, make sure that any packages sent here are held at the desk and not left lying around. I'm sorry, I realize I didn't catch your name?"

Gabriel put down his case against the bed. He removed his trenchcoat, hanging it in the shallow closet. He knew that the Order would be expecting him to check in so he picked up his phone and dialed the number they had made him memorize. After inputting several pass codes and a voice recognition test, he was put through to hear the other end buzzing softly with a ringtone. He moved over to the window and surveyed the foggy view as he waited for the other end to answer.

After a few rings, a voice answered Gabriel's call. "Gabriel," it stated. "I assume you are calling because you've arrived at your destination. I trust the accomodations are to your liking."

"Yes," came the reply. "You should start by speaking with Paul Chavo. He's an older gentleman who makes routine deliveries to an island further out to sea. According to our sources, he's spoken to the local paper editor several times trying to get some stories run about his stranger experiences on that island. They've refused to do so, however...but he seems like the type who'll talk fairly easily. We'd like you to begin with him. He can be found on the docks loading his plane until about 10:30 each morning."

The innkeeper looked up at the old man who had just entered. "Good morning, sir. Can I help you?"

He looked at where the voice was coming from then took his left index finger and put it behind his first two fingers and then brought them away and made a box with his hands. He then pointed to himself then hooked the index finger on his right hand and tapped it up and down, resigned the signs he started with and finished by rubbing his chest with his open hand. All this was sign language for "Room, I need a room, please". In case the man didn't understand he got ready to bring out paper to write it out. He didn't like writing it out because he couldn't see what he was writing so people often can't understand what he's writing. These years he felt more and more lonely as his ways of communicating became more and more foreign to the world