Suki read the captions as they flashed across the screen. The first message was so cryptic yet poetic in its own macabre sort of way. Somewhat like the video itself. The whirlwind of people being drawn in, becoming this human tornado. The man in front, in his knickers and wool coat — he looked more like a carnival man. The type of crowd gatherer who stood before the freak tent describing the mysteries hidden behind the canvas. As he described his freak show, or preached his sermon, the free floating blue wind wove its way around and through everything. It touched them all, it slapped them, bit, tore and caressed all those it came in contact with. Entering a woman’s palm, moments later finding its way out through her eyes. She thought she could see a dance to its movements, a method to its flight. The effect was almost hypnotic. She had to look away.

“Have you figured out how they did it yet?”

Suki jumped. She looked over her shoulder at Philip who stood in the doorway. He had a half eaten apple in one hand and a bottle of water in the other. His eyes looked weary, probably much like her own. She offered him a smile.

“No, not yet, probably not ever.” She set her glasses down and looked back towards the screen. “You know I just can’t figure it out. I can’t see the wires, I don’t know how they didn’t get themselves all tangled up with the spinning. And I know this is authentic. I had the damn thing dated three times for verification.”

Philip shrugged “Maybe they didn’t use any trick wires. Maybe it’s some freaky home movie.” He took another bite of his apple.

“Oh.” Suki grinned “and you think there are occasions in the world to film a group of people just turning into a tornado? Man, wish I had a camera ready when something like that happened.”

Philip playfully flashed her his middle finger and laughed. “Your sarcasm wounds me. I’m just saying you might not figure this one out. I know you love to sit down with these old movies and figure out how those old birds did some of their effects but there will be times that even you, Queen Sheba of all movie knowledge, is going to be stumped. It’s just one of the many fuck overs of life.”

Suki grinned at him, sticking her tongue out. “Go eat your apple. I’ll figure it out, don’t you worry. Now...” she waved him away “leave me alone, go home. Call your girlfriend and leave me to my vault.”

Philip laughed at her but did turn and leave. He shut the door behind him and disappeared down the stairs. Suki turned her attention back to the video. The wool clad man and his pet wind gave no signs of offering her any help in her task. She hit stop and then rewind, might as well start from the very beginning. A headache was pressing at her temples, another minor ache finding its home in the back of her neck. She popped some aspirin and called it good, hit the play button and started her next session with the maelstrom.

She had to be missing something, she ran the player on slow. The cobblestone was real, there was dirt, feathers and miscellaneous garbage crushed into the mortar between the stones. It must have been hell to have to drive over that stuff. The windows were painted but some were newer then others. One store offering fresh veggies had let their sign chip away to almost nothing. It boosted "fresh veg ables" and their special in season "swe t orn". Other words were beyond reading. The shop next to that one though was perfect and bright. A cheery sign offering dry goods for all your needs. A woman was drawn in great detail holding up a bolt of colorful fabric. Something any woman might like to make a dress out of.

And here came the ringleader, the man with his white hair and leathery features. His full black eyes were something you could get as contacts now but weren’t available back then. At least she didn’t think so. His eyes are glued to the camera lens pointing at him. Preaching, lecturing in a venomous tone that often scared her when she saw it from a modern day preacher. Every remark is punctuated by that damn cane of his. After constant viewing she’d finally noticed the silver tipped end and all the small writing on it. The writing almost looked like hieroglyphics. Somewhere in there she even noticed the small holes that riddled his clothes. Like moths were at work all the time to wear down the thick woven material.

Then there is the crowd. She knew each of their faces now. There was the portly woman who looked weary, the kind of woman who spent her whole life baring children for her husband. There was a handsome man that always caught her eye, he kind of looked like Philip, only older and in possession of a thin beard. And there were other faces, each with quirks and ticks that stood out. They came to worship this man, the religious fervor rushing through them like a virus in the air. They fall to their knees before eventually being lifted into the air. She wondered who the individuals were, what happened to them after the film was done.

The wind comes. When she slowed the tape the first time she found the wind came from the preacher’s mouth. His face lit up for a moment as the wind was forced over his tongue and teeth like bad air. It rushed from him and took to the air, twisting and turning in the same fashion some ballerina’s can make a long ribbon dance with them.

Again the camera was picked up, moved from its stationary position. Those old fashion cameras were hand wound as they filmed and fragile, they weren’t meant to be moved themselves. But this one was. The camera man moved towards the crowd. Once by the preacher he fell to the ground, crawling till he found the steps. The sheer roar of the event taking place to his left must have been deafning. But there was that moment he looked upwards, aimed the camera towards that man who could only be the Heirophant the text spoke of.

She thought of the letter, the reference to him and then to her. She thought of the creepy sounds the messenger made when he left it on her door. Then there was Tommy, who had taken the brunt of her sudden anger, or fear? Yes, it was most likely fear that had her yelling at him, telling him to confess to the notes. If it had been a joke on his part she would feel a hell of lot better right now. There wouldn’t be this need to prove the film to be just that, a film. Something some long dead director pulled together through primitive make-up and special effects.

The man moved up the steps, trying to focus in on the sign pinned to the door. Any moment the scene missing text would replace the door. She waited, realizing she could almost make out the letters, still no text to cut the view. And then there is was. The sign on the door, as plain as day. It read: Here the Siobran found refuge from the Heirophant’s maelstrom, 1875. May God help us all.

She sat up, now glued to the screen. Best not to question how something that once was not there suddenly was. If this was a dream it was vivid, if it was real it was impossible to explain. But the sign was there and it was familiar. It read the same as the first note on her door. Only this offered no reference to her or the other person. “Where is the mention of Icarus?” she whispered to herself, a resonating sound that carried farther then she could imagine. Even the hand writing was the same.

The camera man was moving further. He opened the door and stepped through. Inside people were running, some trying to tie blankets up over the windows, others trying to secure the doors. The camera man moved past them, stepping through a doorway that lead to a long, empty room. It might have been a storage room. Too many people were pushing past him, knocking him around. The camera would get knocked one way and show a person who looked very much the same as those people flying outside. The only difference was the frightened look on the faces of these people. The camera man pushed on into the storage room. The camera found a form huddled in the corner, he moved towards it.

The thing sitting there looked like a large rag doll thrown down. But it was female, wrapped in dirty cotton clothing and a knit shawl. She moved, turning to the side as though she were threatened by the approaching camera man. He didn’t crowd her though, just filmed her as she pressed her head into her knees. Then she moved, looked up suddenly towards something out of the camera’s view.

Suki felt ill, quick and sudden, she knew she was going to throw up. She reached for the trash can near the desk, loudly losing that breakfast bar which served for dinner. She whipped at her mouth, looking towards the woman on the video. The lazy looking eyes, the lips, even the slight bump in the nose, it was a mirror image looking back at her. “But this is impossible...” she whispered.

There was the girl though, a perfect replica of the woman watching her. The camera panned around to find the object of her attention, a man standing in the doorway. Thankfully it was no one she knew, just some non descript long haired man standing there. The camera found the girl again, she looked so happy to see the other man. For a moment Suki could think of some of the things that had caused her to make the same face. The man started towards her, arms out. She reached towards him as the camera started to pull away. It suggested a typical lovers embrace. The man found the woman but there was no hug forthcoming. His nails found her chest, tearing at the delicate skin above her breasts. The skin gave way, the blood flowing freely. Suki felt a sudden ripple in her own chest, like the memory of a wound or a sympathy pain for someone else’s grief. The man was literally tearing her heart out. Next to them a blanket was tied to the wall. In her efforts to push the man a way they tumbled onto the bottom of the blanket, pulling it away from the window. Outside the maelstrom was spinning in full force, a whirlwind of bodies, blood and debris.

“See how they twist and shout.”

Yet one more time that night Suki jumped, almost startled out of her skin. She stood up knocking the chair over in the process. A man was standing in the doorway. She couldn’t see him through the shadows that held to him like clothing. A bit of light found his hands which were dripping with blood, dripping onto the freshly waxed floor beneath his feet. She could hear the droplets hitting the polished wood. It mingled with the sound of the soft buzz from the video player. Her stomach threatened to revolt again.

“Who...” she cleared her throat of the bitter bile lingering from her stomach’s upheaval “Who are you?”

The man grinned, she knew he was grinning. “I’m the ominous man Suki. I’m sure you heard of me.”

“And your hands...” she managed to say, trying to keep it together.

He laughed, a light and healthy sound to the vision he offered. “My hands? You mean the blood? Oh that's Tommy. He and I met in the elevator.”

There was no response from the woman except for the sound of a crash as Suki fainted.