Her Secret Place: Conclusion

"The database of cults, sects, religions came up with some suspects," the FBI specialist added. "The problem is the last reference to any cult utilizing these symbols is over one hundred years old. No present iterations are known to exist."

"What about translations," asked Cuswick, "Do any of you know what they say?"

"It's difficult," the Miskatonic said. "Most of the writings have few modern equivalents but the gist of them refer to ranking and power. Apparently, she's at some high level, of what I cannot say."

"The translation of the document, a scroll of some sort, contains a similar ranking," added the FBI. "If I didn't know any better, I'd almost swear it was a diploma of some sort."

"A diploma . . ." the police chief's head spun. "We are not talking about a school that kidnaps a woman, holds her captive for years, subjects her to repeated rapes, and gives her a diploma."

"Uh, no, we're not going there," said FBI. "It's just that whoever kidnapped her, had access to knowledge not known except to a few scholars. Which means a very narrow list of suspects." The agent flashed a sly look at the Miskatonic consultant.

The consultant shuffled nervously. I hope it's not one of ours. We have enough problems with the Innsmouth situation. We don't need crap like this.

All parties agreed to maintain press silence. Carla Somby would have enough problems recovering and putting her life back together. The last thing she needed was press baying around her like a pack of hellhounds (if only the three men knew. Carla could educate them a lot on hellhounds). Cuswick, though, knew he had his work cut out for him.

Memo from Doctor Sarah Stiles, PsyD, state psychologist, regarding Carla Adachi-Somby, along with a request for a leave of absence:

Subject is highly intelligent, and shows little outward trauma from her experience. The subject claims no memory of the past five years, from the moment of her alleged abduction to waking in the hospital. The subject expressed surprise, and some agitation at the time lapse.

Consultation with the assigned FBI psychologist, a trained cold reader, indicates some possible evasiveness regarding claimed amnesia.

One interview (details listed in the document provided) brought forth a confession regarding repeated nightmares, albeit the subject characterized them as erotic dreams, of sexual contact with multiple creatures, characterized as dark elves, tentacle monsters, elder things, and great old ones.

In the personal opinion of this psychologist, said dreams indicate severe psychological trauma, and I recommend further intensive therapy.

I must also formally request a leave of absence. The sessions have apparently had an effect on my mental health. I have been experiencing disturbing dreams, similar to the subject, and periods of anxiety. I believe Doctor Pickman is better suited to serve as the subject's therapist in any case.

Sarah Stiles, PsyD, Minnesota State Institution for Mental Health.

Epilogue: Rainy Lake, Three Years Later.

"Mmmm, my secret place."

Carla lay on her rock, nude, and gleaming in oil. It was a beautiful June afternoon, with soft warm breezes, and puffy cotton clouds drifting through the azure sky.

She preferred the warm summer sun on her skin, to the dank cold of Dokkalfheim.

Carla didn't worry about people stumbling across her spot. Its reputation was bad, considering what happened to her. People stayed away, except for a few morbid types, conspiracy theorists, and mystery hunters attracted to places like this.

And if someone does come along, who gives a fuck. I don't. Let them see.

Right now she could relax in the sun. She made a note to glamour her eyes to normal brown, as opposed to pitch black sans pupils, if someone should stumble onto the scene. That nurse shouldn't have seen.

Days like this were good breaks for Carla, from the act she had to maintain. Playing the traumatized, amnesiac, returned kidnap and possible rape victim taxed her to a degree.

Much of it was for her aunt's benefit. Carla may no longer have a soul, but Aunt Florence deserved something for her kind care of the person she used to be. Even dark sorceresses could practice noblesse oblige. One of the lessons learned from the dark elves.

Over the past three years, some people, a group which included a few prominent investigators, and reporters, began to suspect her of pulling a hoax. It was easy to see why. Miskatonic suspects did not bare any fruit. Some small groups and cults were uncovered, but all of them had alibis, and some didn't even exist before her return. The news of her tatts proved inspirational, it looked like. Plus amnesia could be so convenient.

Didn't stop the stupid moral panic from happening, but fear has its uses.

She looked at her tatts. Skeptics, trolls, and conspiracy theorists saw her decision to keep them as proof. Her explanation was she wanted clues to her abduction herself, citing some TV show, about an amnesiac woman found covered in tattoos, as inspiration.

Chief Cuswick still held on to her diploma, citing it as evidence in the ongoing investigation.

Looks like he still "believes" me.

No matter. She had all the time in the world to retrieve it.

A particularly nasty character popped up among the trolls: one Edward Delapore.

A scion of the Delapore family, who owned the Delapore Media Company. So he's rich.

Ed Delapore had his own online show, podcast, and radio show, The Delapore Report. Mostly conspiracy theories, gating, and trolling.

In recent years, Ed Delapore took an unhealthy obsession with Carla. First calling her kidnapping a hoax, then questioning her sex life. Then came the doxxing, later the phone calls. Now he was actively stalking her.

"What a pest," she thought. She made the stalking known to media circles. The result was a new burst of harassment from him and his followers, but a new opportunity presented itself as a result: CHB came calling.

They offered to represent her pro bono should she decide on a lawsuit against Delapore. In part, so the lawyer CHB sent said, as apology for their treatment of her all those years ago.

Carla made a show of reluctance, then said yes, to Aunt Florence's vehement objections. Carla had reasons.

She'd read of the law firm's recent problems. Its toxicity had finally caught up with it, resulting in millions paid out to settle harassment, hostile workplace, and other et cetera claims.

The firm needed a lucrative win in court. Plus good publicity to restore its reputation. What better way than to make peace with a former employee, and help her sue a very wealthy stalker?

The insincerity oozed like shoggoth slime from the CHB lawyer. Carla could cut it with a knife, when she met the other lawyers in the main office to strategize.

"Yep," she thought, lightly probing their minds, "they haven't changed. Good." She was especially pleased to see Marta Brand not only still worked there, but actually got promoted, several times.

The dark sorceress lay on the rock like a waiting reptile.

Mmmm, those shits and that stalker are going to learn who the real troll is here.

Carla licked her lips and purred. Her pussy grew wet, anticipating the games she was about to play.

I'm going to show them wonders such as they've never imagined. Pain beyond their worst nightmares. And they will give me everything they are, everything they have, and everything they will be. And they will bleed for me, and fear me.

The End