Hiding in Plain Sight

This is not just a story, it's interactive.

Saint-Sean Danse Macabre, used in the timeless soft mystery drama, or that's what he saw. Reflections from an inner world, an illusion of what could be possible but not at all unless some form of magic was truly ongoing. As when found by Jonathon Creek the magical trick unveils the truth, or that's what Angelo thought anyway. Using the knowledge of the Magicians Circus to inform and re-enact what had happened in real life. For, what was being unveiled in reality was a crime, an unsolvable mystery, that the crime had to have been an accident in the first place or better still covered up without anyone else knowing. The key to the 'crime' per se was the location, space and time of an accomplished illusion.

Angelo, looked on in amazement, contented that Mr Creek would solve the riddle, what Angelo didn't know at the time was that he had begun a long path. A path to where he was now, sat in a room with his few personal belongings wrapped up in boxes. He was stone cold, ten years earlier he'd been happy at home, now he thought he was home. Instead he was allocated a room in a large castle styled building, set in the depths of the north European Countries, bordering the Belgium-Netherlands landscape. Alone in his room, a window in the door showed frequent other residents walking past. After all it was a professionally designed place to look after the residents. Residents who had long since lost their faculties, or so that's what the staff said.

"Time stood still with his fingers in his ears, didn't want to hear it from another bunch of hollow men."
...excommunicated, excommunicated.
(Tears for Fears, Cold)

"We think he needs a little push...don't you? After all, if he doesn't recognise his problems he'll never be able to leave, and for such a young person that would be a shame. He's developed a nostalgia of sorts, seems to think he's living in about 1960 or something, to him the Cold War's still going on."

"Yes I noticed that, I believe we may have found the reason to that, many of his attributes are copies from his surroundings, he's lost his self. His self is an amalgamation of fictional characters, induced to be more realistic by real life events. He's been corrupted and overwhelmed by it all."

"Hmm, well I wouldn't normally recommend this, but pour a cup of coffee for him, make sure it's hot, I want to see how he reacts, he's always talking coffee I want to know why. He's so entangled in the cob web he's made for himself, he's either ended up lost in his own imagination far from where we can reach him or he's cut off and dumbed down. I wouldn't be surprised after all the things he's seen if his minds turned to mush, he will recover I'm sure, a few years perhaps.
He was doing so well CV's glowing, work, home, lifestyle perfect, yet somewhere something appears to have caught up with him, like his past has decided to come back to life, everybody he's ever known he's written off and left no evidence of them, he thinks they're out to get him."

"Do you think he trust's any one, we can't let him go he could do all kinds of damage to the public, this softly softly person seems to hold terrors in his mind, he could snap. Whatever his conspiracy it's finally caught up with him, he has produced his own prophecy" Scala and Kolacny Brothers, Self Full filling Prophecy, 2008.

"Yes, speaking of which I'm off to see that choral choir tonight he mentioned they actually sound pretty good."

*

Angelo sat in his empty desk, well to him it was cluttered full of his life's work, folders stacked high on racks, certainly not in there boxes in the other corner. Still unprepared to unpack, believing this new home would want to get rid of him fairly soon. He stared out the window, high above the small town, "the house on the hillside" where only the foolish broke in and those who went out were Over The Top - OTT literally for climbing the walls inside the house where no medication or therapy could help and for those out over the brick wall surrounding the grounds.

Two pigeons sat facing the window on the electric wire watching him. Merrily cleaning themselves on the wet, grey day. The fine drizzle, yet another function of what was held within the folders, he picked one off his table top and started reading. Yet he knew it was invisible, what he was reading was what he could remember in his head, his old room re-invisaged as if he'd gone back. The pigeons stared on, plucking and cleaning themselves. Angelo excepted they knew what he knew. His calculations were a new advancement in cloud seeding. Weather modification was never particularly proven to work, but under this, his numbers had suddenly become a necessary fact, it worked and he could modify every cloud from a fluffy white to a force ten gale.

Instead of handing over the information to the Met Office, he'd hidden it and tested it himself. with a bunch of local enthusiasts. "The pigeons know it worked", he said to a local offical collecting field data. But no one wanted to listen, after all the side effects were disastrous. It wasn't just modifying the weather, it was modifying the birds, they were now "living Angels". All birds have wings, but these had extra wings...nobody in his project would believe him, everytime he'd run a test he'd seen a readjustment in bird behaviour, predator to prey level, pigeons acting on mass, Red Kite's and Sparrow Hawks with regional power across the country, Golden Eagles standing tall over all. Angelo had reinvented animal communication and authority. Angel's by name and by flare.

*

All that was wanted was a way to run away. But working on our inhibitions their was no way out. What ever it was, the escape route from this nightmare was blocked, one car chase after another had to follow, running and running in an attempt to escape against the hunters driving, he could remember all the stories his friends told him, everything and nothing was real, the laws of physics, the positions of the stars and yet he didn't want to believe it. What he had was his own self belief and that wasn't enough, his friends yeah his friends ousted him, made to feel unwanted and now in downfall, most certainly cut off, they called it excommunication, as if the church would never let him in.

Reality had been separated, he no longer knew what was real or fake and the crossing of the line had formed, where once he spoke of truth and knowledge, he now crossed into a deep digression, not knowing how to escape, with no feedback from his surroundings to work on, with an even greater level of mistrust, he went on to describe works of fiction as fact and robbed his world of a reality check. Angelo had become too self contained, without an escape plan and without cause. His downfall from a proficient work force, with German Efficiency, Scottish hardiness and the mind like one of the greats of history, but for all that, dashed, something like Inception had beaten him to it or was that just a paradox or just a conspiracy of his fictional reality he believed (Inception, 2010)? His own core beliefs destroyed by his surroundings, that were themselves untrue and implanted by his own mind, yet to him somebody else was pulling the strings, a form of mis-information. "Find the common enemy to stop the rise of the animals", he remembered saying it so many times, public and private, the animals were coming to take control, alas the information brushed aside as mad. Yet he could see it happening everywhere.

*

"This is not a game to be playing with, I might be chewing on the best strawberries and raspberries in the area, but the juices flow from them, bright red like chopped tomatoes. It's not something I wish to understand, but I know now that my perception on reality is much different to everybody elses", Angelo said.

"Yes, you could say that. We think you've had a bit of a traumatic experience, something to push your mind over the threshold, everyone has a limit, I suggest some rest bite, try and reduce the panic attacks and take some of these pills, they will stabalise the imagination from running extra wild. I'd be careful what you do, but self discipline to control the mind is important, what do you think?"
"You think I'm delusional?"
"No not at all, but if you let your imagination run too wild, who's to say where you might end up. We wouldn't want any more damage to come to you."
"Really?"
"You don't believe us."
"No, you tell me I'm mad and I tell you that I've found a good answer, your're just trying to hold me at my will!"
"Ah, Angelo, there is no one holding you back. There is no conspiracy, we've been watching, you talk to the animals like they are humans, as if they are giving you a full conversation. You know that's not possible."
"You know that's not possible, have you heard yourself, I've found a way."
"Someone's, oh, someone's been trying to make you believe you can, and now you think you can, you've been programmed, were here to help. Also, I'd recommend you didn't carry on eating those Strawberries, god knows why they're extra red this year...can't be good for you."

*

(Muse, Uprising) Paperless walls covered in newspaper articles, photographs of people and messages, notes from old folders strewn across the floor. Back in the old house, the pigeons sat chattering away. Where once an impossible fact lay, now the animals began to sense order. Plotting their paths, Angelo could see no way out, they had started reading his notes, weather modification had made a gentetic change, a new beginning, the pigeons looked on at Angelo, lauging beguilly at him, altering the common rule, the human race would soon peril to the Eagle's command, the Hawks would quite literally rule the roost. Angelo sat in dismay as day by day his reality became more and more real until finally the resident staff could no longer help. Angelo sided with the Eagle's command structure, from the inside they grew up to be bigger and bolder until nothing was left but to reconcile with his destruction of the human species, sucked in to his own parallel universe he lost all that could have been. Eventually he would find his way out, or so everyone hoped (Take That, Reach Out- Stranger than Fiction version).

(Adele, Rolling in the Deep)

We should always look after each other, it's a form of politeness.