James followed Tomlin as she searched each room the basement. Besides the open doorway that led into the basement, there was one door that led upstairs into the proper part of the brownstone house. The metal door was large and locked tight with two locks. Tomlin gave it a push with her shoulder and it did not budge.

“Should we try the front door?” James asked in a quiet voice. Tomlin stood on her tiptoes and stared at the lock. She placed her finger on the keyhole and wiggled it a bit. She did the same for the lower lock.

“Yes, we might as well. Put the naginatas back in the case. We’ll have to walk around the alley to get out front.”

James nodded and began walking toward the door leading away from the basement. That was when he heard the noise. He froze at the sound of footsteps coming from that direction. He waved at Tomlin, but she had heard the noise as well and stood frozen slowly lowering her naginata into judan position, ready to fight.

James stretched his ears to listen for the sound. It sounded as if it was coming from the alley and not inside the basement. He started to walk toward the next room with the blade of his naginata held in front of him. He tried to keep his grip light and his stance on his toes, to be ready for anything. It was difficult, as he felt his adrenaline start to pump through his body. He was nervous. Besides the endless sparring, he had never used a weapon in a real fight, not one where he was at equal risk of killing or being killed. Either of the options did not appeal to him. He was not a pacifist—he believed violence did solve some problems. But was also a weenie, and he knew if push comes to shove he might turn out to be a coward. Regardless of the assurances Tomlin had given him, he was not sure he would make the right choice when it came time to fight.

Tomlin let him take the lead as he made his way through the basement. Now that he had been in the basement for a while, his eyes had further adjusted, and he made out the gray stucco on the support beams that he spotted near the walls throughout the rooms. The beams were the only unfinished part of the basement.

The footsteps grew louder as James and Tomlin made their way through the basement. They arrived at the room that had the doorway leading out to the alley. Darkness had fully descended outside, and the alley was darker than the basement. They both peered into the darkened doorway but could not make out where the sound was coming from. Tomlin pointed to the side walls and James took position on the wall next to the doorway. Tomlin made her way to the other wall. They both held up their naginatas halfway over their heads so they could strike if needed.

The sound grew louder as James waited. The naginata was growing heavy and he put it quietly back on the floor, repositioning it so he could strike in a downward swing with less effort. As the sound grew closer, he was able to make out two separate footsteps. He showed Tomlin two fingers and she nodded in agreement. He heard muffled talking and the sound of kicked garbage. They were less than twenty feet away, and James felt his hands growing clammy and his heart jumped into his throat. He tried to swallow but his mouth was too dry.

“He said it would be in here,” a man with a deep voice said. He must have been right outside the doorway. James held his breath, afraid he would give away their presence with his breathing. Two men walked into the basement. They wore workman’s clothing and workman’s boots. Neither held a weapon. James waited for Tomlin’s lead. One of the men pulled out an oversized flashlight and turned it on. The light hit the far wall of the basement room, and both men walked past Tomlin and James without seeing or hearing them.

“You sure this is the right address?” the man without the flashlight asked. His voice sounded oddly familiar. It had a soothing, familiar cadence. James tried to place it, but he could not.

“That’s what they said. You think it’s another goose chase?”

“This whole thing is a wild goose chase. Don’t they know I have more important things to do than chase down all of these leads?”

“You must have figured it out by now: you don’t ask questions. You saw what happened to Mr. Samson. Just be lucky that you’re already one of them. It’s us foot soldiers who have it hard. Promised so much, but given so . . . what do we have here?” The man turned around just as Tomlin lowered her naginata, the blade almost to his throat. He dropped the flashlight and the light went out. James followed Tomlin and advanced on the other man. The man turned around and when he saw the blade in the gray light, he held his arms over his head.

“No need for violence here,” the man with the familiar voice said. With the flashlight off, it was difficult to make out the face. The body, however, was highlighted against the gray background from the light further in the basement.

“So, what are you two fine boys looking for in this dank basement?” Tomlin asked with a strong Japanese accent.

“I could ask the same of you, but you’re the ones holding the spears. I’m Craig, and this here is Mr. Gonzalez.” Samson pointed over to the other man who remained silent and motionless. The flat of Tomlin’s blade was held against his throat, and she had choked up on the naginata so her body was close to his neck.

“From those spears you’re carrying, I’m guessing you’re looking for the same thing we are. We’re from the guild,” Craig said. “I guess they sent two groups to chase the same wild rumors.”

James was amazed at how calm Craig sounded. It was like he faced down sword wielding people all the time. James tried to keep his naginata within striking range of Craig, but he started backing away and turning deeper into the basement, as if James was not holding his blade out in a threatening manner.

“I’ve been in this world for less than two months, and this is the third time someone has put a sword to my neck,” Craig said. “Can I at least know your name if you plan to run me through.”

James looked to Tomlin for guidance, but he could not make eye contact. She stood holding the naginata to Mr. Gonzalez’s throat. She had not moved but Mr. Gonzalez made small noises, almost like cries of pain or surprise or perhaps it was begging. It was difficult to hear over the pounding of James’s heart which he heard reverberating through his skull.

“James Pleasant,” James said to Craig. “Why don’t you explain what you’re doing here before my friend loses control of her blade.”

Even in the darkness, James could see Craig’s smile. It gleamed white, capturing what little light was available in the room. “Probably the same as you: we got a call from the powers that be, Mr. Gonzalez picked me up, and we came here to investigate. We’re looking for he who I wish I hadn’t named.” Craig gave a small laugh after he said it.

James looked at him in confusion until everything clicked. “You’re Craig Stevens,” James exclaimed, feeling excited to meet a celebrity, but at the same time weird at the predicament they found themselves in. They were alone in a quiet basement holding naginatas in what was clearly a hostage situation.

“Who?” Tomlin asked. For all of her grace and knowledge, Tomlin was not one to keep up with current events in the world. There might have been a time when she was younger where the worldly affairs would have mattered to her, but as she had explained to James, when she watched the leaders of the world make the same mistakes over and over, it became boring to watch. When James had pushed her and asked why she didn’t try to influence them, why she didn’t use her immortality for the good of mankind, she had laughed. Why do you think they formed the guild; and you see all the good that it did for the world. James knew she had a point. Besides managing to kill off their own kind, the guild was good for little else besides arguing and keeping secrets. That was why Tomlin had left the guild and joined the splinter group. Of course, them not being with the guild, and Craig Stevens and Mr. Gonzalez being with the guild did create problems; particularly since they were at the house looking for Frankie Names, and clearly he was nowhere to be seen.

“Craig Stevens, the man who had the famed interview with the notorious Frankie Names.” James tried not to sound exasperated but Tomlin should have known that. She had read everything she could get her hands on about the explosion at the party, the one she was supposed to attend. And to miss such an important detail because the detail was not immortal made James angry. Tomlin really did see the world in two separate universes. He now saw her shift the world between the two worlds, placing Craig Stevens in the world that mattered.

“So we now know what he whispered in your ear,” Tomlin said, her accent still strong.

“You have no idea how I wished I did not do that interview over the last two months of hell. Being immortal,” and to this part, Craig looked over to Mr. Gonzalez, who still made pathetic noises as the blade weighed on his throat, “is not everything it’s cracked up to be.”

“Take out your weapons slowly and throw them to the floor. If we’re going to have a conversation, we should do it as civilized adults,” Tomlin said.

“Not sure how you create civilization if only one of us have weapons,” Craig Stevens said. “But I’m not opposed. They don’t give me a weapon. They don’t trust me that I’ll use it on the right people. They’re afraid I might get it in my head to use it on them.”

“And your friend?” Tomlin asked.

“Now he’s armed.”

Mr. Gonzalez grunted. Tomlin freed one of her hands and reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a large revolver. She stuck it in the pocket of her jacket and took a step back, the blade of her naginata still pointed at Mr. Gonzalez’s chest. In the conversation, James had let the blade of his naginata wander, and it now was pointed at the floor. He lifted the blade off the ground in a threatening manner, and then realized how ridiculous he looked. He pulled up the blade and placed the bottom on the floor.

“Those are some large blades you have there,” Craig said with a smile. He was much shorter than he looked on television, James decided.

“Sit down, please,” Tomlin said. She took a step back when both Mr. Gonzalez and Craig were seated cross legged on the hard concrete floor.

“You still have your day job?” Tomlin asked. Now that she knew where he was from, she seemed to remember much about him. Perhaps she was not as oblivious to the news as James had originally thought.

“Yes, they have me doing double duty. You would think that they would just use my talents on television. But, no. They need me to go out with this buffoon here. They think with our combined superpowers, we’ll be able to track down the former leader of the guild.”

“Who are they?” Tomlin asked.

“The guild.”

“There is no guild anymore,” Tomlin said. “Frankie Names’s explosion took it out. There are only small fractions of it left.”

Craig seemed to take this in. “That does explain a lot about the organization I’ve been part of for the past two months.”

Daily word count: 2,049.

Words remaining: 6,665 (43,335).

Still struggling with the ending. Two of the plotlines finally converged in a less than spectacular confrontation. I gave up halfway through the scene when I hit my words for the day. Instead of swords and naginatas swinging to and fro, they sat down and discussed exposition. Talk about anticlimactic. Hopefully the steel will fly when I return to it tomorrow.

Update: Oops. I forgot to post this yesterday. It was sitting in my secret folder.