More things in Heav'n and Earth...

[evillurks]

The Metrolite hotel still stands, but it has seen better days. Even the renovations made in the late Fifties are outdated, and the place escapes destruction only because the remaining tenants are just rich enough to make a valid protest. At least the neighbourhood has a surprisingly low crime rate, despite the atmosphere of dilapidated wealth.
Inside, the elevators still run, although every ride is a risk. The elderly gentleman visiting today accepts that risk, as he is walking with the aid of a cane. The cut of his suit is slightly outdated, and he moves in a slow, stiff fashion. With his silver hair and tastefully old-fashioned clothes, he passes easily for a resident or the close friend of one. The elevator reaches the third floor without incident, and the lone passenger hobbles up the hall to knock on one of the doors. When it opens partway, held in place by a chain, the visitor utters a single word in a tone that does not seem to fit the feeble old man.
“Vincent.” Authoritative and carrying a faintly harsh edge, that voice is unmistakable to the man within.
The door shuts very briefly, then opens wider to admit the guest. The moment it is closed behind him, the old man straightens to a full and impressive height, his frailty vanishing in an instant. The hawkish countenance and confident bearing command respect despite his age. He still limps as he moves into the room, although his reliance on the cane is very slight.
The other man has a cane as well, and his own limp is far more pronounced. Also grey of hair, he hobbles after his guest and gestures broadly to the seating in the main room, noting his visitor’s limp with mild worry. His expression speaks of deference and respect towards this unexpected guest. “What can I do for you?”
The Shadow settles himself a seat with some care, still stiff from his recent adventures. “Sit. This is… not the usual business.”
Harry Vincent picks a chair across from his chief, struggling to hide his surprise. The past couple of decades have mellowed his employer’s attitude slightly, at least towards the few older agents he has left. This has not lessened Harry’s awe of the man, who he knows to be at least twenty years his senior, and therefore superhuman in both longevity and health. Even with the slight familiarity of working together for so long, The Shadow has never made a social call. The Shadow does not make friends, or at least not with his agents, as far as Harry is aware.
The intense blue gaze does not fall directly on him, but The Shadow leans forward restlessly in his seat, and steeples his fingers together. The slight bulk of a bandage shows under his clothes on his right arm. “What I mean to tell you is in the strictest confidence, not to be discussed even with Burbank.”
Harry’s eyebrows rise, but he manages a weak reply. “Yes sir.” He’s aware of the recent fire, the unexplained rise and then sudden drop in the murder rate. Through the network, chiefly Burbank himself, he knows these incidents were related to whatever case The Shadow was most recently engaged in. Harry knows, also, the case has been declared closed. The Shadow’s wounds are certainly the marks of some climactic battle. As a loyal agent, he will ask no questions about this, but privately he wonders if whatever secret he’s about to be told is related.
The Shadow shifts again, using his left hand to reach into an inner coat pocket, and pulling out a device roughly the size of a pocket calculator, though slightly thicker. He sets this on the coffee table between them, but close to himself and just out of Harry’s reach. “There are, as Shakespeare said, more things in heaven and earth…” The Shadow frowns, sighs very quietly, and begins again with uncharacteristic hesitation. “I expect you to believe every word of what I have to say, but it may stretch your imagination. I’m going to explain to you about a place known as the Nexus…”