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The Franklin Incident

Philly-Punk I

Raymond M. Rose

I SQUEEZE MYSELF DEEPER UNDER THE MASSIVE MAHOGANY DESK.

Contorting my body into a horribly uncomfortable position, I ignore my protesting limbs and
continue to push until I can go no further.
Deeply ensconced, though, I can hear nothing, and, regrettably, see less. All I can do is smell:
a trace of leather cleaning oil, a redolence of spent tobacco, and the coppery tang of spilled blood
click... click...
Fingernails scrape against wood. I strain my ears to listen to....
click... click...
Nails dig through paint and pulp as... hands try to open... a doorknob? The jingle of the slightly
loose knob as unseen hands slowly rotate it confirms my suspicions. Though the knob is released
before it can reach the full revolution.
click... click...
I didnt think it would find us. No, strike that, I hoped it wouldnt. Why would it return to the
scene of an earlier crime?
I need only glance out of my hiding place to what happened before: she lie on the floor, her
fingers pointing towards me, palms open. The rest of her is respectfully covered by my coat.
click... click...
Clearly, I was wrong about the killers thought process.
Part of me, though, must have thought such a possibility existed for why would I take such
pains to hide the constable and I if someone entered the office.
However, it was not coming in that way.
It was coming in an unseen door clearly behind the bookcases. We will be completely visible.
I quickly shuffle out of my place of refuge and sneak around the desk, taking care to drag my
unconscious friend with me. I strain as quietly as I can, though, he feels like a load of bricks.
click... click...
The doorknob begins to turn. Slowly inching its way like the approaching night.
click... click...
It makes the full revolution.
creak...
And the door behind us opens.

****

PHILADELPHIA, SEPTEMBER 4, 1843

I STEPPED OUT OF THE 'MECHANICAL' HANSOM CAB AND INTO SHADOW.
When the cab had picked me up in front of my offices on Race, it had been an intense June
afternoon. Yet, as wed traveled across the city, we'd entered the shadow of the giant black airship.
Five times larger than any other ship in the sky, she had no visible markings, nor, if you believed the
gossip, answered any hails. She must speak to someone for the military hadn't blown her out of the sky
yet. Instead, like today, she listed slightly in an unfelt breeze, tethered to the proud William Penn statue
atop City Hall.
Though a seeming menacing presence, she was also a fine bit of shade.
I paid the driver and he drove off, the engine leaving a noxious smoke and a dark oil that coated
the cobblestones.
It made me miss horseshit.
Ahead lay the Franklin Building, a squat beast that looked large enough to berth one of the
luxury liners the White Star folks were always singing about. Five stories high, the building was as
eccentric as its namesake (whose Bacchus-like 'homage' of a statue shot water from pursed lips ahead
of me), each level a jumble of gothic and baroque architectures. Gargoyles guarded the east and west.
Sphinxes riddled the north and south. And winged seraphs looked to the heavens on the top floor. Just
plain mad.
Ben Franklin would have been proud.
I was here because I had been summoned by one of Philadelphias Constables. In my thirty
years on this earth, I have learned that when the law beckoned, you came. Quickly.
Unbeknownst to them, I had been trying to gain entrance into this strange building for the past
two months.
Now, I was being asked to enter.
Nodding to the constable with the broken nose guarding the door, I did so without hesitation.

****

INSIDE WAS A CAVERN.

Not of rock, but wood paneling, stone pillars, and an ornate glass ceiling overhead. As I made
my way across a sea of marble, I could see the airship through the ceiling and hear electricity droning
like unseen bee hives.
Ahead lay a grand staircase, a man at the top, his posture military-straight and eyes gazing at
the ship. In his hands, he held a pistol. I have come to know this Inspector quite well over the past year.
If he had his pistol out, it meant he was frightened.
And what scared Edgar Poe would make normal men shit their pants.
I climbed the stairs to meet him. I saw the dark pools that drown his eyes and hoped Virginia
wasnt ill again. Every time the sickness came upon her, she drew closer and closer to deaths shores
only to return miraculously to good health. I feared each episode drove my friend more and more...
mad.
I motioned to the weapon. Is that to improve morale?
Poe snickered, though, the silence that followed felt oddly uncomfortable. Why am I here,
Poe?
Never a good question to ask.
Wry bastard. Before I could rephrase it better to his liking, Poe left, heading down a hallway.
Having no choice, I followed, my feet treading on the soft carpet. I did not ask him further questions.
He would tell me more when he chose to.
Poe made a right at the end of the hall into another with handsome cherry furniture and wall
sconces. Electric light seemed to stretch for miles. He passed identical doors with names etched in
glass. It was in front of such a door, this one marked JACOB SCHIEFFELIN, that he stopped.
Although Poe opened the door and stepped inside, I made no move to follow suit. The name on
the door Jacob Schieffelin was the same as the man who, only yesterday, had hired me to find
antiquities for his office in the Franklin Building. I had actually been working on that task when Poe
summoned me.
Now I was about to view his dead body, if the smell coming from the office gave any
indication.

****

DEEP INSIDE THE DESK, I TRY TO STILL MY BREATHING SO I CAN LISTEN.

thump... thump...
The sound of the footsteps hammer my already-crumbling resolve. I am firmly rooted to this
hiding place not out of comfort but out of pure, strickening fear. Every vein feels ablaze and nerves
drawn as tight as a garrote.
I wish, though, with all my heart, that my fear was purely because of the killer. I wish that I was
afraid of the harm it might inflict on my person or my defenseless friend beside me.
I wish I was only afraid of death.
Not of failure.
thump... thump...
I am afraid that that I will not get to finish what I started years ago.
I have a face now. Given to me this very day, I face I've known for years. To be denied the
chance to right such unjustly wrongs would be a fate worse than death.
I cannot abide
thump... thump...
A shadow grows ahead of me. At first, it is an expanding dome of darkness; an inverted rising
sun. Then it grows larger, swallowing all light in its path.
thump... thump...
The killer is in the room.

****

IT WAS NOT A MAN, BUT A WOMAN.

The room itself was a simple office furnished in a mahogany bankers desk, a handsome
Tiffany lamp, two leather chaises, and a plush Oriental rug. Though there were two bookshelves almost
bursting with leather-bound tomes, the rest of the room, walls, and desk, were sparse. My client had
described it very well and I could see where the pieces I had already chosen for him would fit in nicely.
When I saw what the Tiffany illuminated, I felt guilty for thinking about work:
She lay on her side, a hand reaching out for something that wasnt there; at least, not now. Her

face seemed caught in the moment of surprise when something sharp bisected her head just above her
eyebrows. Where the dome of her skull should have been, there was only a concave cavity empty of its
major inhabitant.
While the metallic smell of blood had hung heavy outside the office, inside it was everywhere,
invading my nostrils and clothing fibers alike.
Oddly, it made me think of Vienna.
I carefully moved around her, taking the full-breadth of her injuries. As I stood up, I glanced at
a wall full of photographs and suddenly felt my heart leap in my throat. For there was a daguerreotype
of my client standing next to a man who I knew instantly was my target. Though I had no identification
nor ever seen an image of him before, I knew hed existed.
In that moment, though, I learned not only the face of the man I sought, but his current name
(for below the image was an inscription) and, even more amazing, that the fact that I have known this
man for a very long time. His face was as familiar as my own.
Someone I had trusted with my life had been my greatest betrayer.
I hoped Poe wasnt watching me for if he saw the opera of emotions playing across my face, he
would have inquired mercilessly.
Luckily, he was studying the body. Why did she have your business card in hand when she
died?
Pushing the cyclone of emotions down deep, I found him holding one of my business cards for
me to see. His intense eyes turned to me, compelling me to unburden my soul. Clearly, this was one of
the reasons why he was such a good investigator his very gaze guilt people into confessions.
He would have made a good priest.
This is a clients office.
What did he hire you for?
Mr. Schieffelin is relatively new to Shipping. He came to me to acquire a few items to be
placed in his office that might... enhance his reputation for worldliness. Antiquities that might
encourage an entertaining story for clients.
Soft footsteps grew outside the office as Poe asked, Then who is she?
Her name was Eliza and she cleaned this monsters office.
Though the woman who appeared in the office doorway wore the plain clothes of a laundry girl,
she was breathtakingly radiant. Oddly enough, the passion and emotion that raged in her eyes made
here even more beautiful.
Dear God, how I sound like some rake poet!

Poe turned slightly. Who is the monster, good woman?

She met his eyes then motioned to the name on the door. I tell the other girls to be careful
cleaning his office. Many have found themselves in... awkward positions. She turned her eyes to the
body. Bruised ribs. Bloodied lips. Even a black eye or two. But never this.
For men who deal in violence, Poe began, echoing my own thoughts, what happened today
usually isnt that much of a stretch.
thump! thump! thump! thump!
Inspector!
Another constable pushed into the room, a wiry man sporting a Fightin Jack on his left arm.
With the hand encased in an iron fist, the arm and shoulder were strapped to a brace that kept the arm
prone when the wearer fired the fist. I had seen one used with devastating effect by a debt collector
years ago. They were still picking pieces of the debtors jaw out of a brick wall.
Its happened again! Upstairs!
Poe turned to me. The killers in the building.
What world of pain was my friend in that the thought of a sadistic killer loose in the building
caused such excitement?
Poe tore out of the room after the constable.
I, however, did not follow his exit. Instead, I took off my coat and lay it over the woman
splayed on the Oriental rug. It seemed disrespectful to leave her in such an undignified manner. She
had lived a life of servitude only to end like this.
She deserved more.
Her friend stood beside me and whispered, Thank you.
Please stay here and be safe.
Casting a quick glance at the daguerreotype on the wall, I left the office. Up until this moment,
identification of the man in the photo had been my primary focus. Now, with a name to the face, I
found myself not rushing out into the city to find him. No, oddly, I followed my friend down the
hallway to a back set of stairs.
Was it loyalty or friendship that made me alter course? Simple curiosity? I was unsure but
chose not to explore the thought.
In retrospect, I should have just stuck to my revenge.

****

I NEED TO GET OUT OF THIS PLACE.

Though others might think me craven, theres nothing I can do inside. I need to leave and get
help. Although I intentionally drew myself deeper into this puzzle, this is not my fight.
thump... thump...
The feet that shuffle across the floor are uncoordinated, too big for the legs that use them. The
power in each step makes the very floorboards under me shiver.
thump... thump...
Moving myself slightly to the right, my foot moves something heavy and metal. Poe's pistol.
Though spent, I know Poe always carries an extra set of cartridges. The bullets won't hurt the
killer; that much I know. However, it might deliver an element of surprise that would allow a safe
retreat.
It might also anger the killer enough that he follows me.
Shifting carefully, I use my free hand to search my friend's pockets and find the paper
cartridges. Pocketing them
a scrape of wood and burst of light announces that my refuge is suddenly gone. That horrid
high-pitched keening explodes around me.
The pistol falls to the ground in my mad scramble from my exposed hiding place. With only the
Fightin' Jack strapped to my arm, I watch the floor carefully so as not to step on any dead or injured
as I run like the dickens. My free hand is grabbing the doorknob when the killer grabs my other arm,
wrenching me backward!

****

WE TOOK THE STAIRS.

It seemed wise to not trust a steel trap of an elevator with a murdering madman on the loose.
The stairwell was gloomy and sounds reverberated off every surface as we climbed. The constable led
the way, I, the monkey in the middle, and Poe, pistol drawn, brought up the rear. As we climbed, Poe
told me that about the call from a terrified woman that had come in over two hours ago.
How many other staff are here now? I asked as we reached the landing for the third floor.

Five, Poe replied. Though, maybe less now...

Poe, any constables other than you and
OConner, sir, the constable supplied from above.
Three others, Poe supplied. They are downstairs talking to the staff.
So the staff plus the constables makes seven people in this build
Plus us, added Poe.
And the killer, Constable OConner said as he reached the door to the fifth floor. He did not
open the door, though. Only waited for us to catch up.
So there are nine... possibly ten people in this building. And one of them is a killer.
Poe made his way to the door, pistol at the ready. He put his hand on the doorknob but glanced
at me. You really should have brought a gun.
Oh how funny he is! You know I dont own a firearm.
Poe shrugged. Doesnt mean you shouldnt.
He opened the door and entered the hallway.

****

WITH MY ARM CAUGHT IN A VISE-LIKE GRIP, NATURAL INSTINCTS WREST CONTROL OF MY BODY.
Moving with the precision and speed of the automatons serving the food in Wanamaker's
restaurant, I bring the Fightin' Jack against the multi-eyed helmet, cracking two of the portals. As the
grip lessens momentarily, I pull myself free.
Immediately, I throw the door open and fling my body out into the hallway. Bouncing off the
plastered wall, I recover just enough to plant one foot in front of the other, and run as if the devil
himself were after me.
He is, crashing out of the door, the thunderous footsteps clambering behind me.
I do not look back but rip around the corner and barrel down the hallway toward the grand
staircase. Now, though, I allow myself a glance back to see that the killer only a stone's throw away
Instantly, I discover that, of all the times to glance back, this moment was the worst... for I do
not see the dead body at the top of the stairs until I trip over it.

****

THE SECOND BODY WAS NONE OTHER THAN SCHIEFFELIN.

Slumped against the hallway wall, his hands hung at his side and his head was bent slightly
forward. Like the woman, something had cut open his skull and removed his brain. However, unlike
before, there was a misshapen hunk of grey meat lying just between his splayed legs, sitting in a small
pool of blood.
Using a handkerchief, I carefully pulled the collar of the Schieffelins jacket back to reveal the
greater portion of a bruise. It was a dark, violet thing that bespoke of horrible pain and brute force. I
began to search the rest of the mans person. Hes covered in contusions.
Beaten into submission, Poe began, only to have his skull cut open and brain removed?
A shuffle of feet announced OConner wandering off, watching the hallway and averting his
eyes from the dead man. Poe knelt down in front of the body and whistled thinly. The skull was cut by
a very sharp tool. It was done slowly... and with a very skilled hand.
A hunter? I asked.
Do hunters often remove the brains of their kills?
I dont know. I buy my meat.
Somebody is looking for something, Poe said, standing up and straightening his back.
What would be on their brains that
In. Not on.
Before I could ask the question that was about to leap from my lips, a stench more horrible than
the dead man enveloped me. I instantly smelled rotten meat, something smoky like burned flowers.
The others smelled it too.
What is that
Poe never had the chance to finish his sentence for the electric lights flickered once then shut
off . My vision gone completely dark, I quickly stepped back from the dead man. Old habits.
Whats going on?, Constable OConner asked nervously as he rushed toward us, turning on
the electric torch he carried on his belt.
Poe didnt reply but instead brought out his own and an extra, pressing it into my hands
Always be prepared.
Without a word spoken, we formed a very loose circle, our lights slowly sweeping in different
directions.

That silence and vigilance continued for a few moments until a sudden cry exploded from
OConners lips. His light jerked rapidly as a loud smacking noise reported behind him. As I turned my
light toward him, there was a flash of movement and I felt something wet and warm shower my face
like an unexpected summer rainstorm. Something slamming into my my left foot, my flashlight
revealed the Fightin Jack iron fist still in OConners severed arm.
I scrambled for the constable, howling a horrible wounded animal sound, but I was not more
than two steps from him when something sliced through his chest and cut the man in two.
Poe drew down with his pistol and opened-fire as both parts of the constables body landed on
the ground. Poes gunfire revealed a massive darkened shape retreating down the hall.
POE! I shouted as I instinctively grabbed the Fightin Jack severed appendage and all
and dashed in the opposite direction of OConners assailant. Poe was right on my heels, his breath
coming in spurts. The hallway reverberated with our footsteps and things horrible: a high-pitched
keening like some wild animal and fingernails raking across plaster! It seemed to be everywhere: in
back of us, to the left, suddenly coming from the front.
At the stairwell, Poe yanked open the door.
However, a flash of light drew my attention back down the hallway as ten... fourteen... twenty
small round lights suddenly turned on. They went from small, intense beams to a massive flash of
bright white as if the full candlepower had been thrown.
Poe stood beside me, as transfixed as I was.
A rumble grew out of the stairwell, the very floor under us shaking, right before the door flew
open.

****

A MOMENTARY REALIZATION THAT I AM ABOUT TO FALL DOWN A FLIGHT OF STAIRS OCCURS BEFORE
I AM ACTUALLY DOING JUST THAT.
Although a sensible part of my brain tells my limbs to tuck my body into a roll, nothing listens.
The fall is graceless and disorienting. I can scarcely tell which end is up and which is down.
My world is nothing but a succession of spinning horizons and painful spasms as limbs connect with
stairs and banisters. The iron fist strikes wood with a thunderous and jarring drumbeat that I fear my
send my arm flying off.

Just when I think that I will roll forever, like some twisted backwards Atlas, I plow into the
bottom landing and my battered frame stops on the marble floor. The stone feels cool under my warm
skin. I have no idea what kind of damage my body has sustained for I hurt everywhere. It seems
impossible to tell if one place hurts more than the other to indicate the level of woundcreak...
The killer is at the top of the stairs.

****

IT WAS A COLLISION OF BODIES.

Feeling like a helpless child struck by a mighty wave, I was was overrun by the onslaught from
the door. Limbs intertwined, feet tangled, and bodies painfully fell to the floor. Though curses
exploded like fireworks, no fists were thrown. It was only when I brought my torch around on the
assaulting party, did I see that there were six: three constables and three men in liveried clothes.
Servants. Two of the constables and a valet had pistols, while the others carried clubs or, what looked
like, a banister.
The constables immediately peppered Poe, their senior officer, with questions. Poe was succinct
and perhaps you might say a little cold with his responses. However, the men needed Poe to tell
them what was going on so that they could prepare for what might lay ahead.
Unfortunately, that luxury never came.
Poe was in the process of drawing a plan when the lights that we had seen earlier came on again
down the hall. The horrible keening followed suit. Valiantly, the three men with pistols stepped
forward and knelt, forming a firing line. Constables were no more than British soldiers in different
costume.
The men with clubs, Poe, and myself held up the rear. I carefully take the severed arm out from
the Fightin Jack. I set it down as respectfully as I could, then slipped the fist over my own, trying not
to think too much about the sticky cool liquid lining the inside. I fastened the brace on my arm and
reset the pistons on the side.
It was ready.
Poe, pistol drawn over the heads of his constables, scanned the hallway, the white lights
pulsating at us not twenty feet away. Wait for my signal men! Then, open fire.

The pulsating stopped. The lights went dark and the hallway returned to its pitch black
existence. No sound could be heard whatsoever. Everything was still and black.
Whered it go, si
The words had never even left his mouth before a massive dark shape bound through the
stairwell door behind the firing line. POE!
Though the constables drew quickly towards door, the dark shape drove a long sword attached
to its left limb into the nearest constable, the point jutting out of his throat.
Screams of horror erupted and gunfire crackled, spent gunsmoke suddenly engulfing us all.
Poe aimed down and unloaded his six-shooter, each shot square to the chest. His bullets,
though, sparked off some metal chest plate as the smoke-shrouded shape dove at them. It cut down
another constable like a scythe through stalks of wheat. The three men with melee weapons leapt into
the fray, their clubs drawn back for the strike. One of the men was drawn upward by a powerful arm
and thrown towards Poe and myself. I scrambled out of the path of the living cannon fodder but Poe
wasnt so lucky. He was slammed back though the open door and I heard his body tumble down the
stairwell.
I fled the gruesome battle, scrambling for my friend. Poe lay at the bottom of the next landing,
his head resting against the wall, blood flowing from a gash in his forehead. Carefully, I gathered up
my unconscious friend and slung him over my shoulder. Sporadic gunshots, horrid screams, and that
high-pitched keen echoed through the stairwell. I ignored them all. Carefully but hurriedly I made
my way down the stairs. I found my way back to the office that we had first gone to, the office that held
the dead woman. I would treat Poes wounds and hide him and myself. We would wait out the killer
until reinforcements came looking for us. There we would be safe.
For why would the killer return to scene of his first kill?

****

TURNING PAINFULLY TOWARD THE STEPS, I CAN SEE THE SHAPE OF IT APPEARING.
The main lights in the atrium illuminated a towering frame reaching the top of the stairs. It took
the first step slowly as if stalking its prey. Or, perhaps it is unsure of its footing. I cannot analyze its
behavior for I am finding it impossible to even understand the sight of the creature that descends the
steps before me. There are so many things wrong about what I am seeing that I scarcely know where to

begin.
All stout limbs and torso are encased in an armor that is bulky and intricately decorated with
unfamiliar symbols and glyphs. The plating across its chest looks dented and marred with signs of
battle. The creature's hands have four long fingers tipped in black claws. On top of broad shoulders,
sits an oval shape that looks to be a helmet adorned with twenty small portholes
Suddenly a bright light comes on above. The airship bathes everything in a blinding light as if it
were searching for something. The light flickers, though, as if someone were turning it on and off... at
varying lengths of time.
Code.
The killer pivots on the stairs towards the ceiling and the lights I had seen in the upstairs
hallway flash on again. This time, though, I'm a stone's throw from the killer so I can see that the light
is coming out of the portholes.
And the light is pulsating.
On its arm red and green lights flicker rhythmically, speeding up then slowing down.
My growing sense of dread seems to crest and that need to flee pulsates like the light. Moving
my limbs experimentally, I find that they respond to my brain's directions with little physical
resistances. However as I stand up, one of Poe's cartridges falls out of my vest pocket, fluttering to the
ground and spilling the gunpowder it encased through a tear in the paper. I pick up the cartridge only
to find that it's stuck to a wad of chewing gum someone had left on the floor.
This battle is lost and I see no need to make it worse. I can only retreat, report information to
the right people, and return with reinforcements. What can I do?
Saying a quick prayer for Poe and the remaining souls, I rush out the doors.

****

HAVENT GOTTEN THREE STEPS FROM THE BUILDING WHEN

HEAR A CRACK OF A PISTOL

FIRING.

The horrible keen the killer makes drowns out any more pistol fire.
Then a woman screams for her life.
Instantly, a plan comes together:
Gunpowder.

Chewing gum.
Iron hand.

****

I RUSH BACK THROUGH THE DOOR.

I find the laundry woman Id met before drawing down a pistol at the killer as it shuffles down
the stairs rapidly.
I put my course of action into movement.
1. Smear the chewing gum over the iron fist.
I rush toward the spilled gunpowder and the chewing gum I found on the ground. As I pull up
the gum from the floor, the creature reaches the bottom stair and the landing below. I can smell that
horrible stench of decay and death that surrounds it.
2. Pour gunpowder on chewing gum-covered iron fist.
The laundry womans scream suddenly dies in her throat as logic takes over. She has opened
the door shed come through. Shes not moving fast enough so I encourage her behavior: GO
THROUGH THE FUCKING DOOR!
I barely have a chance to move before the killer is lunging for me, that Shoto sword arcing
towards me.
3. Trigger the Fightin Jack.
I lean out of its path and draw my iron fist-encased arm back, hearing an audible click come
from the Fightin Jack. Electricity sizzles and the pistons on either side of the brace begin to contract.
The creatures helmet splits down the center, opening partially to reveal the putrid-skinned
thing inside. Milky eyes swivel on fibrous stalks as an oval mouth full of long shear-like teeth opens.
Clearly, I am meant to not die by sword but tooth.
4. End this now.
The force that shoots my arm forward takes me utterly by surprise. This power is not my own. It
is technology.
My fist collides with the helmet just aside the open maw. Instantly, theres a sharp flash of
orange flames. The compression from the fist against the helmet increases the potential of the explosion
and sends a jet of flames into the helmet that incinerates the creature. I feel the flames lick at my arm

and face as Im throttled backward.

For a moment or two, gravity has no effect on me. I am beyond this worlds restraints.
Then I connect with something hard a banister, perhaps? and physics reasserts its control
on me.
Darkness creeps in from all sides and, this time, I do not fight it. I embrace oblivion as she
envelopes me in her arms, holding me steady until I am asleep.

****

A COOL WASHCLOTH TOUCHES MY FACE.

The next thing I am aware of is the rough texture of a cool washcloth drawn delicately across
my face. The washcloth traces across my forehead then down the side of my face. The skin feels tight
and tingles slightly under the cool water. It feels wonderful.
A soft lilting hum whispers. The tune that has an air of familiarity to it. The singer cascades
over the chorus once, twice and I, oddly, think of my mother. Instantly I smell strong soap and lemon
juice. I feel her callused hands wrapped in mine as we walked to church
I open my eyes.
The laundry woman smiles. I thought you dead.
Not without trying, I reply, my voice sounding rough.
Your face was burned a bit. Same with your left hand, she says grimly, carefully touching my
check and forehead with her cloth. I imagine that youll live, though.
Duly noted.
She fixes me a look, holding my eyes for a moment. You saved my life. Thank you.
You are welcome, Ms
Kate.
Katherine?
Just Kate.
Before I can say anything else, she glances off to the side. Poe is speaking to a collection of
men in fine uniforms, some the dark blue of the Constabulary and the others the red of the military.
Other men are carefully examining the floor, stairs, and landing above for evidence. The Chief
Constable of Detectives is a man with interesting ideas about investigation.

Poe catches my eye and nods, leaving his men. He winces with every movement. The gash on
his forehead has been tended to though from the way he moves, hes clearly injured in other places.
I try to stand up but muscles scream, joints pop, and skin feels like stretched leather. Poe helps
me to my feet.
Hows the head? he asks.
I could ask you the same question.
Poe grimaces. We both lived. Thats a bit better than I thought we would fare.
Poe motions beyond us and I follow his gesture to a black tarp near the wall. It covers some
unseen misshapen form. If that thing had gotten out
It wasnt trying to get out, I reply, turning away from it. It was doing what you said it was
doing: looking for something. I saw it... send information to the black airship.
I know.
You you what?
Poe watches me carefully. This isnt the first time this has happened. Its the third.
The
On two other occasions, multiple people have been found dead inside an office building like
this.
Why the hell didnt you tell me
Poes face darkens with anger. You are rarely straight with me, Jonathan Adams, so why
should I be so with you? There are things going on in this city that both of us know about but say
nothing to the other.
I made no reply. He was right.
He motions to a constable, who has my jacket in his hands. I was being told to leave, for that I
was sure. I take my coat though it felt slightly heavier.
Poe motions to the door. Our business is concluded, Mr. Adams. Speak nothing of what has
happened here today. The safety of his Majestys people and government rest on your silence.
I bid him a curt nod. The wry bastard was playing an interesting game.
I walk to the door, noticing the looks on the faces of the constabulary and military officers.
Clearly they are enjoying this little farce.
Saying nothing as I take the door, I leave The Franklin Building.

****

ONLY WHEN I AM A BLOCK AWAY FROM THE BUILDING DO I DARE LOOK BACK:
The building looks calm, as if nothing horrible had ever happened. But the ship in the sky still
blinks the light, signaling to something that doesnt answer back.
Clearly, this was just the beginning.
Three sets of murders.
The game was indeed afoot.
Damn you, Poe. I have my own game to solve.
I make my way two blocks down to Market and hail a cab.

Keep reading for an excerpt from the next story,

The Virginia Situation

Thank you
Thank you for reading The Franklin Incident.
If you enjoyed the story, please leave me a review. The more reviews the story gets, the more
people will come check it out.
The Franklin Incident is the first story in a larger series, Philly-Punk. The series will consist of 56 short stories followed by two novels. I love these characters and world and I cant wait to tell you
more of them! Please help spread the word about this story and the series!
The next story is The Virginia Situation, found here: http://raymondmrose.com/works/thevirginia-situation
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Thanks again,
Raymond M. Rose

First Edition, July 2012

Updated Edition, September 2015
Copyright 2012 by Raymond M. Rose
Artwork and Book Design by Raymond M. Rose
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means

whatsoever without written permission from the publisher or author, except in the case of a reviewer,
who may quote brief passages embodied in critical articles or in a review.
Christopher Williams Books
www.raymondmrose.com

Sidekicks
The Fire Inside
Black Mirror (coming soon)
Boyertown Quartet
Better Together
Philly-Punk
The Franklin Incident
The Virginia Situation
The Griffin Dilemma

An excerpt from the next story in the series, The Virginia Situation:
PHILADELPHIA, SEPTEMBER 6, 1843
I WAITED FOR AN OMNIBUS TO PASS BEFORE I CROSSED THE STREET.
I had no great faith that the driver seated inside the massive metal contraption could see me at
all so I chose the relative safety of the sidewalk. It was truly difficult to enjoy a mocha cappuccino and
chocolate croissant pinned under rubber tires.
The discordant thrums of motored vehicles and loud conversations on the street was the
symphony of Philadelphiamore specifically Market Street just blocks from the rivers edge. It was a
veritable circus.
And it was only nine in the morn.
Path cleared, I headed down 2nd Street toward my office. Carrying a paper bag full of
wonderful chocolate croissants and a mug of coffee from a Peets Place, I was eager to get home and
dig in.
That, and I had a pile of research and newspapers to go through.
I passed under the shingle that held my name: Jonathan Adams, Collector. Walking up the
stairs to the front rooms that served as my office, I hoped the owner of the tea shop below didnt smell
my coffee. She would bend my ear for an hour about the dangers of the Arabica bean. Making it safely
inside, I learned that I wouldnt be dining alone. Surrounded by a brace of thought-provoking paintings,
handsome office furniture, and bookshelves lined with novels and monographs that hinted at a
possibly-literate soul, sat a man in my favorite leather chaise. The suit of black armor that stood
sentinel beside my office door was facing slightly in his direction, watching. Inspector Poe obviously
hadnt noticed, nose deep in a particularly saucy novel Id stashed in my desk. Though, upon my
entrance, he glanced up, looking directly at the bag in my hands and raising an eyebrow. I hope you
brought plenty to share. Im starving.
I made a place for the both of us to eat. As I cleared off the desk, Poe studied the items I
removed. Glancing at a pile of newspaper clippings, he asked, Are you trying to gauge the risk of
starting a shipping company? A moment later, undeterred by my lack of response, he set aside a tall
stack of Kellys Directories that I cleared off also. Or perhaps you are planning to ship a family
overseas?
Ignoring him thoroughly, I set out the chocolate croissants and gave him half of my coffee in a
tin mug I kept for afternoon tea. He thanked me.

Poe looked tired and a worse for wear. Beyond the bandaged gash on his forehead and visible
discolorations from bruisingall compliments of the other nightI could see that the dark circles
around his eyes seemed even more pronounced. Worry etched his face. If you dont mind me asking,
is everything well?
You have yet to answer my questions, Adams, so why should I answer yours?
I shrugged and motioned to the books. Nothing but a little light reading.
Poe laughed sharply. It is unwise to lie to a Kings officer.
Instead of commenting, I pushed my own question. Has Virginia grown ill again?
Poe, obviously, could play the same game. Does this have to do with your dead client?
I took a bite of my croissant. Why arent you by your wifes side if shes sick again?
Looking for a new client when your previous one hasnt even been buried yet? Poe snapped,
fire in his eyes.
Getting just as heated, I made to reply but stopped myself. Calming myself, I said, I had
nothing to do with his death.
I know, he said with a sigh. Four of my men are dead because of that thing the other night.
However, theres nothing I can do about it.
What do you mean?
Poe stood up abruptly and walked over the window that looked out on the street. I made no
move to press him, but watched him, waiting for him to say something. I was called into my captains
office yesterday morning. He told me that under no uncertain means am I allowed to investigate what
happened the other night.
He turned back to me, his face stricken. I have widows asking me what happened to their
husbands and I have no answers. Instead, I lie right to their faces and tell them that were trying to get
to the bottom of it. Were not.
I motioned to the books and newspapers. In the Franklin the other night, I saw a photograph on
my late clients wall. It contained the man who I have been seeking.
The man who killed your father?
Yes, I replied. Ive been looking through newspapers and directories to try and track his
movements.
Do you know where he is?
In the city somewhere. I believe he is involved in shipping somehow.
Poe nodded, connecting the dots. Hence your business with Schieffelin...
Since we had met months ago and started a friendship, I told Poe most of what my agenda was

in Philadelphia. Trickle by trickle, I had revealed details of the whole situation. Particular elements of
my story were missing including what I had done for the better part of a decade before coming to
Philadelphia years ago. However, Poe knew the gist: my father had been murdered when I was nine
and I was seeking the man who killed him.
I had been moving up the shipping food chain, so to speak, when... well, everything happened
the other night.
Poe sat back down, his eyes cast on me. Adams, I must do something about what happened the
other night.
The creature is dead.
He nodded. It was communicating with the black airship. Something foul is happening in
Philadelphia.
What would you do?
I am unsure of my next step. Clearly, my superiors dont want me looking into anything. That
speaks of a conspiracy.
Perhaps they are just trying to protect you, Poe.
I knew Poe was pushing this subject for a reason: he wanted me to get involved. I couldnt.
After the other night, the creature, and what I did... I needed to stay clear of problems like that. I had
things I needed to do.
I saw an opportunity and pressed the subject. Maybe what you need to do is focus on taking
care of your wife. Virginia needs you.
A shadow crossed his face. Shes sick again. She... she coughs blood sometimes.
You need to take care of your wife, Poe.
With a polite smile, he stood up. Poe put out a hand to me. Thank you for the coffee and
pastry. They were delicious.
I took it and said, If I can help you in any way, please call on me.
He nodded, heading towards the door. Glancing back at the office, he nodded. Youve made a
good business here, Adams. Sometimes I think I should hang up my belt and put out a shingle also.
You do have exquisite taste in books.
He grinned and left my office.
Through the window, I watched the man who I called friend walk down the street. I had just
mercilessly talked him out of pursuing something that I knew he wanted my help in. In the pit of my
stomach, I knew what I had just done was wrong. It made me feel ill.
I went to my desk and spread the material back out.

Check out more information on The Virginia Situation.