Jason opens the door and looks through the man outside in a thousand yard stare.

"I'm on my morning run, but I think I can spare a minute."

Salt n Pepper gives Jethro a small smile and looks down at the table.

"The name is Jones, sir. John Jones." the man fingers the sleeves of his black, scruffy suit. "I've heard you're a man who's in the business of making farms profitable. I've come all the way from Oberlin to seek your help in purchasing some equipment that'll certainly bring my farm back from the brink. On my honor sir, you'd be a great help to me and mine."

Jones reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a blue wallet. He fumbled with it a moment, and revealed the white, gleaming card within.

"Will you help me, sir?" he said, reaching over the table with glove encased hands.

***

"Dubois, I don't think you remember me," the stocky man said. "John Agnes. I served with you a few years ago, though, heh, I was more desk jockey than soldier." He looks down, reaches in his back pocket, pulls out the wallet. The card. "I, ah, heard about your discharge through the grapevine. Knew once I was out for good I'd look you up. You're not the only one, you know."

Agnes offers the card.

"You should keep in touch."

John stands up and offers his hand with a smile. "If it's John Ringo you're looking for, I'm your man. Best mechanic in town if you need some work done." His smile falters for a moment and he says "This is about work...not my missing....it's about work right?" He looks out the window and says "Is your car here?"

The man took off his hat and pulled a gloved hand through his black hair.
“Something missing? Naw, sir. I’m actually here with a request.” He pulled out a wallet and unleashed the white card. “I’m a photographer, see, and I’m taking pictures all over the country of real, American landmarks. And your station…wow. It’s perfect. You wouldn’t mind if I took a few shots, would you?”
He hands over the card. His name shimmers: John Anderson, photographer.

Jethro eyes the luminescent card with a raised brow, then shoots a narrow look at the stranger. Plucking his napkin from his lap, he takes the proffered card with it and looks more closely at it. "Jarms, you know," he explains in an offhand fashion. "Them mah-crow-or-gun-izzms they're always talkin' 'bout in th' papers." He deposits the card in his own wallet and goes on. "I been laid up for a coupla weeks cuzza some nasty bacteria, as my decreased girth"--he indicates his rather loose shirt and pants--"could tell ya. They say the USSR is making designer jarms these days, as if th' ones we got ain't bad enough."

Dismissing the tangent with a shake of his head, he leans back again and continues speaking around another mouthful of eggs, pointing his fork in the direction of the stranger. "Now look here, mister. I've had enough people try to cheat me to know when someone ain't bein' completely straight with me. I ain't so ugly that ya can't look me in the face, ya seem awful fidgety with them fingers, and it's mighty awkward to do bizzness with an alias. Mebbe John Jones is yer real name, but I hope ya understand that I gotta ask for some proof." He takes another bite, and his smile returns. "My 'pologies if I'm in the wrong, here. If yer on the up and up, I'm always ready to make a deal."

John looks at the card for a full minute before taking it and tucking it into his shirt pocket behind his Marlboro's. "Pictures huh...O.K. I guess." He pauses and then adds "Not to be, uh, a money grubber or anything...but I gotta ask. Is there anything in this for me?" He looks around and spreads his arms to indicate the deserted station. "You may have noticed that I'm not exactly...busy. I wouldn't ask" he says hesitantly "but I'm not sure how long this particular landmark is gonna be here if you know what I mean." Then he let's out a belly laugh that surprises him. It's been a long time since he genuinely laughed. "Aww hell" he says "Never you mind. Take your pictures. I hope they turn out nice. You wanna coke or somethin'? Sit a spell? Not many folks stop to talk anymore. They don't really stop for anything. I had some trouble awhile back and I'm not really popular around these parts anymore."

Jason takes the card without looking at it, and quickly slips it into a pocket.

"Ah yes, I remember a John Agnes. You know, I could have sworn that Corporal Agnes died at the siege of Outpost Harry on June 11th after the Chinese took the communication trench. In fact I seem to recall seeing his body afterwards. Odd that. Now what was it you were here for again?"

Jason hasn't removed his hand from his pocket.

Before Mrs. Anderson has a chance to react, the young blonde man slaps the card into her hand and pulls her close.

"I am sorry, ma'am," he whispers, then lets her go. She looks down at the card...

***

Jones looks Jethro in the eye.

"You've got me pegged," he says, scooting out of the booth. "I'm no farmer. But your help IS needed."

Jethro almost responds, but a strange tickling sensation from his wallet pocket stops him. He takes out the wallet wondering...

***

O'Brien quickly lets go of Richard's hand, leaving the card behind. He backs away slowly.

"It's nothing personal. I promise," he says, as Richard realizes that the card is blank...

***

Agnes sighs.

"Just doing my duty, Dubois," he says. He turns and walks off without another word.

Jason watches him go before he's distracted by an itchy hand. A VERY itchy hand, as if his pocket is filled with ants. He pulls out the hand that holds the card...

***

Anderson's smile falters.

"Huh. You may rethink that request in a minute, sir," he says, unable to look John in the eye. "Anyway. I'll see you tomorrow." He almost claps John on the back, but thinks better of it.

John's attention is no longer focused on the "photographer." His chest is on fire, where he pocketed the card. He slaps at it, then pulls out the card...

***

Cooper hesitates, pulling his hand back from Cecil's. He takes a deep breath, then slowly releases it.

"Listen," he says, his voice low. "Once you take this card, there's no going back. I...I can't help you. If you just leave now, leave town and..."

But the draw of the card is too strong. Cecil rips the card out of Cooper's hand...

***

The card seems normal. Just a blank piece of paper. Strange that it once had a name printed on it (it DID have a name, didn't it?) but now it sits in your palm, a rectangle of white, flexible card stock.

Almost too flexible. If you look closely, the card seems to be stretching in length. No. Not just stretching. Growing. Expanding at the corners. You peer even closer at the card, the...wait. Wait. The surface of the card is moving, it's...no. No. There is no card. What you thought was paper is in fact thousands upon thousands of tiny moving...things that, until you touched it, remained peacefully grouped into a tight rectangular shape.

But now you've touched it. Now you've activated the creatures, or beings, whatever they may be, and now they are on the move. Multiplying. covering every surface of your skin it can reach. The rectangular shape dissipates into a horde of white dots that cover your hand. You slap at them, try to brush them away, but nothing seems to work. They envelope your hand, your arm, spreading to your chest.

Enveloped by white things, white beads, white dots that burrow into your skin.It tickles. Itches. Burns. Burns like a rash you can't reach to scratch. Burns like fire licking your skin as it spreads down your torso and your other arm, down your legs. Creeps up your neck. As you panic, you realize that you're the only one who can see what's happening, what's taken you over, what's marked you.

Creeps over your cheeks, touches your eyes gently, then consumes them. Over and up your nose. You open your mouth to scream, but the burning creep swallows your tongue, your lips, your throat until all you can feel is the fire, the burn. Your body is aflame.

And then...it isn't. Abruptly, you are back. No burn, no pain. And the man in the black suit is gone.

Dottie leans against the counter, composing herself. "Frank? Would you please bring me a Coca-Cola?"

Cecil sits up, looking around for the man in the black suit. He stands up with care, and picks up his chair. "Hello?" he calls out, and then walks gingerly to the door and looks both ways to see if he cam spot the stranger.

"B-b-b-b-Bonnie? O'Brien?" He looks about the office. "Mr. Black?" he calls for his editor. "Billy?" the photographer. "Anyone?"

Jason clutches at the snub-nosed revolver concealed in his pocket. The same pocket he had placed the card in. It takes an effort of will to keep from pulling it out and hunting the impostor down, but somehow, Jason manages it. He leans against his door and takes several deep breaths, and takes his hand off his pistol. He still has a run to do, and heaven help any G-Man unlucky enough to cross his path today.

John plops back in his chair stunned, confused but strangely not angry. It seems he has reached a state that he has never before experienced. So much of the last few years have been full of regret, self pity, and anger. So much anger that he thought he would burst from it all. Anger at his wife for disappearing, the people in town for thinking he killed her, the station, the whole world but now for the first time in it seemed like forever he was calm. He lights a smoke. "Another drink is what I need to clear my head." he says to the once again deserted station. A large glass of whiskey later he decides to venture out of his station and see what is going on in town. "After that little bit of strangeness, it's not like anything else could be stranger." Leaving the station behind he wanders toward the diner smiling at passersby regardless of the looks they give him waiting to see what else the day would bring. He often touches the shirt pocket that held the card without realizing it.

edited to remove the card from the post.

Jason runs by with a nod of his head and a friendly "Mornin' John."

Jethro's plate and fork hit the black-and-white tile of the diner, spraying glass and egg shrapnel around the floor. He staggers back against the counter in shock. "Mr. Wagner!" gasps the startled waitress who had served him. "Are you all right?"

He looks to the man who had--where'd he go? "What in the blazes...?" he utters, his eyes darting around the diner. He passes a hand over his face. "I'm all right, darlin'," he replies, managing a smile. "I'm just jumpin' back into th' saddle a little too quick after bein' laid up, I think." He lowers his voice so that only the waitress can hear. "Tell me, sweetie: Was I talkin' to a man in that booth behind me just now?" As he speaks, he looks in his wallet for the card.



EDITED: To make ww clarify as to whether the "card" still exists.