Warehouse 13
"Preconceptions"
By A. Rhea King

Chapter 1

Bed and Breakfast
South Dakota

"What are you doing?"

Emory turned, watching Claudia slowly enter the kitchen, suspiciously eyeing him. He was kneeling in front of the refrigerator with a bottom drawer open.

"Looking for a dog," Emory told her, and then went back to rummaging through the refrigerator.

"A… dog?"

"Yes."

"In the fridge?"

"Yes."

"Why would a dog be in the fridge?"

"It followed me in here and when I opened the door it ran into the – there you are." Emory leaned in and came back out holding a glass dog that wiggled in his hands, barked and playfully tugged on his fingers. Emory closed the door with his foot.

"Bad dog," he said, but there was no emotion behind it. He put the dog in one hand and picked up a bowl of cereal with his other hand. "I am going to have to train you to a leash, Homer. This running away all the time is not fun for me." Emory continued telling the dog what to expect as he left the kitchen.

Claudia stared at the door he went out through, and jumped when Steve said, "Good morning, Claudia."

She turned. He walked over to the toaster and put two pieces of toast in it. Then he walked over to make a cup of coffee.

"Did you make the coffee?" he asked.

"No. Emory, I think. He has a dog."

"A dog?" Steve looked back at her.

"Yeah. An artifact dog. He calls it Homer. It was lost in the fridge."

Steve smiled. "And the fun never ends around here, does it?"

"He had a dog lost in the fridge, Steve!"

Steve dropped his spoon in the sink and grabbed his slices of toast. He put them on a paper plate and began buttering the pieces.

"So?" Steve asked. "He had an artifact that was a dog. Did he catch it?"

"Yes, but he took an artifact from the Warehouse and brought it here. That's wrong!"

"Why…" Steve paused to lick the butter off his thumb. "Is that wrong?"

"He is a menace! That man is a menace!"

Steve turned to her. "Emory is just doing his job. How does that make him a menace, Claudia?"

Claudia let out a growl and stormed off. Steve shrugged off her rant and continued making his breakfast.

#

Abigail paused on the stairs, listening. She heard Emory's voice and the soft barking of dogs. She tilted her head to the side and went to the bottom of the stairs. She could see the atrium from here and stared for a moment. There was a toy fence setup on the table, with a toy barn on one side. Emory sat with his back to the sunlight coming through the windows and was working on something.

Occasionally he'd look at a chair to his right and exchange a few words, and then go back to work. Abigail heard the barking again, and it was coming from the atrium. She walked through the setting room, and as she came closer she could see that there was a piece of artificial turf under the fence and something was moving inside it. She stopped at the door to stare at the sight. Dogs which were normally frozen statues, most no larger than her hand, were romping across the artificial grass and playing with each other.

She looked up at Emory. He had several books around him, a sketch book, pens, and two rulers. Abigail walked into the room and sat down on his left. Closer she realized he was doing his other job – creating crossword puzzles for magazines and newspapers.

"I've never seen you create crossword puzzles before."

He nodded a couple times but didn't comment. She looked down at the pen with the dogs. Two were playing a dog version of tag with a small rubber ball. She smiled, laying her head on her hands on the table and watching them.

"They're having fun."

"Yes," Emory quietly answered.

She sat up, watching him again.

"Who were you talking to just a minute ago?"

"No one."

"I heard you talking to someone."

Emory didn't try to convince he hadn't been or urge her to continue the conversation. He had only been with them a month but even she admitted it was difficult to adjust to Emory. He was quiet and kept to himself. He would go down into the Warehouse without so much as a word even to Artie and disappear for days. No alarms ever went off, so they could only assume he was doing his job.

"Is it someone from the Warehouse?" Abigail asked.

He lightly shook his head. He picked up a dictionary and looked up a word. He went back to his crossword puzzle.

"Someone you know, though?"

He sighed, looking at her. "It is my grandmother."

They stared at each other.

"You talk to her a lot, don't you?"

Emory looked down. "It is the other way around, actually."

Abigail smiled. "She loves you?"

"Yes, and she will not move on."

"Why?"

"I do not know." Emory looked at the chair on his right. "She says she knows why but she will not tell me, therefore, I think she is lying about it." He shook his head. "Then you should tell me." Emory looked away. "Then you are lying, Grams."

"You really think they should move on after they die, don't you?"

"They do not belong here. Staying here only drains the person they are staying back here for."

"Drains?"

He looked up, thinking. "Sometimes when someone says they are feeling fatigue all the time, but there is nothing wrong with them and it is not mental, it is because someone is staying with them. It takes a lot of energy to stay here and not move on, and they cannot generate it on their own anymore, so they have to take it from somewhere."

"I didn't know that."

Emory looked back down. "I am surprised you are not tired a lot."

Abigail was surprised by the comment. She had never told anyone she was tired a lot and suddenly she made the connection between the feeling and what he just said.

"Who's following me?"

He shrugged. "He will not tell me his name. About as tall as me, dark hair – black or brown, jeans and a red T-Shirt. It looks like he died from slitting his wrists."

She nodded.

"That means something."

"Yes. He's the reason I stopped practicing as a psychologist."

"Why?"

"He killed himself. I couldn't save him."

"Yes. He says he cannot leave until you stop feeling guilty for that. He worries about you."

Abigail leaned forward. "He's here? Now?"

"He is always here, now. He follows you everywhere."

She shook her head. "I didn't mean to make him stay."

"Then stop feeling sorry for yourself, realize nothing you could have done would have saved him, and get on with your life."

Offended by his remark she sat back in her chair. "That was rude!"

"Did you really think that should have been sugar coated?" He looked into her eyes.

She stared. Emory wasn't angry, or judging her, he was asking an honest question. She slowly shook her head.

"Then we should move on, should we not?"

She nodded. He turned back to his work.

"And who's Tina? I've heard you talk to her before."

"I guess some would say she is my guardian angel. That is the best we can guess too."

"I don't understand."

Emory sat back in his chair, looking at the playing dogs. "I do not care to explain it."

Abigail was curious but she didn't know if pushing him would make him shut down, and she'd gotten far in this conversation. So she chose to respect not to talk about; for now.

"You act like you don't like it here, Emory. Is that true?" Abigail leaned on the table. "Do you hate this job?"

Emory stared at her for a long time. She was accustomed to seeing no expression on his face and this time was no different.

Quietly he told her, "No. It is just… I get tired. I go into the Warehouse to work with the people and artifacts, and it makes me so tired that I cannot find my way back. I have to sleep it off before I can find my way back to the office. That is something I have not been able to adjust to yet."

"You mean… When you're in there for days you're lost because you're tired?"

He nodded.

"Why haven't you told anyone?"

"I did not think it was important."

Abigail reached out and laid a hand on his arm. She felt him tense so she kept the touch brief.

"Of course that's important, Emory! We're a family here and we're here to help."

He looked away without promising one way or the other. Abigail put her hand back on her side of the table.

"What is this?" Artie demanded.

The two looked up. He stood in the doorway of the atrium, staring at the setup on the table.

Claudia walked up behind him, arms crossed with a smug grin. Abigail sighed, realizing she probably had something to do with ruining a perfectly peaceful conversation.

"What?" Emory asked.

"What are these dogs doing here, out of the Warehouse?"

"Playing chase, it looks like," Emory answered.

"I did not give you permission to take them out of the Warehouse."

"If I put them in the grass they would get lost. I thought this was safer for them."

"They are artifacts, they don't belong out of the Warehouse."

"They are artifacts of dogs that come to life and need exercise like any other dog, so I brought them here, built them a pen to play in, and will do it again tomorrow, the next day, and every day after that."

"Emory, I cannot—"

"When have I told you how to do your job?"

"What?"

"I do not tell you how to do your job, so why are you telling me how to do mine?"

"They are artifacts!"

"And they belong in the Warehouse!" Claudia added.

"Claudia, I will deal with this," Artie snapped at her without looking.

"Yet they are also living creatures and they need light and exercise to remain happy and peaceful. Have you not noticed the lessening of electric build up in their aisle? It is because I have been taking them out to play and run off the energy that keeps building up there."

Claudia looked ready to explode. Artie, on the other hand, had the wind blown out of him. He walked up to the table, watching the dogs.

"They do look content," Artie said.

"What?" Claudia almost squeaked.

"Emory, they can't leave the Warehouse. Some of these dogs are dangerous for any other human to handle without gloves. If one should get away and someone were to pick it up, that could be very bad. Do you understand that?"

Emory nodded once.

"So a compromise," Artie proposed. "You tell me how much I need to give you to make them a kennel, with a play area and sun lamps, inside the Warehouse."

Claudia stormed off.

Emory lifted his chin and Abigail thought he was going to rebut Artie's suggestion. Instead he told him, "I will research the cost and bring you a quote. In the meantime, let me bring them here to get out and play while I am doing my other job. That is one hour a day."

Artie nodded. "Agreed. I want the quote by Friday."

"Agreed."

"And you clean up any messes they leave on that table with bleach. I eat there too, you know."

"Also agreed."

Artie turned and walked away. Abigail smiled, looking at the table. She looked at Emory and felt a little respect for him. He wasn't gloating about the outcome of the negotiation, he had just returned to his work.

"You are a good Advocate, Emory."

"How is that?"

"It's hard to see in you at first, Emory, but you really have a good heart and you have compassion for humans and artifacts."

Emory looked at her. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. Have a good afternoon."

He watched her walk away and turned back to his work.