Lance DeMoi and the Call from the Deep

Lance was startled to awareness by the ringing of his telephone.  He blindly fumbled about in the dark for his phone, he finally found it and put the phone to his ear..

"You better have a good reason for calling at three in the morning."  He mumbled into the phone.

"I do.  Come to Massachusetts, Essex Bay."

Lance recognized the husky voice as Spark Roberts, a freelance paranormal investigator.

"Now?"  Lance grumbled.

"Yes.  Now."

Lance stumbled out of bed over to his dresser.  He dressed and put on his black leather jacket, brushed his teeth, contemplated his life for a few minutes, and fed Wallace.  His turtle sleepily poked his head out from under his shell as Lance went out the door.  Lance locked his house, though the locals knew better than to break in, got on his motorcycle and drove to the Vaults' Pub.  He parked his motorcycle and walked in, out of the freezing night.  Sid, a tall collage-aged boy, was asleep behind the bar, Lance walked over and rang the attendance bell.  Sid jumped a foot in the air, drool flying off his chin. He blinked, wiping the saliva of his face with the back of his hand.

"Oh, Mr. DeMoi, it's you.  Would you…uh…like something?"

"Coffee and an egg sandwich.  Make it fast."  Lance slapped some money on the table then leaned back in the stool.  Sid shuffled back into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes.  Lance looked up the glowering "monster's head" mounted on the wall above the bar, it's glass eyes staring down at the inhabitants of the bar.  Lance heard snoring; he looked and saw some maintenance workers passed out on a table in one corner of the restaurant.  Sid came out of the kitchen, a steaming styrofoam cup of coffee in one hand, and a plate with the sandwich on it in the other.  Lance wolfed down the breakfast sandwich, sipping his coffee while he ate.

"So, where off to now, Mr. DeMoi?"  Sid asked, taking the empty plate, his sleeves were rolled up so, his dragon tattoo was visible on his left arm.

"Massachusetts."  Lance grumbled, "not even sure why.  Well, gotta run, be seein' ya."

Sid waved goodbye as Lance left the little bar.  He mounted his motorcycle and drove through the chill morning city.  Hawke had basically put a jet engine on Lance's motorcycle, so the trip across Massachusetts would be no problem; it was still dark out and hardly anyone was up yet except for college students and McDonald's employees.
In less then two hours, Lance was standing on the sunlit hill, overlooking the Atlantic.  Spark Roberts, suddenly and soundlessly, was standing next to Lance.  He still wasn't quite used to that.

"Roberts,"  Lance said.

"DeMoi," said the other.

"Why'd you want me to come here, Spark,"

"Where we stand is the site of Innsmouth, a town not fully in this reality.  It looks into the ocean.  Where, an ancient and lost civilization rests.  Stare into the Bay's waters, Lance."

Lance grumbled about wasted time and sleep, but he peered deep into the blue-green water of the Bay.  He saw something move.  Then blackness.

Lance awoke in his house back in Perseus.  He gasped, cold sweat running down his face; vague images of madness and tentacles slithering to the back of his mind.