Thomas was the police's least favorite person in all of New York. They didn't like him. Not a single bit. If the police sent someone his way it meant one of two things. They either had no idea what they were dealing with or  someone was about as desperate as you could get. They thought of Blackgate as a know it all. Not to mention, they thought he was completely and utterly insane. Demons? The Occult? Magic? Smoke and mirrors to them. For Blackgate, these were very real. So real in fact that he'd voluntarily checked himself into a mental institution. These were things he'd seen and dealt with for years, things that made him believe that he was as crazy as everyone said he was. Crazy didn't explain the demons he ripped out of a person's body. Crazy didn't explain the Things he was capable of doing. Crazy didn't make the things he saw any less real. You can only call yourself crazy so many times until you begin to think you are crazy. It's funny how madness can somehow give way to truth. How the insane and the unbelievable somehow become the only things that make sense in this world.

Thomas had fallen asleep with his cigarette in hand when he was jarred awake by the sound of his phone ringing. He rubbed his eyes and ran a hand through his hair as he slipped the halfway burnt cancer stick into his lip as he took the phone off the receiver. "[b]Blackgate...[b]" he said simply, waiting quietly to hear whomever was on the other line. He was quickly interrupted by a female voice as she explained that she needed help with the case concerning her husband's murder, finally stopping to take a breath and ask if he was taking any cases at the moment. Thomas realized his cancer was burnt out and put the but in an ash tray as he grabbed another cigarette and lit it. "[b]Slow down a sec ma'am. Take a breath[/b]" he said. He ran a hand through his hair and grabbed a notepad as he scribbled down her name and what the case concerned. "[b]Fortunately for you I am accepting cases at the moment. I think it would be a wise idea for you to come to my office and speak to me in person. Do you have a pen and paper by you? I'll give you my address[/b]" he said.

As he spouted off the address and hung up, he sprung to his feet and did a fist pump. "[b]YES! Oh thank god![/b]" he yelled out. He stopped and then realized why he was cheering and what made him so excited. "[b]Wow, no wonder everyone thinks I'm a damn freak[/b]" he said to himself as he took a drag of his cigarette. Having a free moment, he grabbed a folder from his filing cabinet and labeled it. He'd need to hear the details concerning the case once she got there. Something told him this wasn't the run of the mill murder case. If it was than she wouldn't be calling him. No the police didn't have any leads and were fumbling around in ignorance. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. Finally a case, a case after weeks of nothing. He would need to wait a bit until this Caroline would be knocking on his door. Perfect opportunity for him to get some rest. Walking to his couch, he cleared off some trash and laid down, resting his head back as he released a sigh and began to fall asleep. 

Sleep for Thomas was rare and when he did sleep he either had dreamless sleep or he had dreams. Though he wouldn't exactly call what he experienced 'dreams'. More like visions. Magic came from two things, heredity and when you were born. Those who had magic based on heredity often had visions of places that weren't of this plain. Thomas was often haunted by visions of plains he couldn't understand, alien landscapes ruled only by chaos. Places where science made no sense at all. Places that would drive any normal person insane if they were there themselves. Those who could use magic were immune to such effects. Magic was forbidden knowledge, knowledge that had been lost after thousands if not millions of years.