Family Ties: Raw Wounds
"Family quarrels are bitter things. They don't go according to any rules. They're not like aches or wounds, they're more like splits in the skin that won't heal because there's not enough material."
—F. Scott Fitzgerald.
I
Connor stares down at his hands, ARI 9 in one, and Thirium 310 in the other. He doesn't want this – has tried to stay clear of it since they were first presented to the FBI, but he has no choice now.
He has a favour to repay.
"I hope you're happy, Ryan."
He pockets the objects, deciding to use them only in emergencies. He promised he would use them – but never promised when or with what frequency.
For his own sake, he hopes it won't be too often.
His phone rings. A new case.
Time to go to work.
II
"What are you doing here, Ryan?"
"Just making sure you're keeping your promise."
Of course.
"You never told me – why are you so adamant about me using ARI?"
"I will explain when the time comes."
Cryptic, as always.
A member of the forensic team, Gregory "Greg" Baines, comes up to them. "Uh, agent Stern, sir?" He looks between the two of them, unaware of who he should be talking to.
He's been working with them for years, and yet they can't tell Connor and Ryan apart despite their obvious physical differences.
That stings.
"Yes?"
He looks somewhat relieved to find out who he should be talking to, if perhaps a bit embarrassed. Connor can't quite relate — he never forgets a face. "The crime scene has been examined. Would you like to take a look at it before we pack it all away?"
Connor knows he's late, but in his defence, he drove from the other side of town, in the middle of rush hour. Traffic was a right nightmare.
"Of course."
He does have a new toy to test.
"And I'll be joining."
The man blinks at Ryan in confusion and nerves. "And you are?"
"Agent Ryan Stern. CIA."
III
There are two dead bodies: one on the bed, and one on the ground. The one on the bed – a Caucasian man in his forties – was clearly strangled and has a couple of scratch marks on his face. It could be rough play – this is, after all, a sex club – gone wrong, but something doesn't sit well with him – mostly the other dead body, a Caucasian woman in her twenties. If it was rough play gone wrong, there wouldn't be a second dead body, and this would have been called in earlier – surely the place has a policy about this type of thing?
The other body doesn't have strangle marks around her neck, but judging by the pool of dried blood under and surrounding her head, it was a particularly strong blow that had ended her life. She also has several bruises all over her body, suggesting a fight of some sort.
But there's something missing, Connor knows.
He can't solve the puzzle if he doesn't have all the pieces.
"Why don't you use it?" Ryan asks, obviously referring to ARI 9.
"Habit." He's only used ARI 9 once, to set it up properly, and that had been a bizarre experience. He would like to take more time to get familiarised with the object before having to use it at a crime scene, but he supposes he might as well do it now.
He puts the glove on first, then the glasses, and finally speaks the words aloud that will record the time and place at which the crime scene is analysed.
And then he gets to work again.
The male victim, who was indeed strangled, now has a name – Michael Graham. He doesn't have any criminal records, but that doesn't mean anything. Just because a crime hasn't been reported doesn't mean it never took place.
Anyone working in law enforcement knows that very well.
He steps back, heading to the other victim, whose name is Agnes Clayton, but is known to the club as "Traci". The bruises and the head wound were all made at the time she was with this man, ARI 9 tells him, which was over an hour ago. There are also traces of DNA under her nails – belonging to one Michael Graham.
But that's not all there is.
With the glasses, he can see fingerprints all over the room and... bloodied footprints that can't be seen to the naked eye.
Footprints that were cleaned before the police showed up.
There was a third person in the room.
He has a lead.
Going through all the fingerprints is more tedious than it is slow, but he does anyway. Most aren't relevant to the case, except for one set, near the wall behind Agnes's head.
A set of fingerprints belonging to Ella Tyson, known to the club as Echo. The pool of blood behind Agnes's head was bigger, but a part of it was wiped clean to erase the initial footprints.
"The victim's name is Michael Graham. He was here with two girls, and was beating one of them – Agnes Clayton, also known as Traci." He motions toward the second victim. "He pushed her, and she ended up knocking her head against the floor — a head trauma that proved fatal. The second girl was hiding in the corner of the room, probably too scared to stop Graham. When she saw Clayton get killed, she most likely went and strangled Graham before fleeing the scene. She had help too – someone came back and wiped all traces of her clean, save for her fingerprints on the wall."
"And who's this second girl?"
"Ella Tyson, but goes by 'Echo', here." He pauses, thinks his next move through. There's no guarantee that she's still here, but someone must have seen something. Someone must have helped her.
Outside the room, the bloodied footprints are still visible, if only with ARI 9 on. "Ryan, with me."
"Ordering me around, now, brother?" He sounds amused.
"If you're going to follow me around all night, you might as well help."
"What do you need?"
"Have a look around for anyone who could have helped Tyson clean the crime scene. Let me know what you find."
"Got it."
As for Connor, he will follow the footsteps wherever they lead him.
IV
After walking around two different rooms of the club, he ends up in the female bathroom, where all prints end. She must have taken the shoes off and washed the blood off her feet before leaving the place barefoot, shoes in hand.
He leaves, somewhat disheartened. He hopes Ryan had more luck than him and sets off to find his twin.
"I spoke with the janitor. He admits to helping Tyson after hearing her panicked ramblings and tearful confessions, before she went to the restroom to get cleaned up. He says she later hid in the workshop, through that staff door while waiting for her girlfriend's shift to end."
"Her girlfriend?"
"He doesn't know her real name, but she goes by Ripple in this club. He says he told her to find Tyson in the workshop ten minutes ago."
"If we're lucky they might still be there. Let's go."
V
The girls are fiercer than they expected. The fight is difficult too, especially since the workshop is full of strange objects that the two girls know better, and are good at turning them into weapons.
They end up outside the establishment, fighting in the middle of the rain, guns lost in the middle of the fight.
Connor hits the floor, pain spreading all over his back. He grunts, catches his breath, quickly looking around to assess the situation.
Ryan, though closer to the two girls, is also struggling to get back up.
And the two girls? Well, they're about to run away.
Ryan notices, too, and reaches for something on the floor a couple of metres away from him.
A gun.
He points at one of them, ready to fire.
Fire?
How does he always end up in these situations?
"Ryan, don't." He pushes himself to his feet, mustering all his strength, attempting to stop his twin—
—who follows his order and doesn't fire, though confusion is evident in his face.
The girls stop right in their tracks, their hands clasped together, and the blue-haired girl – Ella – turns around, despite her girlfriend's slight tug.
"When... when I saw that man beat up Traci, I couldn't move," she admits in a shaky voice. "I was terrified. But when she hit her head, and started bleeding... I knew I would be next. So I put my hands around his throat and I... and I squeezed."
"I know," Connor told her, trying to keep his voice calm and soothing. "It was self-defence, Ella, you did nothing wrong."
"I didn't want to die." She looks at her girlfriend. "I just wanted to go back to the one I love." She looks back at the twins. "I don't want to go to jail."
"You won't. It was self-defence. But we need your statement to close the case. And then we can both leave our separate ways. What do you say?"
"You promise you won't arrest her?" Ripple doesn't trust them, and he knows why. It's Ella's word against his, and if he decides to jail her because he believes someone has to be punished... well, she still has the right to a lawyer, but a court case would be long and expensive and exhausting. And it wouldn't guarantee Ella's freedom.
"She resisted arrest," Ryan points out, another possible conviction for the young woman. The two tense.
"I know that. But if you come now, willingly, then I'll be happy to forget about this. And if you claim it was self-defence – which it clearly was – and include the man's murder of Traci in your statement, then you won't be arrested. I promise."
The two girls exchange looks. Finally, Ella nods. "I'll do it."
VI
"What about the janitor?"
It's late, and everyone else is gone. The twins are left to their own devices, but even though the case is officially over, there are things Ryan just won't let go of.
Things that would better be left behind.
"What about him?"
"He tampered with the evidence. We've got proof of that, and I have his confession. Won't you arrest him for it?"
"No."
"No?"
"He was trying to help a friend who acted in self-defence. I didn't have her arrested, so why should I arrest him?"
"Because what he did was illegal."
"Perhaps. But it didn't hurt anyone."
"You have friends that engage in illegal activities, yet you do not report them, or arrested them while you were still working for the police?"
"As long as they don't hurt anybody, I don't see a reason to stop them."
Hank rubbed off on him more than he initially thought, it seems.
"But the FBI will see the evidence from ARI—"
"Only once it uploads its data to the cloud, and it won't do that until nine a.m. tomorrow. Plenty of time for me to delete the evidence of the janitor's involvement."
He really shouldn't be telling this to anyone, but he trusts his brother not to report him to his superiors.
Or, at least, he hopes he won't.
"You've gone soft, Connor."
You've gone soft, Connor.
Unlike Amanda, Ryan's tone isn't judging, but neutral. Simply observing a fact.
Her influence on him is fading, and Connor has never been happier.
"Perhaps. But that's not necessarily a bad thing."
Ryan hums, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. "It's late, and you live on the other side of town. Would you like to crash at my place tonight?"
Once upon a time, Connor would have found it too awkward, and would have refused, making up some silly excuse as to why he couldn't. After all, it's difficult to spend time with the one person you abandoned years ago and had never properly apologised for or even discussed it.
But now, after everything he's been through, it's about time he starts to get closer to the only family member he has left.
He's spent too much time pulling away from him. He has years of cowardice to make up for.
"Yeah, that'd be great. Thanks, Ryan."
VII
As the agent assigned to the Origami Killer case, Connor is also assigned to anything related to it. He never thought anything else would come up — after all, the Origami Killer was identified and stopped. The case is closed, for good.
Which is why Connor is surprised when his superior informs him he needs to go back to Philadelphia, in search of a missing person connected to Elijah Kamski.
At first, the name Chloe Atkins doesn't ring a bell, but when he sees a picture of her, he remembers.
She's the young woman who used to work for Kamski.
Whether she knew about him being the Origami Killer or not, she's gone missing, and it's his job to find her before anything happens — if it hasn't happened already.
He drops his brother a text as he heads to his flat to gather his things.
He needs to go to Philadelphia immediately.
VIII
"I don't understand. Why did you have to come along? Don't you have your own job to do?"
His brother's been acting strange lately, he knows. He's noticed. And as much as he'd like to get to the bottom of it, he knows that understanding his brother and his reasons takes time — time he should use at the moment to find Chloe Atkins.
Besides, he'll find out eventually.
"I am working on a case of my own. I'm just waiting for a colleague to get back to me with some results." Connor will never know how the CIA works or how come his brother has so much apparent free time. He only has his brother's word for it, and, well, that is enough, no matter how strange it all seems. "Besides, you forgot this."
He holds up a vial of Thirium 310 he hadn't even noticed he didn't have.
"What? How…?" He pockets it immediately.
"I found it on the floor of my apartment. I assumed you would want it back immediately."
"Which is why you drove three hours behind me to another city?"
"Correct."
The truth doesn't make it any less strange.
"Well, thank you." He pauses, stops walking entirely, and his brother stops right next to him, a question in his eyes. "Will you still be following me now that you've given me back the vial of Thirium?"
"Yes."
Now Connor's the one with a question in his eyes.
"Most FBI agents have partners, yet you insist on working solo." He pauses, as if trying to find the right words. "I suppose you could say I'm… worried."
Connor's annoyance at having his brother following him around softens, and all arguments he has to send Ryan back to D.C. leave his mind immediately. "Fine. You can stay. But only if this does not interfere with your own investigation. There's no need to sacrifice your job for me."
After all, Ryan's job is his whole life, the same way his own job used to be his, before.
"I promise this does not interfere with my investigation."
"Let's go inside, then."
IX
Sometimes, Connor wishes he had earplugs. Some of the witnesses are too chatty for him, usually babbling about things that are not relevant to the investigation. When he was still a novice, he used to listen to absolutely everything they said, just in case he missed anything important, as information is usually thrown in between one babble and the next. But now he's more experienced, and his ears are finely tuned to paying attention to every piece of information that matters while simultaneously tuning out all the non-important babble.
If Ryan's face is anything to go by, he shares both the feeling and the ability.
"I was the only person who accepted to live with her despite her previous employment. Can you believe that?"
"And that was after I knew everything she and that guy Kamski got up to."
"I also put in a good word for her at the hotel she started working in — one of my previous places of employment."
Eventually, after getting the name and address of the mentioned hotel and thanking the witness for her time, Ryan and Connor take off. They still have time to speak with the hotel staff before they retire for the night.
They make it in fifteen minutes, and stay for thirty, questioning the senior staff members as well as those who worked closely with Chloe that night. She was there for the entire shift and left at the usual time.
She didn't show up for work the next day.
Everyone claims to have decent alibies and Connor makes the calls to the office to confirm that, though he will check by himself on the next day.
"Are you coming, Connor?"
He checks his watch. It's barely eight o'clock and he has a sudden idea.
"Maybe later. I have something to do."
"Is it related to the case?"
Can I tag along?
"No, it's personal. I'm visiting a friend."
"Oh."
Friend. Such a strange, alien word to both of them. Always alone. Always lonely.
Connor would issue an invitation, but he doesn't want to overwhelm his friend so soon, especially as it's an unexpected visit.
"I understand."
The words made his stomach twist in guilt.
"I do not want to alarm him, as I have not been invited, but maybe next time you could come along?"
Ryan pauses. "You… want me to meet your friend?"
Those words are even stranger than the concept of friendship itself.
Connor nods. "Of course. You're my family, Ryan. Why wouldn't I want them to meet you?"
"I… see…"
He doesn't, not really. Connor wouldn't have understood it either, once upon a time. But that was before Kamski. Before the Origami Killer. Before he arrived in Philadelphia. Before everything that had changed his life so dramatically — and yet, it did for the better.
"I'll see you in the morning."
X
Connor shows up at the door with a bag of takeaway and nerves twisting in his stomach. He knocks on the door, heart beating a little too fast in his nervousness. Was he right to come? Is he bothering Hank by showing up so suddenly? What if Hank isn't even here? What if he's out, working a case? What if he's busy with a client and doesn't want to be disturbed?
What if…?
Hank opens the door, surprise all over his face when he realises who's on the other side. "Connor? What are you doing here?"
"I am working a case in Philadelphia. I thought you might… enjoy some company. If I was wrong…"
The man snorts. "Come on in, kid."
His nerves are relieved immediately. He smiles a little as he walks in, and his smile widens a little bit more when Sumo practically jumps on him.
He's missed that dog.
"Traitor." Hank's grumble is good-natured, and nothing but a joke. By now, Connor has become accustomed to the man's hostile way of speaking and knows exactly what he means whenever he speaks. "You brought food too, huh? You always think of everything, don't you?"
"Normally, yes."
Hank snorts. "How modest."
Connor smiles again.
"So, are we gonna eat or are you going to spend all night petting Sumo?"
"I don't see how both actions are mutually exclusive." And yet, he pets the dog one last time before getting up and leaving the takeaway bags on the other man's dining table — or whatever passes as such.
He made sure to get burgers from Hank's favourite fast food, and to get him a pineapple soda, as that, for some reason, is his favourite. Connor has long since stopped questioning other people's taste, especially when it comes to food, and he was never surprised by Hank's strange tastes in the first place.
Although many customers did give him strange looks when he ordered that particular soda.
Hank gives some appreciative grunts when he realises what food Connor got for him, and starts eating immediately. The young man follows suit, after petting Sumo one last time, the insistent dog having followed him to the chair and nudged his leg until he gave in.
"So, when did you get here?"
"Earlier this afternoon. We questioned a couple of witnesses before we decided to stop for the night."
"'We'?"
"My brother and I."
"Huh. Ryan, right? The guy that busted Kara out?"
"Correct."
"I thought he worked for the CIA."
"He does. He has done everything he can for his investigation, so he has decided to help me with mine while he waits for the results."
"I see. And what's your case about?"
Connor pauses, sets down his burger. "Do you remember Elijah Kamski?"
Hank tenses.
It's a rhetorical question. Of course Hank remembers Kamski. The events involving the Origami Killer took place barely over a month ago. He might be old, but his memory is still intact — and even if it weren't, he doubts there would be anything strong enough to wipe the events from either of their memories.
"What about him?"
"His former employee Chloe Atkins has gone missing. We're trying to find her now. Apparently, many people hated her because she used to work for Kamski, though I was unaware her previous employment had made the papers."
For a moment, Hank doesn't say anything, as if trying to remember something. "As far as I know, it didn't."
Connor tilts his head slightly, confused. "Then how come her roommate claimed no one else wanted to live with her due to her past employment?"
The man shrugs. "I don't know. You'd have to ask her."
The FBI agent hums, ready to pick up his burger once again, when he feels his phone vibrate. He takes the device out of his pocket and checks the notification. It's a message from Ryan.
Let me know when you leave your friend's house. I have something to show you, related to the case.
Connor raises his eyebrows in surprise.
Hank notices his expression. "What is it?"
"My brother has found a lead. He says to let him know whenever I leave your place."
The man hesitates, unsure about what to say next. Finally, he makes his choice. "At least finish your meal first. Knowing what a workaholic you are, if this lead is really that important, you won't get any sleep tonight."
Connor smiles sheepishly.
Clearly, he's not the only one who's got a read on the other.
"Thank you for your concern, Hank. But I promise I'm taking care of myself." Or trying, at least.
"Yeah, yeah, whatever. We'll see how true that is in a couple of days."
XI
"You should come with your brother next time. I never did get to speak to him properly."
"I will extend the invitation."
"I just have one question… Does he speak like you, all weird and shit?"
Connor smiles. "Most of the time, I suppose."
Hank snorts. "Of course he does."
"I will see you in a few days, Hank."
"Yeah, sure. Feel free to come back whenever."
"Thank you."
"Oh, and Connor?"
The young man turns around to face him, a question in his eyes.
"If you need any help, let me know."
He smiles again. "I will. Good night, Hank."
XII
"What did you want to show me?"
"Chloe Atkins had a YouTube channel." Ryan pulls up the page on his laptop. "With only one video, where she spoke about Kamski. It was posted after the identity and death of the Origami Killer became public. Based on the number of views, I'd say at least half of Philadelphia has seen it, if not more."
"That explains how everyone knew her connection to Kamski and why everyone rejected her or treated her with disdain. Did you have a look at the comments?"
"Of course. Most of them are insults, but a few are clear death threats. I've asked some of my contacts to go through the comments and filter the insults and death threats. We should have the results by tomorrow morning."
"So quickly? There are thousands of comments."
"My people are very effective."
"Are you sure it's okay to waste CIA resources on this? Don't your people have their own cases to deal with?"
"Connor, it's fine. I told you I would not let this investigation affect my own, and it isn't. But CIA analysts tend to be faster than the FBI's, which is why I contacted them." He pauses. "A girl is missing. I would hardly call this 'wasting' resources."
It's Connor's turn to pause. "You're right. Thank you for your help, Ryan. I mean it."
A small, barely-there smile appears on his twin's face. The FBI agent counts that as a win.
XIII
"My name is Chloe Atkins and I used to work for Elijah Kamski. You may know him better by his pseudonym — the Origami Killer. You may think you know everything about him — how twisted he was, how dangerous, crazy he could be. You may attribute to him a love of origami and orchids and rain. You may also attribute to him the cold-blooded murder of several children, with no regards for their lives and even less for the pain of their families.
"I'm here to tell you how wrong you all are.
"Yes, Elijah Kamski is the Origami Killer. I don't deny it, not anymore. I admit, I thought, for a while, that my suspicions were wrong — that Elijah couldn't possibly be the awful killer I'd heard about in the news. But I thought he might be, for several reasons. His sporadic absences, always followed by jittery nerves he pretended not to feel. His heartbreak by the time each child proved to be dead, hidden behind a stone-cold façade that was harder to crack than diamond. His refusal to even speak of the infamous serial killer that haunted the whole of Philadelphia. I suspected he was responsible. I just didn't want to believe it. But now? I know it for certain. Deep down, I always knew it was the case. And hiding behind my denial did not change the truth at all. In this, you are correct. He was a dangerous serial killer.
"However, Elijah was not twisted or crazy. He was perfectly sane. Every word he spoke was perfectly coherent, always logical and sound. His rambles always followed a precise line of thought. He was an articulate man who knew how to get his point across to any listener. Yes, he did, on occasions, like to play mind games with other people. I have witnessed these occasions, yet I have come to the conclusion that those attempts were not made with malicious intent. Elijah was trying to prove his point and get these visitors to change their minds about a certain topic. And he often succeeded. Elijah was many things, but twisted or crazy, he was not. I was with him for years. I know this for a fact.
"You say he loves origami, orchids, and rain. I am here to reveal to you that he hates all three. Rain was always a constant in his life — followed him since he was very young. It is said that weather affects people's moods — rain affected Elijah significantly. Melancholy hit him more often than not, and he became more thoughtful, more fatalistic during rainy days. I did my best to cheer him up every time, but very rarely succeeded in lifting his mood, if only a little. Origami and orchids are different things altogether. While rain had more of a general disturbing presence in his life, origami and orchids were associated with the one person who, he claimed, ruined his life. And after hearing his story, I have to say I agree. The only sense I can find in his use of origami and orchids on the body would be an attempt at mocking this person that affected him so badly — that ripped his soul apart without remorse.
"It was a grieving man who committed those horrible acts — because they were horrible, and those children did not deserve to die. Elijah Kamski was the Origami Killer — but that's not all he was. He was also a man who was wronged by the people he trusted the most. A man who was cast aside and left to fend off for himself in a world that rejected him at every turn. He was a man who fought for what he had, even when it was ripped away from him.
"He was a man who loved sunny days and blue skies. He loved swimming, yet hated going to the beach. He was excellent with words, and good at interacting with people, yet hated loud crowds and judgemental stares. He was a chatty person, who loved the sound of his own voice, yet he was also a very good listener when the time called for it. He was a genius who could take a machine apart and build something entirely different out of the parts he had collected from it, yet he was an absolute disaster in the kitchen and nearly burnt down his house more than once. He was a man who looked cold and stone-faced on the outside, yet was capable of more love than people give him credit for — he just chose to give it to a few select people that nobody ever remembers.
"I loved him.
"I don't know how I would have reacted if I had known for certain that he was the Origami Killer while he was still alive, and I was still working for him. Would I have stayed by his side despite what he'd done? Would I have left and rejected him like so many people in his life? Unlike them, though, I would be justified in doing so. But no doubt the action would have still hurt him.
"What would I have done?
"I don't know. Now he's dead, so I guess I never will know.
"Elijah is being painted as a monster by the media, and who am I to say they're wrong? He was a serial killer. He murdered several children, drowning them in rainwater. But he wasn't only a monster.
"No one is only one thing.
"And that is something you ought to remember, whether you speak of Elijah, of me, of yourselves."
XIV
Connor doesn't know what to say, what to feel. He wonders if she knew who he was, recognised him when he showed up at Kamski's house for the first time and introduced himself with Amanda's surname. She must have known, must've realised…
"Connor, are you okay?"
This case hits closer to home than he expected. Investigating the Origami Killer was bad enough, but he thought he'd put his demons to rest when the case was closed.
He should've known better.
"I'm okay." He's not okay, not completely, but he's used to pretending he is. It comes naturally now. "I can certainly see why so many people would want to hurt her. No one would be happy to be told by someone close to the Origami Killer that they're wrong to vilify him, whether personally connected to the murders or not."
"This video was uploaded over a month ago. This means our kidnapper planned the crime carefully. She won't be easy to find."
Connor knew that the moment he arrived in Philadelphia, but now he thinks that statement might be wrong.
"Perhaps. But there is something we can do."
"What?"
"Sure, it could be anyone. But who's got the strongest motive?" Ryan says nothing. "The parents of the victims of the Origami Killer would be beyond outraged and offended at everything she's implying. They would feel this like a personal attack, even more so than the other viewers."
"We can crosscheck the list of parents with the list of commenters that left death threats under the video."
Connor smiles.
They make a good team.
XV
His phone rings when he's about to fall asleep. An email from the technical team that worked on ARI 9 — or, as they insist on calling it throughout their messaging, rA9, stubbornly ignoring the official name in favour of making it more their own —, asking if it's working okay and if he's experienced any side-effects yet.
Connor is awake enough to type out a quick coherent reply about the device's good performance and reassures them that he's experienced no side-effects yet.
He doesn't mention his momentary loss of the Thirium 310 vial.
His workplace is better off without knowing his little slip.
He falls asleep, well aware of the vial and the glasses resting quietly on his bedside table.
XVI
He meets Ryan for breakfast, ready to discuss the next breakthrough in their case. The pages are endless, but they're sorted by location, which makes everything easier. They run through the comments that have been sent from anywhere in Philadelphia, and only three of the affected families left death threats.
Hardy, Phillips, Wright.
Of the Hardy family, both parents remain alive and together. Dean and April Hardy suffer strongly from the loss of their youngest child, as does their firstborn Paige, whose troubles at school started shortly after the announcement of her younger brother's death at the hands of the Origami Killer.
Of the Phillips family, only the mother Caroline remains. She has apparently been fired from her job over misdemeanours varying in gravity that worsened exponentially since the murder of her daughter, while her husband went missing around the same time as their child.
Of the Wright family, both parents still remain, though underwent divorce procedures six months after the loss of their eldest child. The divorce procedure was resolved quickly and without hostilities from either side, as was the custody of their two youngest children.
After finding out where Dean and April Hardy work, the twins decide to separate and question each of them separately, as to cover more ground and avoid giving them time to call the other and let them get their alibis straight, just in case they're the criminals they're looking for.
Hopefully, they will find something. They don't have much time — Chloe has been missing for three days, who knows how long she has left.
XVII
Hardy, Phillips, Wright.
Three families, eight suspects.
After a full day of investigating, they come up with nothing. Everyone seems to have a reasonable alibi.
Hardy, Phillips, Wright.
Eight suspects.
Are his suspicions wrong? Has he wrongly interpreted the kidnapper's motives, the same way he wrongly interpreted the Origami Killer's M.O.? Will this mistake cost Chloe's life, the same way his previous mistake nearly caused Alice's?
Hardy, Phillips, Wright.
Eight suspects.
One guilty?
No.
All innocent?
His phone rings.
"Yes, Hank?"
"Connor, can you explain why I just had a client asking me to keep an eye on you?"
XVIII
"So you're the famous Ryan I've heard so much about?"
"Apparently so."
"Well, it's good to meet you, kid. Thanks for helping Kara out."
"It was nothing. I was just doing my brother a favour." The consequences of which are resting quietly in Connor's pocket.
"Hank, you mentioned a client?" As much as the FBI agent would like for his brother and Hank to get to know each other, that requires time Chloe doesn't currently have.
"Yeah, she left just before I called you. Refused to give me anything other than her first name, and even that was only when I threatened not to help her unless she gave me one. That stressed her out for sure."
"Did you agree to help her?" Ryan's eyes are analytically cold, analysing every word and move Hank made.
"Told her I was busy with a case, that I'd get back to her in a couple of days or so." Hank doesn't feel particularly threatened by his brother, if his relaxed attitude is anything to go by.
"What was her name?" Connor gets the conversation back on track. Whether Hank officially accepts her request or not, he trusts the man not to actually tell her anything sensitive.
How come he trusts this man more easily than he trusts his brother?
He pushes the thought and the guilt away for later. He needs to focus. For Chloe's sake.
"Paige."
Connor pulls up a picture of Paige Hardy on his phone. "Is this her?"
"Yes."
XIX
His phone rings.
"Stern."
"Agent, I need help." A panicked whisper. Someone in need of help.
"Who is this?"
"Chloe. Atkins. I used to work for—"
"Elijah Kamski, yes, I know. Where are you? Are you okay?"
His heart is pounding. He can't believe this. He hopes she's okay.
"They're keeping me here. I… I'm sorry, I don't know where I am. I don't know who they are. Not even their names. But they had a son, killed by… by the Origami Killer."
"Chloe, are you hurt?"
"I…"
A gasp.
"You little—" There's a sound of a struggle, and the call goes crazy, but he doesn't pull away from his phone despite the complaints of his ear.
Then the line goes dead.
"Where is she?" Ryan gets to his feet, probably itching to move, to act already.
"She doesn't know where she is or who has her, but knows the people who kidnapped her had a son." That rules out the Phillips family. "But I heard the sounds of a struggle. And, just before that, another voice." He looks at his twin. "It's April Hardy."
"They don't own any other properties except their current residence."
"Then we need to get there now."
Connor gets to his feet.
His eyes start swimming.
He sways to the side, almost falls.
"Connor!" Two arms catch him.
The world spins.
Something cold touches his lips.
A glass of water.
He breathes. He drinks.
His vision clears somewhat, but a headache takes hold of him.
He blinks.
Two worried faces are looking at him.
His heart is pounding.
"Shit, Connor, are you okay? What's happening?"
"I think…" His voice is weaker than usual.
He wipes his nose.
"… these might be the…"
There's blood on his fingers. Blood pouring slowly from his nose.
"… side effects the technical team mentioned."
"Connor, how many times have you used ARI 9 today?"
"What the hell is an ARI 9?"
"At the interrogations, while they weren't looking."
"Fuck."
He's never heard his brother swear before.
"Connor, tell me exactly what you're feeling."
He describes every symptom in as much detail as is muddled brain will allow.
Ryan breathes in, breathes out, comes to a decision.
"Don't take the Thirium."
Hank tenses. "Thirium?"
He doesn't.
XX
Hank refuses to let the other two go find Chloe until he gets better.
His reasoning?
"You won't be able to help her if you're feeling like shit and you're not concentrating on the case."
He's got a point. Besides, now they know where Chloe's kept.
The side effects last for a good ten minutes before they start to recede and are completely gone in another ten.
Plenty of time for something to have happened to Chloe.
If she's dead, Connor will never forgive himself.
"We need to go."
Ryan eyes him warily, but knows Connor won't budge — he's still just as stubborn as he's always been.
But Hank is stubborn too, and if the FBI agent will refuse to rest, then he'll go with them just to make sure nothing bad happens — to either of them. He also demands an explanation of what ARI 9 is and how come he's travelling around with a vial of Thirium of all things.
Connor promises he will explain later, though, once his wits have fully returned, he eyes his brother, with more questions than he had before. After all, his twin seems to have more information on the device he insisted he should try — information he refused to share with him.
He doesn't know how to feel about that and decides to find out later — once Chloe is out of harm's way, and her kidnappers are behind bars.
After all, the mission is what matters most.
XXI
Hank drives. Connor, the better driver, is in no state to do so, and he has just met Ryan — he refuses to hand him his car keys until he knows more about him than his name and place of employment. It's quiet and awkward at first, but then the interrogation starts.
"Connor, when was the first time you used ARI 9?"
"The very first time was when the technical team helped me set it up when I picked it up from the lab. The first time I used it properly was the Graham case."
"The Gra— Connor, that was less than a week ago."
"I am aware."
"And you've haven't used it until today?"
"Well, I did use it yesterday, at Chloe's apartment. Why?" He pauses. He planned to wait until the case was over, but he can't do anything about it until they get to the Hardy house. He might as well ask now. "Ryan, what do you know? What haven't you told me?"
"Me? Didn't the technical team tell you it's important to ease into it so that ARI 9 doesn't scramble your brain?"
"I… No, they didn't. How do you know about that?"
He says nothing.
"Will somebody tell me what the hell you're talking about?"
"ARI 9 is a software developed for FBI agents to solve their cases more efficiently. It comes in the shape of sunglasses and a glove that allows to save data from crime scenes into the ARI 9 software, visible through the glasses. There's been an ARI trial program for years now, but I didn't sign up until now." He pauses. Glances at his brother through the rear-view mirror.
"Okay, and what does Thirium have to do with it?"
"Thirium 310 is the compound the FBI are currently using to counteract the side effects of ARI 9." The CIA agent finally speaks up. "Its predecessor, Triptocaine, was discontinued due to high addiction rates. So far, Thirium 310 is the only compound the FBI have found that can replicate the counteractive effects of the ARI series."
Something clicks in Connor's mind. Everything finally makes sense.
"I didn't forget my vial of Thirium at your apartment the other day, did I?" Ryan says nothing. "You took it. You're investigating something related to Thirium 310, aren't you?" He remains silent. There's an itch under Connor's skin, that keeps bothering him, but it pales in comparison of the strong betrayal that hits him once he finally realises what's happening.
Connor's been used. And if there's one thing he hates, it's being used.
"That's why you wanted me to sign up for the ARI program. It's the easiest way you could get your hands on the compound to analyse it, since the government controls it more than any other substance." Again, he says nothing, but the way he avoids meeting his eyes even in the rear-view mirror informs him he's right. Betrayal stings louder than anything else.
Hank lets out a string of swear words under his breath.
Something else clicks. The way Ryan seems to know more about ARI 9 and Thirium 310 than he originally let on, and how he knew exactly what to do when Connor started getting the symptoms earlier. He would only know that if… "You're investigating the FBI's use of Thirium, aren't you?"
Silence.
Hank swears again.
Finally, Ryan seems about to speak up.
"Connor, I—"
"You'll have to continue your conversation later 'cos we just arrived."
XXII
"Ryan, you're with me. Hank, if we're not back in fifteen minutes, I want you to alert the emergency services." Connor has a plan hashed out already. He thought about it in the car, during the initial awkward silence, and even now that he's aware of his brother's betrayal, he's also aware this plan is the best chance they have.
"Connor, there's no way—"
Predictably, Hank doesn't like it. But that doesn't matter — any other plan is too risky to consider, especially at this stage.
Ryan will prioritise the mission over anything else, including Chloe's life. Hank, however, as a different drive. And as much as Connor doesn't want to die, saving Chloe's life is more important.
"Hank. Please."
The man swears, agrees, reluctantly.
Ryan gives him a curious look.
"Fine. Fine. But if anything happens to him, I don't care if I anger the entire CIA, I will go after your ass, understood?"
Connor isn't sure how to feel about his closest friend threatening his brother. He doesn't like it, but that dislike is mollified by the betrayal he feels towards his twin.
"We don't have time to argue. Ryan, let's go."
His twin nods.
XXIII
"Connor, I—"
"Listen. The most important thing here is the mission — saving Chloe. Do you understand?" The CIA agent nods. "Everything else can wait until later." He pauses, taking out a lockpick set he never travels without. They head for the back door, the one that should be the less guarded one. "I need you to watch my back while I locate Chloe. Can I trust you to do that?"
Ryan nods again.
If the words sting in any way, he doesn't let it show.
Connor pushes the guilt aside — he doesn't have time to deal with it at the moment. He has a mission to take care of, a life to safe.
He picks the lock. They go in, as quietly as they can. He feels Ryan shift the moment he pulls out ARI 9, and waits for the inevitable arm that will stop him from using it, if only momentarily.
It doesn't come.
Can I trust you to do that?
Can I trust you to put the mission first?
Yes, I can.
Connor slips the glasses on and wordlessly activates it. He doesn't want to risk waking up the rest of the house.
There are different sets of fingerprints all over the place — understandable, as this is their residence, and has been for years —, but Chloe's fingerprints stand out amongst the rest once he locates them, and he manages to make the ARI show only her prints.
It makes it easier to locate the place they happen to lead to: the basement.
"Stay here." His words come out in a hushed whisper, as low as he can speak without compromising the clarity of his words. "Make sure no one else goes in."
Ryan nods.
Connor goes in.
It's dark and quiet, far too quiet.
There's a whimper he barely hears at first, but the ARI 9 picks it up quite easily. At the very back of the massive basement, there's a little bundle of a human, curled up on themselves.
He doesn't have to scan the person to know it's Chloe Atkins.
He scans his surroundings before he lowers the gun, placing it back in its holster, and picks up the pace.
"Chloe. Chloe, it's me, agent Stern. Can you hear me?" He murmurs as clearly as he can, very carefully checking her over for any physical wounds she may have.
She has several cuts and bruises, but the most recent wound has to be…
No, it can't be.
A river of blood.
A missing ear.
"What have they done to you…"
Chloe whimpers again, closing her eyes as even more tears threaten to spill.
"I'm going to get you out of here. Can I pick you up?" The poor girl's traumatised enough as it is — there's no reason to make it worse.
"Yes." Her whisper is nearly inaudible, but he catches it anyway. Very carefully, he picks up the young woman in his arms. Ryan will have to cover for them as they leave, just in case they are caught.
"I need you to be very quiet, all right?"
She doesn't nod or speak, but Connor knows he's heard.
He gets back to the top of the basement and exits as quietly as he can.
Ryan gives him a quick glance when the door opens. There are no signs of a struggle, which means they haven't been noticed yet.
Lucky, but it won't remain that way for long.
Connor doesn't have to tell him to cover for him, he does it automatically, watching his back as he heads for the back door of the house, and they leave the same way they came in.
No one ever noticed.
Hank starts swearing the moment he sees what state Chloe's in.
"Take her to the hospital, now, and make sure she receives no visitors until this is taken care of."
"What are you going to do?"
"We still need to take these people in."
He didn't want the inhabitants of the house alerted, just in case one managed to get to Chloe first and this kidnapping turned into a hostage situation.
Hank nods, soon leaves, with Chloe in the passenger seat.
Connor takes out his phone and dials a number.
XXIV
"You can't avoid this conversation forever."
Ryan is right, he knows. The betrayal is still too great, but Chloe is safe and the entire Hardy family is now under arrest: the parents for kidnapping and assault, and the daughter for sending death threats and attempting to hire someone to follow the agent assigned to the case in an attempt to obstruct justice.
"What is it?"
"I never wanted you to get hurt. That's why I asked to be assigned to the Thirium case." Connor doesn't verbally ask him to elaborate, but simply looking at his brother for the first time since the beginning of the conversation has the same effect. "I found out they planned to make the ARI 9 a required use for all FBI agents, including those who had signed up for the program. Despite the ARI series being incredibly flawed and dangerous, what drew me in was the replacement of Triptocaine with Thirium 310, which is not only obtained illegally, but also a key compound of Red Ice."
The vial of Thirium feels suddenly hot in his pocket.
"I just wanted to prove how bad that would be for the agents' health to be exposed to both ARI and Thirium — especially the latter, as it is just as addictive as Triptocaine. I know you were required to sign all sorts of NDAs, which is why I couldn't directly ask you for your help. I didn't think… I didn't know you wouldn't even be warned about how dangerous they can be, even when separate."
Yes, that was another thing that bothered him — neither his superiors, the coordinator of the ARI program, or the technical team had seen it necessary to fill him in on the full extent of the damages either could do to him.
As if his life didn't matter.
But that was something to be sorted whenever he returned to Washington D.C.
"I admit I may not have gone about this the best way." Ryan looks down and away from him. There goes the guilt again, making itself known. "I didn't think you would actually be affected by it so soon, or so strongly. I was just… trying to make sure you would never have to go through what your predecessors did."
I was just trying to protect you.
Goddammit.
Hank really is rubbing off on him.
He sighs. "Don't do this again, Ryan. If you need my help with something, let me know. You know I would never refuse to help you."
"Do I?"
He closes his eyes, leans back against the car.
He supposes he had that one coming.
"I didn't—"
"It's fine, Ryan. I suppose that's my fault. I never… I never apologised, for leaving you without saying a word." His twin's gone quiet again. "I just… I had to leave, Ryan. I couldn't stay in that house — I couldn't stay with her any longer." He opens his eyes again, looks at his brother, who remains as impassive as always.
It unnerves him, but he needs to say this — his brother deserves to hear it. They've both spent far too long pretending this didn't happen. They've both spent far too long repressing the memory of a time long past. It's time to acknowledge it. It's time to move on.
For both their sakes.
"I didn't tell you anything because…" He swallows. This is the hardest thing to admit — the last thing he ever admitted to anyone, even himself. But he needs to do it. He needs to say it out loud, if only once in his life. "Because I knew that if you asked me to stay, I would never have left."
There, he said it.
Everything feels simultaneously lighter and heavier.
Ryan says nothing. He simply leans back against the car, right next to him.
The cool night air is the only thing that breaks the silence between them — one waiting for the other's reaction, the other finding the right words to say.
"I never knew why… I was…" He hesitates, clears his throat. It's been a long time since Connor has seen his brother less than perfectly composed. It's nerve-wracking and relaxing at once. "For a long time, I was angry. Mother… I guess she fuelled that anger because she knew I was less likely to contact you." He pauses. "I'm… only starting to realise that she may not have been the great mother she claimed to be."
Connor never thought he'd head his brother say those words, ever.
He's not sure what to reply.
As it turns out, he doesn't have to.
"I knew you had your reasons, and I knew that your arguments with Mother had become very… passionate, just before you left. But still, I couldn't help but wonder if you had left because… Because of me."
"Shit." Oh, there he goes, swearing again. Hank really is a bad influence. "Shit, Ryan, of course not. I didn't… I never…" He pauses, breathes in. "I never wanted to leave you behind. I would have taken you with me if I could but I… I didn't think you would want to leave Amanda."
"I didn't. Not at the time. But still, if it wasn't because of me, then why… Why did you never call? Why did you wait years before reaching out?"
Years of repressed guilt hit him like a tidal wave, and if he weren't leaning against the car already, he'd probably lose his balance and fall to the floor. "Because I'm a coward." He pauses, breathing in deeply. "Because I was scared of your reaction — scared that you might… not want to speak to me again. And not knowing was better than having those fears confirmed." He pauses again. Ryan is about to speak, but he beats him to it. "You didn't deserve that. I'm sorry."
He really means that.
"I forgive you… if you forgive me for getting you involved in my Thirium case. I shouldn't have used you or put you in danger like this."
"What I did was worse, Ryan…" He pauses, looks at the pleading look in his brother's eyes. "But I do. I forgive you."
Just like that, Ryan's usually tense frame relaxes, if only a little.
Something clicks in Connor's mind.
"Actually, speaking of which…"
XXV
"So you're going back to D.C.?"
"I am. I still have paperwork to get in order, and a few things to take care of. Like returning the glasses."
"Right. Listen, kid. I know this job's your life and everything. But… Well, I made the same mistake once. I would hate to see you make the same one."
I did more for them than they ever did for me.
"You think the FBI dismisses my work the same way the Philadelphia Police dismissed yours."
"Yeah, something like that. I just wanted to say, that, if you ever need a job, well… I could use an assistant."
"An assistant?" He raises an eyebrow.
"Partner. I could use a partner."
An unknown feeling spreads through his chest. It's not an unpleasant one, but he doesn't have time to unpack and analyse exactly what he's feeling at the moment.
"I… Thank you, Hank. For everything."
Perhaps gratefulness is one word, but it doesn't feel quite right. It doesn't feel complete.
"Whatever, kid. I just did what anyone would do."
No, you've done more than most people have ever done for me.
"I have to go now, Hank. Take care of yourself."
"Hey, kid, don't be a stranger!"
XXVI
He visits the technical team first and demands to know why they were so careless about his wellbeing when they handed him the equipment for the first time. After he informs them of everything that happened — from side effects to everything the coordinator had walked him through when he first joined the program — they are as appalled as he is.
They apologise profusely, and Connor almost feels bad for barging in with such accusations.
Almost.
He does forgive them when they agree to give him the name of every person who has ever tested any of the ARI's models — that they know, of course.
"Guess we'll have to make a revised ARI 10."
If they do, Connor will not be there to try it.
After a similar conversation with the coordinator of the ARI program, he officially retires from it.
And then, after handing in his report of the Chloe Atkins disappearance, he goes up to his boss's office and hands in his official resignation.
When he walks out of the building, the air feels purer than it ever had before, and he feels lighter than he had ever felt.
He's free.
XXVII
"So it's official? You're moving to Philadelphia?"
"I've already rented an apartment. I'm moving in this weekend."
I'm going to miss you.
"You're welcome any time, Ryan. And we won't be that far. We can still have our monthly lunches — well, they'll have to be dinners, now, but still."
Ryan nods. "You're welcome at my apartment as well."
Connor smiles.
"Thank you for your help with my investigation. Things will go much faster now."
"Yeah, well, it's only fair. You helped with two of my investigations, after all. It's the least I could do."
Clock's ticking. Time to part ways.
"Farewell, brother."
"See you soon, Ryan."
XXVIII
Connor knocks on the door, nothing more than a bundle of nerves. He knows Hank was the one to propose this in the first place. He knows he won't back out on such a heartfelt proposal.
And yet, he just can't help it.
He's more than nervous, more than anxious. He's absolutely terrified.
Connor has always been alone, and until not too long ago, he thought he would be alone for the rest of his life. Loneliness is a constant companion — one he didn't use to mind. But that was before he met Hank, and Markus, and Kara. That was before he finally managed to bridge part of the immense gap he had created between his brother and himself.
That was before he knew what family truly meant.
The door opens, and for a while, they stare at each other — the P. I. surprised, the young man uneasy.
Time passes, his nervousness grows. Should he stay? Should he leave? His nervousness grows. His nervousness shows.
Hank pulls him into a hug.
A/N: I've taken far too many liberties with law enforcement and how it works, but I suppose that's what fiction is for.
I'm also really sorry about what I've done to Chloe. She deserved a lot better.