Disclaimer: I don't own Heavy Rain or the characters, but I do love them so I try not to hurt them (too badly) ;)
A/N - This story contains spoilers for small parts of the game leading up to and including the Nathaniel chapter. While playing this chapter of the game, I was so fearful the whole time that Blake was going to get shot. As much of a jerk as he was, I realized that I couldn't let my partner be shot (what a mess of paperwork that would be!), so with the situation getting more and more tense and the music coming to a crescendo, I pulled the trigger and shot Nathaniel. Little did I know at the time, that Blake was never in any danger and can never be shot in this chapter.
My story explores what could have happened if Blake wasn't wearing "plot-armour" and he could be shot.
This was supposed to be a one-shot, but has grown just slightly big enough for a couple of chapters. I hope you all enjoy. I love receiving feedback - praise or critical. But it's been over 2 years since I last wrote a fan fiction, so be gentle. :)
Thanks to all the other great Heavy Rain (and especially Blayden) fan fic authors out there who have inspired me to pick up writing again. (heart massacre, Of Wolves And Dogs, Telemachus Prime, netherlady, lankypanky, CarEKaos and HazardousRaptor)
Rated M for swearing, violence, blood, and homo-erotic themes.
Wednesday, October 5th, 2011
10:32am
The dark-gray late-model Chevy Caprice sat with its tires brushing the curb, parked in front of a three-story walk-up. Soggy pieces of cardboard and other litter blew around on the sidewalk in front of the building, as one lone soul braved the elements, holding an unfolded newspaper over her head as she rushed by the car, avoiding puddles of rain flooding over the sidewalk.
The pitter-patter of raindrops thudded on the roof and hood of the car, sounding like gunfire on a tin roof. "Crazy bitch," said police Lt. Carter Blake, sneering at the slight woman dressed in a Lycra miniskirt and halter-top.
FBI agent Norman Jayden followed Carter's gaze and watched as the woman let out a gasp when a vehicle quickly rounded the corner, its wheels squealing through a large dirty puddle of water washing across the road where leaves had clogged the storm drain. The filthy water sprayed up over the woman, leaving bits of mud and shredded leaves over her hair, face and the little excuse for clothing she was wearing. "Heh," Carter let out a snort, his upper lip curling in disgust. "Damn hooker. I outta bring her in."
"You dun' know she's a prostitute," said Norman, coming to the woman's defence. He had a feeling it didn't matter if the woman was or wasn't a lady of the evening. Blake was still high on a testosterone rush after his outburst earlier that morning at the police station, and he was clearly looking for someone or something to take his anger out on.
Carter whipped his head around to turn and look at Norman. "What the hell do you care Jayden?" he snarled, every word dripping with poisonous venom. "You wanna come to the rescue of every little wounded puppy dog in this town?"
Norman chose not to respond, thinking that anything he may have to say would only provoke Carter even more. The Lieutenant had seemed like a reasonable man when Norman had met him at the crime scene the day before. Even going so far as to remind Norman they were on the same team and offering to discuss the case later that day back at the office. Blake might have seemed a little on edge, but nothing that Norman couldn't write off to being called to a muddy wasteland early in the morning in the pouring rain. The unceasing rain was enough to put anyone on edge.
Norman had prepared a briefing the next morning for Captain Perry, Detective Ash and Blake, and that's when all hell had broken loose. Just doing his job, Norman had explained his geo-profiling analysis of the Origami Killer and had received nothing but sarcasm and rebuke from Blake. The Lieutenant had clearly been trying Jayden's patience, and Norman, wondering who had shit in Blake's wheaties that morning, did his best to remain calm and just present the facts. But when Blake took a low blow, grasping at insults about Norman's education and experience, he had finally had enough, and fought back with his own brand of venom, accusing Blake of irresponsible police work – not being able to solve the case in two years and allowing eight innocent children to be murdered. An overturned chair and multiple expletives on Blake's part, led to Perry breaking up the vitriol filled argument that had been inches away breaking out into fisticuffs.
Barely having enough time to walk away and cool down, the two men found themselves, less than an hour later, pulling up in the detective's unmarked car to the residence of their first suspect.
Norman could swear he still smelled the testosterone-fuelled pheromones leaking out of Blake's pores. "What, ya got nothing to say Norman?" Blake snarled as Jayden did his best to ignore the brutish behaviour of the older man. "You were all full of fancy words back at the precinct!" he spat out, literally, as a drop of his saliva flew off one of his gleaming incisors and landed on Norman's clean shaven jaw line.
Reaching up to his face, Jayden wiped the spit off his cheek and rubbed the back of his hand clean on his pant leg. He closed his eyes for a brief second and inhaled sharply, taking a deep breath and calming his thoughts. His other hand grasped inside his coat pocket, his fingers searching for and then curling around the cold, glass tube inside. Just knowing the sweet, powdery substance was tucked away, close at hand, accessible at any moment, was enough to calm him down. His hand tremors had begun yesterday morning when he arrived at the crime scene, but wanting to have a clear head while investigating he had pocketed the Tripto and refused to take any. He had another bad breakdown, luckily behind the closed doors of the sorry excuse for an office he was given at the police station, but was able to make it to the bathroom in time to splash water on his face and come to his senses. He knew the excessive use of the ARI on this case was only going to make matters worse, but he had to try to pull himself together. This is the most important case I've ever been assigned and I'm not going to fuck it up by being stoned out of my mind on Tripto.
It was like walking down the edge of a finely honed knife. He was always teetering on the brink… but never had he fallen off. It was a constant balancing act - knowing when to stop using the ARI before the device started to cook his brains from the inside out, and knowing when he had snorted enough of the magic powder to take the edge off the symptoms of ARI overuse. He was caught racing on a never-ending hamster wheel. Using ARI too much caused him serious migraines, blinding hallucinations and bleeding from the eyes and nose. Taking Tripto helped to relieve the ARI symptoms, but often times would leave him dulled and senseless, wanting nothing more than to curl up in a fetal position and sleep for ten hours straight. And then he discovered, much too late to do any good, that taking too much Tripto led to another addiction/withdrawal cycle – hand tremors, racing heartbeat and more nose bleeds. Norman was a junkie disguised in the body of an FBI Agent. It was only due to his highly evolved self-awareness and intelligence that he had been able to maintain some semblance of a normal lifestyle, at least to any external observer. I can't fool myself. Not anymore. He had to solve this case, and fast, because it was likely going to be his last one for a while.
Inhaling again, Norman turned to look at Blake. The muggy interior of the car muddled with the dampness of the rain on their clothes, and heightened the slight claustrophobic feeling that came over Norman. A scent filled Norman's lungs as he breathed in deeply again. Nope, it wasn't testosterone he was smelling, but close enough, it was Carter's cologne. The sweet, cloying scent make Norman's stomach do a flip-flop. He recognized the scent, Tom Ford's Italian Cypress, strong earthy undertones, uniquely masculine, very studio 54. Norman smirked just slightly, it matched Carter's porn-star goatee perfectly. Who the hell is he trying to impress anyway?
Shaking his head to clear his thoughts and focus back on the task at hand, Norman released the latch and opened the passenger side door. "Come on," he said, gesturing to the building they were parked in front of. "We've got a job to do." The profiler unfolded his long, lean body from the seat, stretching out his legs and straightening his coat as he got out of the car and stood up on the sidewalk.
Blake, in turn, exited the drivers' side of the vehicle, slamming his door so hard the windows rattled. "What a fucking waste of time," he cursed, walking around the car to join Norman on the sidewalk. He looked up at the rain, still falling, although the torrent had now slowed to a slight drizzle. "And this fucking rain," Carter swore. "Will it ever fucking end?" Shaking his head, he gave a loud snort, hocking up a glob of mucus and phlegm and spat it out onto the pavement, and started walking toward the front door of the building.
Norman, unimpressed with the shallow grasp Blake had on the English language, twisted his face up in disgust, just barely missing stepping in Carter's loogie as he followed after the detective.
Carter stopped and used one of his gloved hands to wipe a circle in the dirty residue of one of the front windows. He attempted to peer inside, but could see nothing through the multiple spider web-like cracks tracing passages through the thick, foggy glass. He stepped back from the window and looked up and down the street. The crumbling red brick buildings, dank alleyways and boarded up broken windows spoke volumes about the kind of tenants that likely lived in this area of town.
Norman continued past Blake, walking up the three concrete steps leading up to the front door. Layers of dark blue peeling paint were flaking off revealing about ten more multi-coloured layers underneath. He took note of the six rusted metal mailboxes hanging haphazardly next to the front door. The name "Williams" was typed with a label maker on a cheap sticker and clung precariously to mailbox number four. "Looks like we got the right address," Norman called back to Blake. "Nathaniel Williams, apartment number four. Prob'ly the second floor."
Blake stepped up and opened the door. Security was clearly not the landlord's top priority as there was no buzzer system at the front entrance. He held the door open and gestured with a gloved hand into the foyer, "Ladies first," he sneered at Norman, his blue eyes flashing. Norman met his stare, aware of the dark storm that appeared to brewing just underneath the surface of the Lieutenant's gaze.
Norman slipped inside the doorway, careful not to brush up against Carter. He didn't want to give the man anything else to be angry about. He realized that working with Carter was like trying to handle a ticking time bomb. He never knew when or what might set it off. He started to walk up the stairs, the dirty brown carpet threadbare underneath his shoes. Norman felt a certain sense of vulnerability as he led the way. A fuming heat and anger seemed to seethe from Carter, his dark shoes sounding heavy on the hollow steps. Even though Norman had at least two inches of height on Blake, he could feel the older cop crowding him on the steps, bringing up the rear. Norman could almost feel Blake's breath hot on the back of his neck, but he was sure it was just his imagination. At least that's what he kept telling himself, as the thought of the detective's mouth anywhere near his face made him quiver down to the base of his scrotum.
When they got to the top of the second landing, Norman spotted the number four tacked on an apartment door. Carter leaned against the wall, his hands on his hips, while Norman steeled himself and knocked on the solid wooden door. There was no answer. Norman waited a few beats and then turned and looked at Carter. The man had a presence about him that made tingles go down the back of Norman's spine. With his dark overcoat, black gloves and that immaculately groomed dark goatee, Blake was like a harbinger of doom. He pursed his lips and returned Norman's stare, looking exasperated. At least he's calmed down a bit, he was ready to bite my head off earlier.
Norman turned back to the door, squinting at the number to make sure they had the correct apartment. He looked back at Blake again, who was studying his shoes, and then turned and knocked on the door once more. Blake folded his arms across his chest, his nostrils flaring in a seemingly quiet rage. "No answer, we wasted our time coming here," said Norman, turning away from the apartment door. He took a step back and put his hands on his hips, his brown thigh-length leather coat bunching up at the pockets.
"Maybe we should have a little look inside anyway," said Blake, nodding his head toward the apartment.
"There's nobody home," Norman gestured toward the closed door. What the heck is Blake suggesting?
Carter slowly pushed himself off the wall he had been leaning against and unfolded his arms. He walked up to the door, the dim light filtering in through the dirty windows, casting his shadow large against the wall. With one swift movement, before Norman could even react, Blake kicked his leg up and with a massive display of power, he busted the door wide open, kicking it right off the hinges. Christ, the man has the strength of an ox! Norman stepped back instinctively, silently hoping to never be on the receiving end of that aggression.
"There is now," said Carter, walking into the now open apartment.
"I'm not sure that's entirely legal," said Norman, still standing in the hallway, not wanting to enter the apartment unlawfully. Blake's lack of protocol left Norman feeling quite uncomfortable. First he had let his men tramp all over the crime scene yesterday morning, stomping any evidence right into the ground, and now here he was breaking down apartment doors without a warrant. This guy is a psychopath!
Blake stuck his head out of the doorway and looked at Norman. "Call the cops," he said calmly and returned back inside the apartment.
His sense of irony is disturbing. Norman looked down the stairwell to make sure no one had witnessed the illegal entry and then stepped inside the apartment.
The sight that befell Norman's eyes was another disturbing matter. As if the tiny three-room apartment wasn't small enough - crosses, crucifixes and religious icons of all manner hung from every inch of wall and ceiling space. Their presence created a crowded, claustrophobic feeling as Norman stood inside the foyer. Blake had already begun to walk around the living room area. "Looks like Nathaniel Williams is a pretty religious guy," said Norman, stating the obvious.
"He's a god-fearing idiot, waiting for the end of the world," shared Blake. "We questioned him a few months back because he was causing a disturbance in the park." Carter paced back and forth as he told the story, while Norman slipped on his ARI glove and sunglasses he had carefully been hiding inside his jacket pocket. He began to investigate the apartment, letting Carter continue with his tale. "He was ranting and raving – said he heard voices. Got this idea in his sick little head that I was the Anti-Christ and that I'd come to Earth to persecute him. Real twisted."
Norman snorted to himself. With his dark beard and antagonistic attitude, Blake very well could be the spawn of Satan. Maybe Nathaniel isn't so crazy after all.
Norman held his gloved hand over a simple wooden bench that had a bible, rosary and glass of milk laid out on it. The glasses returned detailed information about Nathaniel Williams - his date of birth, how long he had been a resident of the city, his mother's and father's names, birth dates and addresses. Nathaniel had been detained twice by the police but released both times with no convictions due to lack of evidence. Likely Carter's overzealous thirst for vengeance towards the man who called him the Anti-Christ, but nothing linking Nathaniel to the Origami Killer.
He scanned the religious artifacts hanging on the walls and ceiling. "ARI Comment: All the signs of a mystical obsessive neurosis, compounded by a persecution complex."
Norman followed Carter into the bedroom. More rosaries and bibles were strewn about, and dozens of lit candles flickered in the musty room. Flicking his gloved hand over the walls, he noticed scrawling writing. "ARI Comment: The walls are covered with writing. Quotations from the bible." said Norman. Continuing to follow Carter deeper into the apartment, Norman watched as the detective hauled back and booted in the bathroom door. Unnecessary use of force. This guy has a serious anger management problem.
Carter stuck his head briefly inside the room and then continued on down the hallway towards the kitchen, his long dark overcoat swinging against his legs, adding bulk to his powerful form. Norman entered the bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet, sweeping his hand casually over the bottles of pills inside. A scrolling list of Dr's names, medications and ailments popped up on his glasses. Nathaniel is no stranger to self-medication. Paranoid delusion is likely a contributor to his psychotic public outbursts.
More medicine bottles littered the top of the fridge and countertops as Norman made his way into the kitchen, where Carter was staring out the window. "ARI Comment: The guy is taking a break from reality. Holed up here in this crazy apartment."
Norman walked back out into the living room and stood staring at the walls of crucifixes, resting his chin on his hand and thinking. You don't have to be a profiler to see he's not a killer. We're wasting our time here. Deep in thought, Norman didn't hear or see the slight man make his way up the staircase and inside the apartment. Nathaniel stopped in shock when he saw Norman inside his home and dropped the paper bag to the floor that he had been carrying. He began to take a few quiet steps toward Norman, but Blake came out of the kitchen at that precise moment.
He crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe, a sneer of anger crossing his face. "Good timing Nathaniel," said Carter. Nathaniel whipped around at the sound of Blake's voice. "Just the man we're looking for."
Nathaniel began to back away from Blake, moving into the living room, closer to Norman, "Angels and ministers of grace, defend us…." Norman pulled his ARI glasses off and tucked them inside his shirt pocket. He stood and watched in awe at the sudden fear that had come over the man as soon as Blake began to speak to him.
"I'm agent Nahmen Jayden. FBI," said Norman softly to the man. "I'd like to ask you a few questions." Nathaniel spun around to face Norman, and held his hands together anxiously in front of him. The man was clearly agitated and frightened, and Norman didn't want to spook him any further. "As God is my witness, I haven't done anything," Nathaniel stated. "I'm innocent."
"Relax," said Norman, attempting to calm the man down. "Nobody's accusing you of anythin'. We just want to talk." Norman stepped closer to the man, while Carter walked his way around to the other side of the room.
"Where do you work Nathaniel – do you have a job?" asked the profiler.
"My sole occupation is praying to the all-merciful Lord for the salvation of humanity," explained Nathaniel, as he nervously clenched his hands into fists at his side.
"Nathaniel, do you remember where you were last Tuesday at 4:30pm?" asked Norman.
"Here, I was here. I was praying all day,"
"Was there anybody with you?"
"No, no I was alone."
Norman began to pace the room, while Carter took a seat on the wooden bench. "Why all the crucifixes? Are you afraid of something?" Norman asked.
"The hour is nigh and the wrath of God shall strike men down!" explained the anxious man, grasping one hand timidly in the other. "I'm preparing for the end of the world."
"What about the voices Nathaniel?" Carter piped up all of a sudden. "Do you still hear the voices?" Blake got up off the bench and walked over to Nathaniel, slowly circling him, using all of his massive bulk to intimidate the uneasy man. "We know who talks to you, don't we Nathaniel? We both know who talks to you."
"Don't… speak….that name!" Nathaniel stammered.
Norman felt a little uneasy at this new twist in their questioning but he figured Blake had his own methods. Better just stand down and leave Blake to it.
"What does he say to you Nathaniel?" Blake continued.
Norman stood back and watched as Carter continued to interrogate the man. This was unorthodox, but Carter wasn't doing anything unlawful so Norman let him carryon.
Nathaniel stood in the middle of the room, sheepishly looking down at the floor, shaking his head. "I can't talk about it. You mustn't talk about it."
What's Blake looking for? Why is he pushing him over the edge? Blake continued to circle the frightened man. "He orders you to go find new prey, doesn't he? He needs more and more…"
I guess Blake's trying to break him, but what good is a confession if he does? Norman couldn't figure out what Blake was trying to do as he witnessed Nathaniel become more and more upset and Blake grew more and more agitated.
"No…Noooo," Nathaniel cried out. "You mustn't mention him. You'll bring him here."
"He told you to go find that kid in the park. The voices tormented you all night long. You wanted them to stop, didn't you Nathaniel? Blake leaned in to the man, his voice rising in anger, spittle and foam beginning to form on his lips.
"Stop, stop, that's enough," Nathaniel began to sob.
Shit Blake is totally out of his mind. I can't just stand here and do nothing. I've got to stop him; he's going too far. The poor man was on the verge of a breakdown. Norman couldn't allow Blake to continue. "Blake what are you doin'?" Norman interrupted, but Carter just ignored the Agent.
"So you obeyed them to make them stop. You took that boy with you and you drowned him!" Carter grabbed Nathaniel by the neck with his thick, gloved hand and spat his words out into the man's face, pushing him backwards in anger. "Isn't that right?"
"No. Noooo. Stop, stop!" Nathaniel cried out as Blake shoved the man down onto the floor.
"Carter, shit, are you out of your mind?" Norman cried out, trying to step in between the two men. Blake just shoved Norman out of the way with one hand, as if Norman was completely inconsequential.
"You killed them, didn't you Nathaniel?" Blake shouted, his menacing frame hovering over the timid man lying on the floor. "Are you gonna confess you bastard?" Carter raged and lifted his foot and kicked Nathaniel right in the abdomen… hard. Norman cringed as he swore he heard a few ribs crack. Nathaniel let out a groan and rolled over onto his side, while Carter stood his ground.
In one swift movement, Nathaniel was up on his feet as he pulled a service issue M1911 out of his jacket pocket and held it up, aiming right at Blake. "You are the Anti-Christ!" he declared.
Norman immediately pulled out his own sidearm, a Glock 22 and raised his arms, aiming at Nathaniel. "Put down the gun Nathaniel!" he demanded.
Nathaniel ignored the Agent. "I shall dispatch you to your father in hell!" he hollered, taking a wide stance, still aiming his weapon at Blake. "He is the son of Satan. He was sent to Earth to destroy us."
Carter stood, his hands open at his sides, eyeing Nathaniel's gun nervously. It was the first time Norman had ever seen the man show any kind of fear. "Shoot Jayden, for Christ's sakes! Shoot!" Blake demanded in exasperation.
Norman, however, had another idea. He was a skilled FBI profiler, with years of psychological experience and training under his belt. He had even spent an extra year at Quantico with the Behavioural Analysis was exactly the kind of situation he was qualified to handle, to talk down a perpetrator to avoid a violent altercation. With one hand still aiming his weapon at Nathaniel, he gestured to Blake with his other hand to be quiet. I know what I'm doing Carter, just keep your Goddamn mouth shut and don't make the situation any worse.
"You're not gonna kill the Anti-Christ with a revolver Nathaniel. He's much too powerful for that," Norman explained to the delusional man.
"Anti-Christ my ass!" shouted Blake, holding up his hands slightly, in an attempted show of non-aggression. "Get that gun outta my face!" He was clearly agitated at the circumstances and wanted Norman to do something about it. Norman witnessed the cop swallow hard, as little beads of sweat broke out on the older man's forehead.
"Concentrate on my voice, Nathaniel. Listen only to my voice," said Norman, trying to sound as comforting and soothing as possible.
"Demon, you shall regret confronting the emissary of the Lord. You shall know divine power!" Nathaniel rocked back and forth, unsteadily on his feet, shaking his gun at Blake.
Holy fuck, why isn't this working. Norman felt his heart begin to race and he was aware of a drop of sweat rolling down his face, inside his shirt collar and down his back. He hadn't noticed until now, all the hairs on the back of his neck and arms were standing up.
"I'm here to help you Nathaniel. To get rid of the voices in your head, but you'll have to trust me," Norman reassured the man. Why isn't he responding? This is classic textbook. He felt a shiver go down his spine and doubt began to creep into his mind. Maybe it's not going to be so easy. Maybe you're losing your touch Norman.
"Christ all powerful. Defend us in our battle with the forces of Evil," Nathaniel stepped closer to Blake, pointing his weapon straight at the detective's face. "Protect us from the cunning and wiles of the Demon! May God Almighty manifest the power of His Empire, and may Divine Power cast Satan and all the other spirits that prowl the world in search of souls into the darkest depths of Hell."
Norman realized the man had completely lost his mind and at this point was unsure if he could talk him back from the edge. Screw psychology. This guy has got to stop! "Enough Nathaniel. Put the gun down. Immediately!" Norman yelled. But Nathaniel still wouldn't respond. Come on Norman, pull the trigger. The Agent's finger twitched inside the trigger guard. Why are you hesitating? He had never actually killed a man before. You are trained to do this. Just pull the fucking trigger! "Drop the gun Nathaniel!" One more chance to convince him. But Nathaniel held his ground. If you let Carter get shot, you will lose your badge. The guy may be a total douche bag, but as his partner you have the responsibility to keep him safe.
Norman flipped off his gun's safety and applied soft pressure to the trigger with his index finger. And then unexpectedly, like a bolt of lightening, a searing pain shot up the back of his head. His vision flickered and all of a sudden he was blinded. His scalp felt like tiny insects were crawling around inside his head. What the fuck? I can't see! Gasping, Norman took a deep breath, as his right hand started to shake. No, no, not the tremors.
"Norman, what the fuck are you doing?" Carter barked over to him, as Nathaniel still had his weapon trained on the cop. Time had slowed down and Carter's words snarled at him, sounding like a record player in slow motion. "Noooorrrrrrmaaaannnnnn….." The Agent felt like he was in a wind tunnel, the Doppler effect causing Carter's words to be distorted. "Whhhhaaatttt … the ffffuuuuuccckkkkkk…."
And then, suddenly, he was standing in an autumnal forest, a cold wind stirring up the leaves on the ground, whipping through the trees, blowing around the Agent's chestnut locks of hair. Thunder rumbled in the distance and streaks of lightening shot across the vivid indigo sky. Norman looked up at the blowing trees and the dark clouds forming in the atmosphere. No, no no… not now! Why now? You can't do this now. He took one hand off his weapon and fumbled in his coat pocket, searching for his vial of precious Tripto. He felt a drop of moisture from his nose. Christ, not the nosebleeds too? Looking down, Norman saw a slow drip of blood, falling from his face, down onto his suit jacket. The drop landed with a loud bang. Wait a minute… bang? Since when does falling blood made a noise?