In the middle of New York city with its bustling citizens and fast lifestyle, where crime was a day to day phenomenon that the denizens of New York had grown psychologically numb to, a young man walked the streets donned in attire that made heads turn towards him, and not necessarily to pay him compliments. The young man was wearing a purple suit, with a matching purple tie, purple cufflinks and purple shoes. The fabric of the suit was more shiny, than somber and as he stepped through shaded areas of New Yorks busy pavements, the purple colour would sometimes reflect off his face which bore a fair complexion.
The outlandish attire was initially adopted by him, not as a means to draw attention to himself, but rather to draw attention away from the confidence in his body language that was very much in contrast with what was expected from someone whose face was scarred - not Harvey Dent kind of scarred, but scarred nonetheless. The young man walked around town until he found the church he was looking for. Inside the church was the one man, who could rival his own powers, when it came to other people and this man didnt eve have super powers. His name was Jormon Vincent Keyle and he wielded greater influence than Kilgrave, and did it by using words with the magic happening entirely differently. Jormon had the power to move the masses as if he were playing with clay. Not everyone noticed it, but Jormon Vincent Keyle did more to shape public opinion than the entire media together.
But Kilgrave wasn't one of the masses. He had his own brand of influence. And while Kilgrave couldn't give a rousing speech that would move millions, he could certainly tell the man who had that ability to do so. The church was closed to the public, but nothing was ever closed to Kilgrave if he wanted to enter. He opened the door and just as two security stepped forward to stop him, he asked them to let him through and gave them a few other instructions that he wanted them to obey. Thereafter, one opened the door for him and guided him through, while the other stood guard outside.
"Does Minister Jormon come here often?" he asked the guard. The guard nodded. "How often?" asked Kilgrave, dabbing the beads of sweat lining his forehead with his pocket square that was not coincidentally purple. "He preaches at the bigger church in the adjoining block almost every day" said the guard, "but he comes here as well, around once in two days or once in three days. He doesn't follow a schedule."
"Will I be able to reach him, some place for sure?" asked Kilgrave, hoping that the guard wouldnt reply with "his house."
"His house" replied the guard. Kilgrave frowned.
He must reach home pretty early, given his age and the likely fact that he probably suffers from some ailment or another.
"What are the odds of him turning up here, today?" asked Kilgrave.
"It's hard to say, but you should be able to catch him if he does turn up" said the guard.
"That'll do" said Kilgrave. After this, Kilgrave spent some time alone in the church, looking up at the paintings, the art inspired by poetry, the poetry the kind that was used to create slavery and then justify it. Men like Jormon Keyle were exceptionally good at that - exploiting the common man and then making them thankful for it. It was a pleasurable experience after all, the ability to control the actions of another human being. Kilgrave could do it unlike any other human being in history. But men like Jormon Keyle exerted a different kind of control. They controlled not what you would do, not your bodily actions, the way Kilgrave did when he asked Jessica to jump up 10 storeys or jump down 20. Men like Keyle were the ones who made you think you wanted Jessica jumping up and down all those buildings. And that was why he was the most dangerous kind.
Kilgrave waited patiently enduring the silence with ease. His arms relaxed, his fingers tapping gently and rhythmically against the wooden benches, absolute silence in the background, not even the steady drip drip of a leaking faucet coming from the shadows. It was in this silence that Kilgrave was able to hear the scratching of a rat. Using his powers he drew the rat out and telepathically asked it if there were others. There were. Soon at the behest of Kilgrave, there were a number of rats running around the church, drawing out other rats, each one in turn falling under Kilgrave's spell. It was much easier to control a greater number of these animals, Kilgrave reflected. Humans were so resistant in comparison. Kilgrave arranged the rats in different shapes. He made them spell out the words, Killgrave and Jessica, before he banished them from the church, mentally instructing them to move single file towards the ocean.
Finally, the wait ended with the minister walking in. In contrast to Kilgrave's appearance, he was the very picture of serenity. A serious face with deep lines and eyes that looked more kindly than they actually were greeted him.
"How can I help you, young man?" asked Jormon. He wasn't paying attention to Kilgrave, anymore than one would pay attention to a speck of dust floating on the other side a room which is out of one's field of vision, but due to the decades of practice behind him, Jormon Keyle Vincent made Zebediah Kilgrave feel, if only for a moment, that he was the centre of the universe.
"I don't know" muttered Kilgrave.
"Have you come here to confess?" asked Keyle, his voice soothing and firm at the same time. "No, I haven't" replied Kilgrave suddenly remembering himself. "I've come to ask about Jessica Jones" said Kilgrave. "Does she come here?"
Keyle's eyes suddenly shone with a new intensity at the mention of the name. He was definitely paying attention now. Kilgrave knew he would. It was easy to throw even the best salesman in the world off his game, when you remind him of the time his life had been saved by a super-heroine who could both lift and throw huge buildings as easily as she could jump to their top, which was probably something she would be doing at this very moment. Private Investigators often lived up to their reputations and knew that the confidentiality of their clientele was paramount, but the media was a persistent and powerful force that noticed when men of the stature of Jormon Vincent Keyle got into trouble. So at least that part of the story was true.
"I have not had the good fortune of meeting Miss Jones, since she saved my life" said Keyle. "I do pray for her safety every day in this very room. There are so many foul forces out in the world outside. She shows a great deal of courage and does tremendous good to the people of this city."
Kilgrave was so busy listening to the words of Keyle that he didn't notice the minister observing him for the slightest trace of emotional betrayal. He would later reflect that it was inevitable, that the training of the minister had in fact paid off, that Kilgrave never really had a chance to begin with. But for the time being, he was simply content to know that the newspapers had not made up this portion of the story and that Jessica Jones was wiser than she let on - she chose not to become a celebrity, when all it would have taken her is an afternoon's stroll in the sun.
"Alright then. Let's go to your house. Call ahead and ask your wife to prepare her best dish for lunch. I'm really hungry."
Keyle and Kilgrave proceeded towards Keyle's car. It was a posh, long black limousine and the door was opened for them by the guard standing outside, while the driver remained seated at his seat at the behest of Kilgrave. The AC was turned on as Keyle preferred it, which was understandable, since it was in the middle of a sweltering hot day. The chauffer was surprised to see his boss return as early as he did, but didn't protest as Kilgrave instructed him to drive towards the house of Jormon Vincent Keyle. He wasn't able to find Keyle's address online and had resorted to finding him in the church as a gamble, but it was a well calculated gamble, with a high payoff and a low downside.
It was a forty minute drive, according to the chauffer and it meant that Kilgrave had time to stare out the window and think about all the things that had been running through his mind for the last several months. He knew it was pointless, since his mind would continuously return to the one thing that it always did, but he supposed he ought to at least try. So he did try, but gave up after 5 minutes and decided that it was better for him to try and get his mind off things with small talk.
"So, big celebrity, huh?" he said turning towards Jormon. Keyle looked like it was the first time someone had used that tone with him in decades. It probably was, Kilgrave decided. "How much money do you make a year?" he asked.
Jormon looked distinctly uncomfortable. He tried to muster the look of disdain that was reserved for reporters who asked such questions, but it somehow felt a little strange trying to use the higher moral ground, against a man who had coerced him into inviting him for lunch. Old habits die hard, and in times of fight or flight, it was far more likely for people to use arguments that they were used to than to adopt brilliant new strategies. This was as true for a celebrity as it was for the average citizen on the road. "I do not know" said Keyle. "I do not concern myself with such things. I merely spread the teachings of god and the goodwill of those who benefit from my teachings keeps us alive."
Which is why your website has a donate button on every page and every third tweet tries to raise funds, thought Kilgrave to himself. To Keyle he said, "Be honest."
"It depends from year to year" said Keyle.
"Stop" said Kilgrave. He had forgotten something important. He reached forward and pulled the glass window that separated the passengers from the driver shut, so that the conversation remained private.
"It is sound proof, right?" asked Kilgrave. Keyle nodded. "You're sure?" Kilgrave repeated. Keyle nodded again.
"Go on then" said Kilgrave.
"It's always in the ballpark of a few millions. We make more each year, but that's not necessarily a good thing. Inflation drives up the cost of living and we need to make more than the other churches, mosques and temples just so that we can outspend them next year, both in terms of recruitment and in terms of advertising. I know we are the biggest, and of course I'm the reason for that, but it's not an easy business to be in."
"Stop" said Kilgrave. He paused for a second to reflect on how much of the information revealed was due to his influence and how much of it was Keyle unburdening himself. He didn't really care for the sob stories of Keyle.
"That's all I needed to know. So here's what you need to do. Write down this number. Or better yet, take out your cell phone, and start typing out a message. Actually, hold on, just hand it over." Keyle handed the phone over into Kilgrave's extended hand. Kilgrave picked up the phone and opened the messaging app.
"Transfer $40 million to Account No. 566142, Tansanred bank. Then write-it off as expenses. Make sure that no one raises any questions. Do it quickly. Make the transfer immediately, but I want the books updated before the weekend is finished. Tell your family that you won't be able to spend time with them and make sure this is done discreetly."
"Send this to your accounts guy, or whoever. You know, the guy who handles all the money" said Kilgrave, handing the phone back to Keyle. Keyle accepted. He began to punch in the numbers, the rhythmic series of beeps, on the phone, when Kilgrave stopped him again. "40 million isn't too much right? I mean, it will go unnoticed right?"
"It isnt" said Keyle.
"Have you made bigger transfers?" asked Kilgrave, not entirely convinced.
"We make bigger transfers than this on a monthly basis to our subsidiaries all over the world. We get a lot of inflow too. I don't know the specifics, i'll have to talk to my guys, but this ought to be a drop in the ocean. It's not going to raise any eyebrows."
"That's all I needed to know" said Kilgrave. "Go ahead then."
Keyle sent the message and a few minutes later, Kilgrave's cell phone buzzed. "Well, it looks like I'm a little richer than I was this morning" said Kilgrave with a laugh, as he thumped Keyle on the back.
Keyle for his part was trembling with a combination of fear and outrage - the two emotions battling in his mind was soon expressed on his face.
"Oh, for fuck's sake. Smile man!" said Kilgrave. Apparently, sometimes the thing that irritates does go away when you stop looking at it directly.
Kilgrave tapped the glass and the chauffer opened the partition to reveal the front seat and the road ahead.
"Play me something interesting" said Kilgrave. The chauffer opted for Metallica's Master of Puppets. Kilgrave wasn't particularly into heavy music, but everyone had to love this song.
The limousine rolled on with the backdrop of Hetfield's "Master, Master!", the violence and dominance filling the air.
As the song continued into its melodious riff, Kilgrave began tapping the window and the plastic idly. Information was power. It wasn't just what you knew that shaped the course of your life, mused Kilgrave. It was what you didn't know that would betray you. Mostly in ways you wouldn't expect. It was better to pick out what you could when you still had the chance.
"So tell me, Jormon" said Kilgrave. "What's interesting to you?"
"Well, I play the harmoni-"
"Stop, right there."
Kilgrave had a terrible feeling that he knew where this was going. He wondered whether it was worth his time practising how to frame his question and decided that it probably wasn't. He could direct people wordlessly anyways. It did however, give him a feeling of showmanship to actually speak the commands each time he issued them.
"Tell me this, what was it like? How did it feel to be carried in her arms to safety? Did you thank your gods? Did you think that there was anyone else who sent you the angel?" Kigrave paused. "Be honest" he added for safe measure.
"It all happened so fast" said Keyle, as Kilgrave leaned forward and gave them privacy once more. He really was forgetful at times.
"I didn't know what those men were after initially. I thought it was just money..."
much like me,thought Kilgrave.
"... but then I realised that it was more than that. They weren't just thugs. They were sent by the mafia. It was as much a message to the people of New York as it was an extortion racket. Miss Jones saved my life and for that I am grateful. But, aside from her gifts, she is a terrible investigator and has no idea of the depths of horror she saved me from. They were firing bullets at her, but luckily not even one of them managed to graze her skin. She had a friend with her. Big man. Negro. He was special too. The bullets kept striking him time and time again, but he wasn't hurt. He walked right towards the gunfire, ignoring the bullets flying towards him as if it were a trivial inconsequence."
This was news to Kilgrave. All this time, he had thought that it was just the two of them. Now there was a third person with unique abilities. Perhaps there were even more, all of them in hiding, none of them wanting to be discovered. It was only natural, he supposed. None of them would ever be truly accepted in society. He had often imagined himself being treated the same way he was treated by his parents, only this time with government scientists, news agencies and independent geniuses with 200 IQs on Reddit. Still, Jessica and her new friend weren't as careful as they thought. Kilgrave had already learned of his existence, and he had been in town for less than a few hours.
"Have you told anyone else about this man? What have you told people about Jessica?" asked Kilgrave, breaking off Keyle's train of narration.
"No" said Keyle. "She had specifically asked me not to. I haven't told a single soul about any of them, I swear. I had to tell the world something, it was public news that I was being held captive after all, so I told them that I had been rescued by the police and that a private investigator had helped them."
"Did you tell anyone how high she could jump?" asked Kilgrave, his voice now a little more concerned.
"No. She told me not to. I wasn't even sure I believed it" said Keyle, "I told myself that I was scared and confused. I practically saw things that weren't humanly possible. I know it happens to people, when they are scared and confused. In fact, people come up to me all the time and tell me they've seen things. They've seen the face of god, they've seen modern day miracles, they've seen the deathly sick be healed when all but the pious believed that they were on their death beds. I'm no stranger to such stories, they come at me all the time. But what was I supposed to think? I saw with my own two eyes and at first I didn't believe it! They were angels, the agents of god who have come to save me! How could I not believe it? But how could I believe it? I didn't know what to think after two days of those nightmarish people! Were they sent to test my faith? If they were, did I pass? How could I know? How could anyone know? Will the lord reward me for that?..."
Kilgrave didn't know if it was the doing of the lord, but he knew that Keyle and Keyle's church had been rewarded. The event had caused a blizzard of publicity. Kilgrave himself was in a comatose state at the time of the event, but he had gone through the internet fairly comprehensively while he was looking Keyle up. There were hundreds and hundreds of newspaper reports chronicling the incident. The YouTube videos that he had seen of the news around the kidnapping had all been variants of "Headlines! Breaking News!" or something very similar to the same. The comments on the pages to those videos, were those supporting and praying for the release of the famed minister, those who pledged large amounts of their life savings to Keyle's church and even a significant number who had applauded the kidnappers for capturing the man whom they believed to be the country's biggest charlatan. Naturally, a war of words erupted among the factions, ending mostly with attributions to the sexuality of the other side, but even Kilgrave knew that there was no such thing as bad publicity. Any publicity while being received by the likes of Keyle's church, soon to be in the hands of Keyle himself shortly after his release would have been exploited optimally. Keyle could have retired on the donations received in the aftermath of the kidnapping alone. Yet here he was, uselessly being dragged to his own home, by a stranger he had never met in his entire life. There were few things better than money in this world reflected Kilgrave, but having superpowers was definitely one of them.
"I didn't know what to think" blustered Keyle. "When I returned to the church, and to the warm hands of those who were there to receive me, I could not praise the lord enough! He had taken pity on me, in his infinite glory and had returned me to the safety of my abode, where I can spread his teachings and heal the sickly and injured with my words..."
"I thought I told you to be honest..." said Kilgrave. His voice had a slightly puzzled note to it.
"I am being honest!" said Keyle.
"Stand up" said Kilgrave. Keyle stood up. "Now dance for me" said Kilgrave. Keyle started dancing. "Now take off your shirt" said Kilgrave. Keyle obediently took his shirt off. "Now hit yourself". Keyle stopped dancing and hit himself on his left arm. "Now hit yourself harder." Keyle obeyed and the blow he gave himself, resounded with a thwack. "Now hit yourself in the face." Keyle slapped himself. "Three times more on each cheek, turn by turn." Six slaps across his face.
"Come closer to me" said Kilgrave. Keyle stepped closer.
Kilgrave put his hand out in the air and spread his fingers.
"I want you to remove all your rings and put them on my hand. I mean the rings from both your hands. After that, I'm going to hit you as hard as I can in the stomach. You will not bend over, scream in pain or do anything else. You will stand as stationary as you can, and will hold your breath. You will not do anything to express your pain and you will stand as stationary as possible."
Keyle nodded, beads of sweat beginning to appear. Fear was beating anger comprehensively and decisively.
"Am I clear?" asked Kilgrave. Keyle nodded again. Slowly, he began to remove his rings one by one. They were clearly expensive rings with precious stones adorning many of them. All of them were sharp, and hard.
Kilgrave hadn't made a fist in a long time. It felt unusual at first, but as he pulled back and struck the minister in the stomach, he remembered why it felt so pleasurable to begin with. Keyle gasped for air, and something inside him seemed to break. Other than that the fear on his face had given way to sheer shock and disbelief. Kilgrave withdrew his hand and struck again. Clearly, the intensity of the pain doubled for the minister, but Keyle didn't make a sound.
"Hmm" said Kilgrave, his voice tinged with thoughtfulness.
"All right, Keyle. Take these ghastly things off me and put them back on your fingers. I have absolutely no use for them." Keyle did as he was told.
As Keyle recovered his rings, Kilgrave was once again lost in thought. Clearly, his power was intact. Keyle hadn't developed any kind of immunity towards it, the way Jessica had. His powers had worked perfectly well on everyone since he had woken up from the hospital, been nursed back to health and had made his way to Keyle's church. That was enough to assure Kilgrave that his powers still worked. Still, when someone like Keyle gave an answer invoking the name of god, even under the influence of his power, it made Kilgrave wonder whether there were limits to what he could make people do.
"What's your wife's name? he asked Keyle.
"Martha."
"Have you ever cheated on Martha?"
"I have."
"How many times?" asked Kilgrave, suddenly genuinely curious.
"I don't remember" said Keyle, wincing in horror at himself as he said it. Kilgrave didn't blame him for it. There was always a sense of shame in revealing your infidelities and perhaps it was even greater if you were a holy man or branded yourself as one.
"There are a couple of these girls that walk in every week" said Keyle. "Sometimes, they really feel guilty and are so young that you can dupe them into doing anything for you. And let's face it, who're they going to turn to after they've confessed to sleeping with a priest?"
"Don't you have more to lose?" asked Kilgrave. "You do have an international reputation. You made headlines and became a household name when you were abducted. Can you imagine what would happen if people found out that you were as sinful as the next guy? I'm no political science expert, but even I could tell that the press would have a field day."
"In theory, yes. But it doesn't work that way. A number of my brothers have had similar allegations thrown their way. The public has a short memory. They forget a number of things. We're in the business of selling hope and this is just part of what goes on. I really do have nothing to fear, for I believe that the lord shall protect me. Just as he did the last time."
Kilgrave paused as Keyle continued to describe the young women, some of whom he coerced, others whom he threatened, and even a few who came to him willingly. He said that he had restricted his activities to women, all of whom were above the legal age, so it would be impossible to prosecute him. It was only his reputation that would suffer, something he could rebuild in a week and in some cases even a day.
What struck Kilgrave as odd about Keyle was not the fact that he blatantly abused the power he had. Kilgrave had done no less for most of his life. It really was the rule of the jungle – use the power you have to take what you can. New York exemplified this better than any other city in the world, a fact that was not lost upon Kilgrave as he stated out the one-way bullet-proof glass of the limousine, as it sped through the concrete jungle. The buildings here were owned by rich moguls. The churches were owned by the likes of Keyle.
What struck Kilgrave was that Keyle had made a fatal mistake, a mistake that would have spelt his doom, even if he had never encountered Kilgrave. Keyle, and many other men like him - Kilgrave had reason to believe, had fallen for their own narrative. Perhaps, he really was doing the world a favor. He was just speeding up the natural selection process, the evolution taking place in the modern concrete jungles of the world like New York.
"Put your clothes back, compose yourself and stay quiet" said Kilgrave. "I need to think."
So far, so good, thought Kilgrave to himself. He had had his suspicions for much of the time that he was inactive but conscious. A few months in a hospital bed, with no one to test his powers on without arousing suspicion had given Kilgrave an opportunity to reflect, mostly by forcing him to use the opportunity to reflect without giving himself away. He hadn't realized it at the time, but it had done him a world of good.
The image of Jessica walking away from him as he was hit by the bus, would not leave him for a long time. The picture of her swam before his eyes, in the dark glass of the limousine separating him and Keyle from the chauffer. He was thankful that he had been hospitalized in the 21st century and not in any centuries past. The recovery time was a fraction of what it was even a few decades ago, and had he been born into any of the previous generations of New Yorkers, there was the chance that he may have never walked again. More importantly though, in the modern day and age, there was the internet. Kilgrave learned to use it a long time ago, but found that there was such a thing as skill when it came to using the internet. It surprised him that he found himself getting better at using search engines the more often he used them.
He quickly learned that Jessica Jones had been completely honest with him, which he expected her to be given that she had no choice, but he had forgotten to ask her a few critical questions. Perhaps, forgot was the wrong word. He had never really thought he'd ever need to know anything about her, so he hadn't really bothered. Lying in his hospital bed, he learned of the existence of her half-sister Trish Walker, who was something of a celebrity herself. A bigger celebrity and a much more common household name than Keyle to be sure, but unlikely to be as wealthy.
If Trish Walker knew of her half-sister's powers, it increased the odds that half the city would know of Jessica Jones. The way Kilgrave saw it, there was too little information at his disposal for him to form a solid fool proof plan. Going up against the likes of Jessica Jones, it was never a good idea not to have a fool proof plan. Then again, going up against the like of Jessica Jones - was any plan ever really fool proof? The fact that he was Kilgrave still gave him the edge, he had no doubt about that, but it seemed such a trivial edge at this point. He didn't know how she had managed to do it, but the fact that she had somehow obtained immunity from his powers was not just a mere matter of concern to Kilgrave, but a matter of concern to lose sleep over.
He thought back to the reams of pages that he had filled up in his notebooks, mostly coded in his own form of shorthand, completely inscrutable to the outside observer, but bare naked evidence of his thought process to anyone in the know.
Jessica had always wanted to be one of the good guys, which meant two things – she was a good guy working alone, or a good guy working with the government.
It would be far more difficult for him to get to her if she was working with the government. Incompetent as it was, the government still had resources. It would have specially trained enforcers, equipment that he would have never seen the likes of or understood in one lifetime and a hidden array of protocols and tricks that he would never have been able to identify. He doubted that most people would, including those who had a military background. Kilgrave, mused that he could possibly seize control of one of them and see how far that would get him, but the odds were that these guys would be trained personnel who would be able to notice quickly when something went awry with their protocol. The odds weren't in his favor and he would be exposing his hand way too quickly.
But that didn't seem to be the path Jessica was on in any case. From the remainder of what he had read in his hospital bed, Jessica was very much still a private investigator, living a private life – with a new partner. That was a new complication, an unknown factor and in all likelihood a dangerous one to Kilgrave's plans. It was a combination he detested.
Keyle had continued to remain silent, so silent in fact that for a moment, Keyle had forgotten that he was travelling in someone else's car with someone else's driver, going to someone else's house. He snapped out of his reverie when the driver rapped on the front pane of the glass to announce that they had arrived at the house. It was a grand looking apartment. The outside of the house was sculpted with statues of the different angels, none of whose names Kilgrave could remember, the same number that Kilgrave cared to remember.
It was time for a good lunch.
"You know when you need to stop relying on god to save your ass?" asked Kilgrave of Keyle.
Keyle shook his head.
"When you've been possessed by the devil."