Poison Without
AN: This was a collaborative work with davros fan and sequel to Poison Within. Hope you like it!
Gerard came out of the church, his wife's arm linked with his and his son holding his other hand. His wife was talking to the latter, they were discussing today's sermon and Gerard listened, adoring the elated look on his son's face, he was such a good boy, and he loved his God dearly, as did Gerard.
"Wait." Gerard spoke suddenly and stopped his family. "Do you hear that?"
They all stood and listened and they heard something, a soft moaning, it sounded female. They headed in the direction to investigate and found an elderly woman crying as she struggled to pick up her fallen groceries. They rushed over; picking them up for her and Gerard helped her to her feet.
"Oh thank you."
"Not at all, can we take you to a hospital?" His wife asked.
"Oh bless you dear, but hospitals terrify me. I can manage from here." She tried to wobble away but Gerad stopped her.
"We'll have none of that; I don't want to cause any distress for you so we won't take you to a hospital but at least come with us to our house."
"Oh no I couldn't…"
"Of course you can."
"But I don't want to impose…"
"You're not an imposition at all. I'm Gerard; this is my wife Susan and my son Paul"
"I'm Louise." She smiled.
"Well Louise, take my arm and we'll take you to our home."
"God bless you." She said sweetly.
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Riley gave Kent a meaningful look and he strode over to Mansell's desk.
"It-it wasn't you."
Mansell's bloodshot eyes looked up at him; wrapped in a cocoon of despair he didn't understand Kent's extremely vague confession.
"Erica, I thought …it was only a matter of time until you did cheat. I didn't see any harm in letting it end now…before anyone got hurt."
Mansell shot out of his chair and launched his fist at Kent who fell to the floor. Riley ran to Mansell to stop him from doing any more harm but it was unnecessary; Chandler and Miles hurried into the incident room. The former called out Mansell's name. When he saw Kent get up he stopped walking.
"Right that's it. You've had your warnings. Go home."
"It's not my fault." Mansell protested but Chandler ignored him. "It was Kent." Mansell grabbed Chandler as he walked past to get to the injured Kent, but he let go quickly and Chandler looked down at the arm he grabbed.
"Sir, leave it with me, I'll sort it out." Riley said. "Emerson will put it right, won't you?"
Kent looked at that hand he used to touch his cut and spoke. "Yeah I'm gonna phone Erica, and tell her I lied."
Chandler looked at Kent with disbelief and shock. "What, this is a personal issue?"
"It's a real-life soap opera you don't want to know." Miles warned.
Kent walked away to clean up. "I'm sorry." He said as he passed Mansell.
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Kent waiting for his sister to pick up, only to have it go to voicemail. "Erica it's me, we need to talk about Finley. Can you call me back? Bye." He put his phone away and stepped closer to the mirror. He inspected Mansell's handiwork, he had a large bleeding cut on the side of his forehead and his nose was bleeding as well. He suddenly jumped back with an exclamation when he was inexplicably squirted with water from the sink.
He looked down at himself, luckily he wasn't too wet but he still felt disgusted. He looked into the mirror and was relieved that his face did not warp but he felt his still healing scratches itch from under his clothes. He tried to fight it but he couldn't, he needed to…
"No!" He rubbed his face and clenched his fists but he wouldn't give in. he wouldn't allow himself to do that again. Never again…
He gave in and threw his tie off and ripped open the buttons on his shirt. He attacked his chest with his nails like he did the night he helped Chandler. He moaned; he felt a mixture of pain and relief, but most of all, longing. Longing for something or someone. "Joe." He whimpered in hunger.
He felt crazed with his absolute need for the blond; he craved his touch so much it hurt, which is why he did this to himself, a punishment. He craved Chandler but he must be punished for it. He wasn't punishing himself for his obsession, no he would never apologise for loving Chandler. He had to be punished because he couldn't stop thinking about him, he needed to put it to the back of his mind but no matter what, he kept thinking of him. If he didn't do this he would go mad with pining and he might do something he would regret. He had to do this to prevent that from happening.
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"Josie Eagle in the local paper." Kent said as he handed a file to his DI.
"Another Peter Dunn interview."
"Yeah she works for the city farm and she raised a lot of money to save a lame donkey in Turkey. She's devoted to animals."
"Your face is swollen; ask the canteen for some frozen peas."
A warm feeling arose in his chest; a small smile adorned his unshaven, dishevelled face. "Thank you Sir, I deserve this."
"No, you don't look professional. Get the swelling down, borrow some concealer off Riley, make yourself look presentable."
His face fell. "Yes sir." He looked down, feeling ashamed that he had failed his boss. The urge to scratch was creeping up through his veins. "I won't let you down again. I'm sorry." I'm sorry I failed you Sir, I won't ever fail you again.
"I want the search team back in the sewers looking for Josie."
He lingered before replying. "Yes Sir." He walked out of Chandler's office, looking back once more at the man behind the desk, glad that only a small portion of his pain showed. He felt useless as he walked on, his lungs closing in, his throat felt restricted. He was struggling, trying his best not to give in.
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Kent nodded to the uniform taking the files away. The group they had been investigating weren't cannibals as they thought they were, but eaters of endangered species. Chandler stood watching as the officer took the box away. He failed, wanting to bring in a group of cannibals and arrest them for murder and instead got a bunch of people with weird eating habits and arrested them for health reasons. He felt they had wasted his time; he could've caught the murderers by now if it weren't for these people getting in the way. As they files were carried away he saw the case being carried away, further from his grasp. He covered his face with his hand and exhaled.
"As far as the search teams can tell, Josie Eagle isn't in the sewers." Kent said.
"Have they checked all the tunnels?"
"Under Whitechapel, yes." Kent nodded and Chandler sighed. "Do you want us to extend the search further?"
"No, she's not there." Chandler shook his head despondently.
"She might still be alive."
"It's more likely that all the police activity in the sewers has forced the killers to find an alternative dump site."
"Don't give up hope Sir."
Chandler sighed. "Hope." He whispered.
"You'll think of something, I know you will." Kent smiled and Chandler was surprised to find himself returning the smile.
He patted Kent's shoulder before he left, feeling a lot better. He wasn't sure why, but after that conversation he felt more confident and something else…he didn't know what but it felt good.
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"This is the girl we're looking for." Miles said, showing a picture of Josie to the psychic.
"She's dead." She said.
"Are you sure?" Chandler asked.
"No question. She died the night she vanished."
"Where's the body?" Miles asked.
"She's in a house without windows."
"Well what does that mean?"
"It's just what I see."
"Are the windows boarded up or…"
"No there are no windows, just walls."
"Not really a house then, is it?"
"Looks like a house."
"Is there anything else you can tell us?" Miles said before Chandler said something that showed his annoyance.
"People walk past her all the time but they can't see her."
"Why don't you just give us the address instead of being so cryptic?" Miles said irritably.
"I'm sorry; I'm a medium not a psychic." She said, and grasped Chandler's hand and he felt very uncomfortable. "I am having real difficulty hearing Josie. There is an older gentleman who wants my attention…says he's your father."
Chandler looked up and the frustration of not finding Josie, combined with his aversion of the psychic, and his hatred of previous ones giving false messages, all came crashing down on him.
"How dare you?" He whispered before yanking his hand away and leaving, slamming the door behind him.
How dare she? After the countless frauds who have given me fake messages from him, after all I've been through and with Josie on my mind. I just wanted to find her; she didn't have to start claiming to have messages from my father, why can't she just tell us where Josie is?
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Chandler shook the water off his hands into his washbasin before drying them; he heard his office door open and saw Miles enter. "I didn't mean to be rude." The DI said.
"She's used to it."
"It was my mistake, we shouldn't have gone."
"Look um, she had a message for you, from your dad. She wouldn't tell me what it was so I got her to write it down for you." Miles said, holding out an envelope. Instead of taking it, Chandler picked up his rubbish bin and held it out for the letter to go into. "Are you sure?"
"I know what it'll say. 'I love you son, or 'I'm proud of you'."
"Well why wouldn't you want to see that?"
"He didn't say things like that."
Miles reluctantly put the note in the bin.
"It's all a con, Miles. A cynical way to exploit the desperate and I'm not falling for it. If there was a message from my father it would be something like 'get on with your bloody job and stop wasting your time on cranks' he was police, he didn't suffer fools."
"Alright." Miles said before leaving Chandler's office.
Chandler sat at his desk, he shifted uncomfortably. He looked down at his bin and reached his hand inside. He pulled the note out and flipped it around a few times in his hands, he held it and stared at it for a while, before sighing and putting it back in his bin. Ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous. He thought, straightening the items on his desk.
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Chandler was seated in his office again; the note was staring at him from its seat in his bin, taunting him. He picked it up and looked at both sides of it, silently contemplating it before he reached into his drawer and pulled out his letter opener. A ray of light from his window gleamed off the opener into his eyes and closed them. What am I doing? Suddenly the phone on his desk rang and he put both the note and the opener in his drawer before answering.
"DI Chandler."
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Chandler, Miles, and Caroline watched as an officer laid out metal planks so that they could walk on without disturbing the crime scene.
"It's the Reverend Maud." Chandler said.
"And by the looks of it, his organs have been removed too." Miles added.
Chandler looked around the church. "Don't you think it looks like a sacrifice?"
"The first victim, Thomas Griffin, was killed in the sewer directly under St. Michael's." Caroline said.
"Anne Airs was found in the sewer. Was that under a church too?" Chandler asked.
"I'll get Riley on it."
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"There's something wrong with me, I hate seeing other people happy it just…eats away at me and makes me angry. Why am I like that?" Kent said as he and Mansell scoped out the cemetery.
"I dunno, maybe other people's happiness reminds you of what you're missing."
It's funny, what he says sounds like he's mocking me and he is but I know him so well that I know he means well. It's his way of making me feel better. He can be decent, even if he's a dick most of the time. I wonder if he would understand if I told him about…no, he wouldn't, he'd tell me to stop. I don't want to stop, I need it. Yet I also want help with it. He peered through the darkness, a bright beam emitted from his flashlight, trying to ignore his inner battle. He felt the urge to scratch again. The need to feel keratin abrade his pale skin; bore his fingers through him, above his heart, as if he could touch it himself.
No! I can't give in, no matter how much I want it…need it. Joe would never want me if he knew, I have to stop, and I have to fight it. Come on! You're better than this! Fight it!
Kent walked on but his breathing became more pronounced as he struggled more and more to not scratch. He gripped his flashlight tightly and he began to dig his nails into it, pretending that the unyielding plastic was his soft, bruising skin.
I have to fight it; I can't give in to it again. Never again. Just once, you know you want to. No! I can't. I won't. I have to refrain for Joe; I'll do it for him. But you want to do it, don't you? You need to do it. Not as much as I need him.
He kept walking and he passed a set of gates. "Hang on." He called out to Mansell. "Just going to check this one."
They both pushed the gates open, the wrought iron groaned in protest, like a woman reluctant to spill a deep secret.
The rays from their flashlights danced across the marble of the large structure but they couldn't see anything interesting.
"Nah, nothing. Right, let's get out of here, there's a Chicken McClucks on the way to St. Johns." Miles said, exiting through the gates.
Kent sighed and turned to go until a gust of wind blew and he stopped. He turned around and looked back at the ground, covered in dead and withered leaves, and he saw something that was neither a leaf nor stone or anything else that should be on the ground.
"Mansell!" He bellowed, his light not wavering from the ashen face half-camouflaged in the foliage.
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Chandler grasped Mrs Maud's wrinkled hand. "Mrs Maud?"
She slowly turned her head to face him. "I'm sorry to intrude at such a difficult time, but I need to ask you some questions about your husband." He said.
"Oh, I want to help you. But I don't know who did it, I-I don't know how anyone could be capable."
"I know this is a terrible crime. But we're working on the theory that the people we're looking for, they think they're doing God's will."
"But…thou shalt not kill?"
"Unless blood is spilt to wash away sins." Miles said. Chandler looked at him and Miles looked away.
"The killers may have a different take on the Bible." Chandler explained, trying to ignore the two quoting scriptures at each other.
"We didn't take him seriously." She said; her voice immersed in realisation.
Miles stepped closer to the couch she lay on. "Who?"
"Gerard." She replied.
"Tell me about him." Chandler urged.
"He'd call Nicholas in the middle of the night, wanting to talk over his interpretation of certain passages. He saw things that weren't there –the end of days."
When was this?" Miles asked.
"Months ago, he took his family and some of the congregation, and left the church. They still stand outside, giving out leaflets." She said.
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Chandler and Miles hurriedly followed the two young people they had seen giving out leaflets. They turned around the corner into an alleyway where their targets had gone and saw a dead end.
"We've lost them. We should've stayed closer." Chandler said.
"We can't have done, it's a dead end." Miles protested before looking down at the ground. "Boss." He pointed to the manhole.
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A rat scurried past as they climbed down the ladder.
"Well it's not as wet here." Miles said to the DI wiping his hands.
"It still stinks." Chandler complained before Miles put a hand on his arm to silence him as they heard a noise.
"Down this way." Miles said.
"The first victim was a charity runner, then a woman who cared for the elderly, then a virgin, and then a man of God." Chandler said as they walked.
"So?"
"Well it's an escalation, isn't it? Each victim is more perfect than the LAST!" The end of his sentence came out with a cry of surprise as a nearby open pipe spontaneously poured water down his leg. "Damn it!"
"It'll wash off Boss." Miles assured him.
"No." Chandler hastily took his coat off and looked at it. "God, it's ruined." He threw it down a passageway and wiped his trouser leg with his scarf.
"Boss." Miles said as they heard the noise again.
Chandler dropped his scarf and they headed in the direction of the noise. Chandler manoeuvred his body to avoid the water dripping from the ceiling. Don't let it touch you.
"Miles." He whispered, peering through a grid, he could he singing voices coming from the other side.
"It comes off." Miles said as he pulled the grid off and put it to the side. Chandler stared incredulously at him like he picked up a building. Unfortunately, Chandler was standing in front of another open pipe and this one decided to pour generous amounts of sewage all over him. Chandler jumped back his body felt like it was going to violently convulse with repulsion and he want to vomit. He was in shock, couldn't form proper sentences, only gasps and unintelligible sounds came out of him.
"Don't think about it!" Miles said, grabbing him.
"I can't…" Chandler shrilled, finally able to say something, but what he wanted to say was that he could barely think at all, much less control what he thought of.
"Just keep moving, keep moving." Miles pushed him along gently and he crawled through the entrance, shaking and whimpering. He got out of the way so Miles could follow and pulled off his blazer, only to keel over and hurl. Before he had time to catch his breath he was tearing off his tie and shirt. His entire body shuddering as his trembling fingers hastened to free him from the soiled fabric. When his shirt hit the floor he pulled put his handkerchief and wiped his face, the world around him going blank, the only thing in existence was the filth on him.
"Boss." Miles called him back to Earth and they scurried over the hide by the entrance of the chapel. Chandler sat on the floor and continued wiping desperately.
"Please." A little boy on the altar called out. "Dad, you don't have to do this." He pleaded with a shaky voice; the two men by the entrance could hear the tears in his voice.
"It'll be ok." The man assured, but he didn't sound convinced himself. "It won't hurt, God loves you, and he has asked for you, and the angels will come and they will carry you to him. You will be by his side, because you will have saved the world." The crying man said to his son. He picked up a large knife and called out "Will an angel of the Lord, stay my hand!"
Chandler turned around and saw the fear in the man eyes; he knew what he had to do.
"Stop!" He called out and appeared in the chapel, standing at his full height, his arms out-stretched. Sunlight burst through the windows and chose to shift so that it fell onto him. The bright rays illuminating the pale white skin, making it seem as if it were made of light itself. "Don't; don't take your son's life."
Everyone stared at him in complete silence. Miles stayed where he was, holding his breath, waiting to come out in case something happened.
"It is the messenger!" Gerard said. "Be not afraid, it is he, and the sins of the chosen have been washed away."
The people in the chapel burst into elation and cried out as they got on their knees before Chandler who couldn't comprehend what was going on, his face twitched slightly and he could hear the bearded man saying something. Thankfully, the man had now dropped his knife and was hugging his son.
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Chandler hung the suit up on the wall, he was shivering, but not from cold. He clawed the plastic cover off the suit and then ran his hands up and down the fabric, calming himself and breathing deeply, and he stopped shivering.
He went over to the sink and took his watch off. He suddenly feared that the water would be black again, which caused his face to violently twitch once, before he turned the tap on. The water was clear. He filled the sink and his shaking hands hovered above the water. He was breathing quickly, almost laughing, and he sunk his hands in. A wave of relief crashed over him and he revelled in the bliss as he brought the water to his face, warm droplets cascading down his smooth, now relaxed skin.
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Chandler came out of the men's room and as he neared the incident room, everyone in it started to clap and cheer.
"No, no come on, this was a team effort. I should be applauding all of you." He shook each of their hands, congratulating them.
Kent stood to the side, mustering the courage to say something he wanted to for a long time.
"Sir, a few of us are going to the pub…bit of a celebration, would you like to join me –us?" he said.
"I'd love to." Chandler smiled.
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Chandler was seated at the bar by himself, nursing a Scotch when he looked up to see a curly head approach him.
"I told you, I knew you'd think of something. Well done."
"You believed in me even when I didn't. Thank you, Kent."
"Not a problem Sir."
"You've actually always been kind to me; you gave me chalk when everyone else refused to help me."
"It's chalk." Kent shrugged.
"It was so much more than chalk, thank you for it."
Kent heart sped up at the way his DI looked at him, the gratitude was overwhelming. He gave Kent a charming smile that reached all the way to his gorgeous eyes.
Kent took a deep breath before taking the plunge, leaning forward; he placed his lips on Chandler's. They were so soft Kent could hardly believe they were real, they moved against his and the blond lifted a hand to cup Kent's cheek. They broke apart and were both red in the face.
"I-I um…" Chandler said nervously and Kent's heart sank. He regrets it.
Chandler looked to see if anyone had seen that, no one had, he turned back to Kent. "I'd like to discuss this, but not where people are. We should go somewhere private."
Kent nodded, crestfallen.
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Oh that's going to bruise…not that I mind
"Oh Joe." Kent moaned as Chandler began to grind himself against him. Kent's fingers fumbled with Chandler's shirt buttons so that they could graze the smooth skin. He needed more, and his hands moved to touch the skin further south.
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Hazel eyes opened to see a room that wasn't his, smell a scent that wasn't his, but that he knew just as well as his own. That combined smell of cologne, soap, and tiger balm. It was the most arousing of aromas, and he wanted to wake up to it every morning. His head rose and fall without him moving it, and he noticed his pillow had a soft casing, but firm underneath, yet it was surprisingly comfortable. Chandler's bare chest.
"Good morning." His DI smiled.
"I was afraid you'd reject me last night."
"Don't be ridiculous, I'd never reject you." His boss smiled and kissed him. "Well done, Buchan." He said and Kent was brought back to reality. He was in the incident room, and Chandler was shaking hands with Buchan, who was standing close to Kent. He gathered his wits before turning to Chandler.
"Sir, a few of us are going to the pub…bit of a celebration, would you like to join me –us?" he said.
"I'd love to." Chandler smiled.
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Chandler ripped the note to shreds when he heard the news.
He sat in his office stewing in anger and frustration until Kent came in.
"Sir, I was wondering if you were coming, we're um, we're still going."
"No. I don't feel in the mood to celebrate anymore." Chandler said coldly.
"You still solved the case sir."
"Yes but again, I've failed to keep them alive!" He replied, his face red he pulled his tiger balm and rubbed it on his temples.
"Still…"
"No! I failed again! I don't need people telling me that it's okay, because it isn't!" Chandler slammed his hand on the desk. "So I'd appreciate it if you would just let me be by myself!"
Too busy staring at his desk; he failed to see the look of pure agony of Kent's face, it was replaced by anger and then masked completely. "Alright Sir, goodnight." He said in his most professional voice.
Kent gripped the handle tightly and shut the door quietly.
Chandler inhaled deeply and cleared his head, suddenly, he felt weighed down with guilt from what he said. "Kent I'm sorry!" He ripped his door open and called out, but Kent was gone.
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Kent made his way downstairs, He rejected you… you're worthless. Shut up! Give up, and give in to the need. No! I won't. You know you want to, and you know you will. I will not. He struggled again to fight the urge to scratch himself, he didn't know why he was so obsessed with doing it, and how he became addicted so fast, all he knew was that he had to stop. It didn't matter that Chandler rejected him, did it?
He gripped the railing as he descended the stairs so that he wouldn't scratch. The cool metal bar, gliding on his skin as he walked seemed to calm him. He finally exited the building, having told the others he didn't feel like going to the pub, he stepped out into the chilly air, hoping it would keep his mind clear. He climbed onto his moped and drove home, the voice following him all the way.
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He put his helmet on his coffee table and sighed. Come on, what choice do you have? I could choose not to do it. Yeah but you wouldn't feel any better if you didn't. Would I feel better if I did? You'll have to do it and see. No. You have to do it; can't you hear your skin screaming for it? Kent shivered, he could hear it, but that didn't mean he would give in.
He pulled out a beer from his fridge, just to give his hands something to do. He took a sip, and then ran his fingers up and down the glass, pretending it was his skin, and that the cool condensation was his sweat, invading the gaps between his fingers. He rejected you. You have to do it. Come on, it'll feel so good, like you're peeling away your troubles. His breathing became more elevated as he started to peel the label off, happy that he found a distraction, until it unexpectedly tore clean off, and he before he had time to blink, he threw the bottle on the floor and burrowed into his shirt. He clawed at his skin whilst a rain of glass splashed back upwards in slow-motion from the impact it made with the floor.
That's right, feels good doesn't it? Keep going.
Kent moaned as his nails conquered more of his body, leaving thin, long marks behind. His fingertips were soon embedded in his flesh. He clawed harder and dragged his right hand from his left shoulder, down to the right side of his ribcage whilst his left hand was making a slow and arduous journey across his slim waist; his nails snagged the trail of hair on his lower abdomen.
Oh, God yes! That's it go on! Get deeper! Scratch deeper!
The voice in his head egged him on and he obliged, hissing slightly in pain as his nails delved further, scraping his bones and his blemished skin cried out in agony and ecstasy.
It wasn't enough; he pulled his trousers off and began to violate his legs.
What are you doing? That's enough!
Kent ignored the warning voice, repeating in his mind's ear. He kept going, scratching his skin off. He needed to get it off, shed it …shed it like a snake would. The darkness inside him was slithering out of him, and it hurt.
"Joe." He whispered. "It hurts, help me."
He felt as if Satan himself was caressing him like a child. It felt like fire was coursing through his veins. But it still wasn't enough. He lunged himself at the kitchen drawers, he wrenched one open and plunged his hand in and withdrew it, clutching a sharp knife.
Don't do it!
"I have to! But it's just this once!"
That's what you think. Don't do it, you've gone too far!
"But…" He picked up another knife. "These are my friends, see how they glisten." He held them up and saw how the small rays of light from the window gleamed off the metal. For some reason unknown to him, it reminded him of Chandler, and he realised what he was doing and the knives clattered to the floor, away from his shaking hands.
"What have I done?" Kent whispered, looking down at himself. He slid down the wall to sit on the floor and covered his face in his hands. He stayed like that for a few minutes before he decided he wouldn't accept defeat, he would make himself better for Chandler, and he would be there for him.
I promise, I'll help you and stay by you. I promise, Sir.
As he stared at his wall with a look of determination on his face, he didn't see the old woman watching him from outside his window.
She smiled as she saw the man's expression; he was oblivious to her and to himself, his true self. But she would help him with that; soon, the real Emerson would emerge, the poison without.
An: Did you like it? Review please!
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