Telephone Wires

Chapter 1: Lunar Canon

lu·nar adj. Of, involving, caused by, or affecting the moon, measured by the revolution of the moon, of or relating to silver.

can·on n. : An established principle: the canons of polite society. A basis for judgment; a standard or criterion. also The works of a writer that have been accepted as authentic.

Summary: A memory, a phrase, a girl, and a plan. Years later, Artemis is trapped in a psych ward and will do anything to escape.

Notes: Madison and Artemis are both eighteen. To clear things up, Madison was schizophrenic until she was seventeen, when she committed her crime. Artemis has been admitted not six months ago. Features Artemis being an evil, manipulative bastard, if not this chapter. You have been warned. This could become chaptered, but I'm going to try to end this part of it at least so that if I don't feel like continuing it, you won't be stuck with it, waiting forever. Title will be explained, maybe in this chapter. I'm writing this over a period of...a long time. Two days so far, which is a long time for me, especially just for a chapter.

This chapter is kind of messed up, so if I do any editing whatsoever it's gonna be major. Changing scenes around, writing scenes, changing POV's, etc. I might do a second girl for chapter two, who will be the exact opposite of Madison. Yes, Madison is a Mary-Sue with schizophrenic tendencies, but there's a good reason for it.

And I don't speak French.

Disclaimer: Artemis belongs to Erin Colfer. I like Artemis better than the LEP, contrary to popular opinion. And I like deep, dark fics, contrary to the most popular type of Fowl-fic. So no 'game shows' from me.


"Master Artemis," Butler's unspoken question hung in the air, doubt in his words enough to be palpable. He looked over at Artemis, who was sitting in the front seat with his eyes closed, leaned back against the leather with his eyes closed. "How long will this be?"

"I don't know, Butler," Artemis forced himself to say. "I wish I did. Hopefully Father's lawyers will get me out fairly early, if he doesn't take it into his head that I deserve to serve time for this." His voice was disgusted on the last part of the sentence. The last time Artemis had spoken to Fowl Sr., his father had been most displeased at discovering his son's criminal activities yet again.

"I partly blame myself, for being away for so long," he said to his son. "But now that I am back, I expect you to come back to legitimate activities, and I mean it, Artemis. You have to learn that you can't get out of anything."

Artemis sighed quietly. "I just hope I can get out."

Butler turned to look at his charge. "Will you be all right?"

"Besides the boredom and irritation of being constantly exposed to psychologists?" Artemis snorted. "I should be physically fine. Don't worry, Butler. I'll be out soon."

-

"Hello."

Artemis raised an eyebrow at the redhead sitting in front of him. "Do not attempt to speak to me again," he said icily. "I have more important things to do than be here, I do not belong here, and I will get out as soon as the lawyers get things worked out. Kindly remove yourself from my table before I force you to do it physically."

The redhead leaned back and smiled, crossing her legs in front of her. "Aren't you the social one," she mused. "Yes, nice to meet you too, I'm Madison, I'm doing fine, thanks. No, the weather is not nice and yes, I can't wait to get out either. So what about you?"

Artemis raised one eyebrow. "Go away," he said coldly.

"Your name?" she said cooly, impervious to his icy, unblinking stare and open hostility.

"Don't you have rubber walls to go bounce off?" he asked coldly.

"I finished my Latin this morning, worked on my language during lunch, met with my psychologist half an hour ago and exlained to her the finer points of writing novels, and beside that, my schedule is clear. I was supposed to go out with Aunt Anita this afternoon for tea and golf, but apparently there are problems with her security clearance. And no, I am not in a rubber-walled room. So, what is your name?"

"I am Artemis Fowl," he said, and even with that frosty tone there was a hint of grandeur to the way he said it.

"Finalement," Madison said, with a snort of annoyance. Finally. "I am Madison le Grante. The next question, I believe, is goes something like: So why are you in here?"

"I choose not to disclose that information," Artemis said coldly.

Madison raised an eyebrow. "Embarrassed? Don't be. This is just the rich psych ward. Let me guess--you're antisocial? I know, you're marveling at my amazing powers of deduction. An idiot savant, if I don't miss my mark. And your name is Fowl. As in the famous criminal Fowls. So did they catch you on a scam?"

"It was an underestimation," he said, his voice tight. "I was betrayed by a source."

Madison sat back, her expression confused and amused. "Who the hell talks like that?" she demanded, shaking her head. "Betrayed by a source? And they put you here instead of in prison."

"It is no business of yours," he said coldly. Madison spread her hands in a gesture of innocence. "And since you are so inquisitive, what reasons do you have for being here?"

"Schizophrenia and murder," she said testily. "My parents were too rich to let me go anywhere else."

"Murder?" Artemis asked, raising one eyebrow.

"It was three years ago." Her voice was tight, declaring the subject closed, but Artemis pressed on out of curiosity.

"Murder. Intentional, cold-blooded murder, not manslaughter or a passion crime," he said, looking at her, his statement half question. The flicker in her eyes confirmed it. "Why? Oh, wait," he said mockingly, "You're schizophrenic, too. The little green aliens told you to, right?"

Madison's eyes flashed dangerously. "I had a cousin for three years," she said tightly. "From the time I was fourteen. At boarding school, she was my roommate. And then, I find out she never existed."

"And the murder was linked with that," he said, not so much as a question as a statement. Madison ignored it.

"Celia--that was her name--had a father that wanted to kill her," she said, her voice condescending and scoffing, as if at Artemis's ignorance of the subject. He bristled. "She claimed that a new teacher at the school was her father, and she was so afraid of him that I told her I'd kill him to keep her safe." Madison's voice was dead. "And I did."

There was a short silence. "So there you have it, the entire bloody history," she said flatly. "And I believe the next question is: So, horrible weather we're having, isn't it?"

"And you didn't feel remorse for what you did," Artemis said, his tone objective. "Because Celia meant everything to you, right?"

"Yes," Madison said, and her voice was very soft.

"Interesting." Artemis sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers. Madisdon glared at him.

"That's very annoying."

"It is my habit," he said, with a finality. "What triggered the schizophrenia? Stress? School?"

Madison shrugged. "Both. The school was horrible," she said, and her voice was contemptous. "Full of sniveling gossips, petty bubble-gum chewing blonde bitches and pretty boys who didn't know the difference between a date and a rape. Teachers that didn't give a damn so long as they got their paychecks. Homework every night, drugs on campus, weekly letters from home pressuring to be more, to be better. Always, always, someone nagging at you that you weren't good enough." Her voice turned bitter and she glared at Artemis. "Everyone hates you at prep schools."

"True enough," Artemis acknowledged, having been the victim of those crimes too many times. "Except for Celia," he added on an afterthought, staring at her thoughtfully.

"Yes," she said simply, and leaned back in her chair to look right at him.

Artemis watched her carefully. Her eyes were watching him carefully, and he could almost see her mind working.

"And I suppose that you liked it better being schizophrenic," he said, his tone suddenly business-like. "I don't know. I have no disorders of that type."

"Everyone lives in their own version of a fantasy world," Madison said, her eyes watching them. "Mine just got too real. And you...I think that you live in a fantasy world where you can do whatever you like."

Artemis smiled, vampiric. "But for me, it's the truth," he said, cold and hard. His dark eyes met her pale ones and they both stared, cold and intense, a sort of staring contest--a challenge mixed with a mutual hate--of school, of psychologists, of mental disorders, of the law--of life.

"And it's three o'clock," Artemis said after a moment, and shut his notebook with a smile, breaking the stare. "It was nice talking with you, Madison le Grante. I'll be late for my psychologist, so please excuse me."

"I shall see you later," Madison said, and Artemis left the common room, Madison's pale eyes on him the entire way out.

-

Artemis stared at the ceiling bleakly. Bedtime was one of the few things they did enforce, nevermind the fact that he was insomniac. Bedtime was for everyone, every night precisely at ten. No matter that he was eighteen, old enough to check himself out...if he weren't here for criminal activity.

A clock in the hall was ticking. It was an old, mahogany grandfather clock, because, after all, this wasn't just a psych ward. It was a 'Home'. Where the rich sent their eccentric old relatives. Artemis snorted. If you were poor, you were mad, if you were rich, you were eccentric. And could get away with almost anything.

He mentally cursed himself again, then stopped. Nothing good had come of that, and nothing good ever would. But there was nothing here. This place was so closed in. He hadn't seen a computer in six months, no books except what they brought him. His mind had nothing to plot, nothing to manipulate.

That damned ticking was so loud. Over and over, steadier and steadier, like a pounding in his mind, fencing in his thoughts, pushing them in circles. His eyes roamed the room restlessly. White walls. White ceiling. White floor. White sheets and white comforter on the bed, where he lay. White moonlight coming through his window. It made his skin itch, the moonlight, glowing so pale white. Nothing had color here, nothing had anything which he could use to pry his way out. His fingernails hadn't been manicured in forever, and he dug them into his palms, edging towards the shadows on his bed. The moonlight wouldn't work, it never worked, it always made his skin itch and his eyes hurt every time he tried to read by it. Or write.

No, he couldn't write. Everything he wrote down here was read, read and analyzed by psychologists. Black lead on white paper, no ink pens because they're too sharp, you know, and these are dangerous people. To themselves. Where was Butler? Butler always trusted him, trusted him implicitly. With his life, with Butler's life, with Juliet's life. Had he been trusted with a life? It seemed so long ago, he could barely remember. He couldn't think in the midst of all this white.

Desperately, he closed his eyes, figures burning onto the inside of his eyelids. Red and green. Red hair and green clothes...he opened his eyes, angry again.

Every night, it seemed like, he always saw the same images inside his head. Red hair, green clothes. Strange images and memories caught at his brain that made no sense. Mirrored lenses, a tinfoil hat, red hair. Everything around here put him in a loop. Memories, dreams, thoughts. He couldn't do anything here. There was no way to research anything, search for anything, no way to make money, no way to plan or plot. Too much damned white.

Slowly, he tried to search for his chi as Butler had taught him, but it didn't make sense. He couldn't find it without Butler, not when Butler was a million miles away and unable to help him at all. There was no calm place--his mind was one solid sheet of white, swirling and blocking everything out. White ceiling leads to white walls, ticking keeps time to the gentle pulsation of the white luna, lunar, lunacy moonbeams on his itching skin—

Abruptly he stood up, pacing the small room. Red hair. Well, that didn't mean anything. Lots of people had red hair. That French girl he'd talked to today—Madison—even she had red hair. He'd been dreaming about her? Had he even been asleep?

Restless, Artemis tried the handle of his door and found it locked, unsurprisingly. Bolted inside, only unlockable from the outside. Not even a keyhole in here. It would be unlocked in five hours, when they opened all the doors at five o'clock. Until then, he was useless.

There was nothing to manipulate here. Nothing at all. So, logically, there was only one thing to do. Find a way out. How? Manipulation…but he couldn't work with computer systems, not anymore. The only thing left to work with was…people.

Artemis breathed out, grabbing onto the thought and holding it like it was his chi. He could manipulate people. It was just a different type of computer program. What did people believe? Innocence, acting, understanding, caring…Artemis grimaced, but didn't hesitate. Humans were programmed, too. A Fowl stopped at nothing to reach his goals. This was just one more obstacle. How to relate to people…

-

"Mmm, ice cream. A belle nourriture." Madison fell into the chair in front of Artemis, bouncing on the comfortable cushions. The room was furnished comfortably--after all, this was for the insanely rich. Armchairs, wooden tables, bookshelves filled with psychologist-approved books that were mentally uplifting, lamps. Madison was holding a childish plastic bowl filled with the vanilla-flavored sweet, the beautiful food, as she called it, with a spoon in her other hand.

Artemis glanced up at her. "A childish delight."

"But a lovely one." Madison grinned and put a spoonful in her mouth, savoring it. "Don't tell me that you don't like ice cream."

"The food here is atrocious," Artemis said disdainfully.

"It's vanilla bean," Madison said temptingly, waving it underneath his nose. Artemis gave her a Look and she put it in her own mouth. "More for me, then."

"Do you have a purpose to this conversation?" Artemis asked, icy as usual.

"Boredom, Artemis. I imagine you're bored here quite frequently."

"The mental challenges and entertainment are quite inadequate," he allowed.

Madison laughed again. "Do you listen to yourself talk? S'allume ! C'est hilarant! No one speaks like that."

"I am glad you find me hilarious," Artemis said icily. "I, however, do not consider myself to be so."

Madison grinned, but didn't say anything, opting for ice cream instead. Artemis bent his head back over his notebook, his pencil moving across the paper as he wrote in narrow, thin handwriting, Madison watching him curiously.

"What are you writing?" she asked.

"Notes," Artemis said, still looking down. "Plans. Organizing my thoughts."

Madison swallowed the last spoonful of ice cream, letting the spoon clatter back into the bowl as she set it on the table. "Chess?"

"Excuse me?"

"This is boring. Would you like to play chess?"

Artemis looked up as she pulled a board from a nearby table and slammed it in front of him. "I'm not very good," she said, spinning it around to give him white and setting up the pieces. "I'm not one for chess, to tell you the truth. Too mathematical." She smiled, more a showing of teeth than an actual smile. "But you, you're the criminal mastermind, right? What is it you say? I don't know, some vaguely criminal mastermind thingy." She waved a hand with a queen in it and set it down on the board.

"'Thingy'?" Artemis said coldly. "Your stupidity is overwhelming. I won't lower myself to play chess with you."

"Merde d'haute naissance," Madison said, and threw the queen at his head.

-

"Mythologically, Artemis was the goddess of the moon," Madison said, and Artemis looked down at her with no expression. She was lying outside, flat on the concrete, red hair spread like a halo around her. "In the Catholic faith, Mary is portrayed to be a sort of Goddess. Her pagan counterpart would be The Mother Goddess, who was portrayed to be goddess of the moon, which governed women, originating on the basis that a woman's menstrual cycle matched up with the lunar calendar. Incidentally, the word 'lunacy' comes from 'lunar', meaning 'moon', and someone thought to be a lunatic was thought to have spent too much time out in the moon."

Her pale eyes shone in the moonlight, and she focused them on Artemis. "Les femmes, la lune, la folie. Que fait-qui vous?"

"It doesn't make me anything," Artemis said. "My personality or mind is not deterimined by women or the moon, and I am not insane. Ancient mythology has no bearing on who I am."

"I disagree," Madison said, pronounced. "Names, unconsciously, or consciously, play a part in who you are. Every name must be lived up to something. Artemis was the goddess of the moon, the hunt, and fertility. I'd say you're only a third fufilled, at best."

"Basing a knowledge of a person by their name alone is a highly sentimental, highly illogical language weakness, which is also portrayed in mythology," he added wryly. "A name has nothing to do with a person."

"You could do with some language skills," she mused. "Artemis, cold and precise. A plotter, a planner, cold and focused in intent. A hunter. I'd say you have the lunar thing down, but fertility is a bit out there. You could be gay, of course..." she trailed off and started laughing uncontrollably. "C'est une impossibilité véritable, imaginer un s'inhumain infatué avec n'importe quel sexe. I can't see you with any girls, much less any guys."

"It is no business of yours," he said icily, while Madison was still laughing.

"Donc ironique! So cold, so pale, so far away. For you to show emotion, Artemis, would indeed be once in a blue moon. But I think it does happen."

"It doesn't matter how you feel," Artemis said, his tone flat. "Emotions are frivilious--it is how you react and think that is important."

"Look at you." Madison shook her head, then spread her hands out to include the entire sky above them. "Look at that, Artemis. It is the sky. It is cold, glittering perfection, but even the stars have emotions. What are you, a computer? Emotions are what make us human."

"Stars do not have emotions," Artemis said icily. "It's an overpersonification of inanimate objects that has no purpose besides to serve the fancies of the dreamer. Human is not something one should aspire to be, either. What have humans to be proud of?"

"Donc le froid," she said softly, almost too softly for Artemis to hear. "You are right, of course. What have humans to be proud of?" Her voice was grand, mocking, as she stared up into the sky. "This. Look, Artemis. Look at the sky. We have chained it, we have locked it out. We have put telephone wires across the sky. That is what you are proud of."

"I want to offer you a chance to get out of here," he said quietly. Madison was silent, looking up at the sky. "It is simple. I have contacts on the outside, but every form of communication is severely limited. I need an ally inside this place, and you are one of the most lucid. You help me, we both get out. I never see you again, you never see me again. We're both free."

Madison rolled over, a small smile quirking at the corners of her mouth. "A friendship? You're proposing a mutually beneficial friendship?"

"Ally," Artemis said coldly. "And after this, we never see each other again." Never see again? The phrase tugged something at his memory, but it was cast from his mind as Madison spoke.

"To get out of this? Presque n'importe quoi, le chéri, presque n'importe quoi. Almost anything," she repeated in English, fervently. "Lunar canon. Artemis de déesse, brillant dans le clair de lune, venant me secourir ici."

"Good," Artemis said briskly, and stood up, the moonlight indeed shining on his white shirt and pale skin."We start at dawn."