Things, they are a-changing.
I'm actually having quite a bit of fun with this one :)
Bad things do happen but they're never explicitly depicted so no need to worry!
Oh and SpaceAnJL, you're present is hiding away in here. Will become a much more important theme later on ;)
SLIDE
Her screams shattered the airwaves; Van Pelt struggled with the urge to punch the mute button.
This was not the work of The Inscrutable or Sylph. They had… class (for lack of a better word).
Nobody could believe that someone was this sick. This heinous.
To kill a woman on live broadcast. Unthinkable.
But the visuals weren't the worst. It was the sounds. The utter silence from the killer and the shocked pleading, scraping, gurgling from the victim.
She was going to die, but Van Pelt knew, she hadn't realized it yet.
Every cop had. Every nurse, ambulance officer and doctor had. Every criminal psychologist, pathologist and forensic scientist had. But not this woman, not this reporter/anchorwoman.
She hadn't realized, not yet – too focused on staying alive to ponder the outcome of a lunatic maiming you on television.
Finally, she died.
A voice now, thick with emotion, need sated.
"My plans are finally complete. This is the first step. Prepare yourselves."
Low; a hissed whisper. A promise.
The coffee cup Rigsby was holding shattered, the pressure of his clenched fist breaking through the ceramic mould.
Cho squelched the urge to throw something, the urge to yell, to scream. He was an immovable rock, a rock that waits for the right moment, that tiny pebble kick to fall upon the unsuspecting man.
He would wait. Be patient. The answers would come.
??!!??!!?!
His rage was palpable, not that Sylph expected any difference.
Calmly and with great caution Sylph approached The Inscrutable, "He knew we would be watching, knew we followed him here."
"Of course he knew." The Inscrutable spat back, anger turned to the most readably available target.
Sylph resigned to fate.
"Planned this, did you hear him. He planned this. Ever since he left the last city. Planned this for San Realisto. Do we ever change anything?" Shouting now; control slipping. Hates to be out of control. Can't handle it; unsurprising. Loss of control the only thing he cannot bear.
"Of course we change things." Voice rising now too, shouting helps no one. But The Inscrutable always professes to not care for the individual, for the small changes. He only desires the big change. The last change.
Sylph's voice cuts through his rage, the accompanying tone of anger proving to him (more than words alone) that she feels the same. She has more control than he does.
Turning suddenly, the ire deflates. They're in a back alley, waiting for the next shipment of a company they've been tracking, one that could lead them back to him. Unfortunately, the security guard watches TV in his down time. They've been watching too, while they wait.
The nemesis' newest victim on-screen, dying before their eyes. There's no point in them leaving their post to help that woman. They knew the moment the woman's eyes widened in surprise, when the dark figure moved onto the screen and the first slash of blood streaked across the pristine desk. She was dead. Nothing they could do. Police already on their way; their presence only going to create more confusion.
So they wait. Fists clenched and tongues bitten. Knowing this death is unavoidable.
The alley is damp, it hasn't rained but a water main burst. They're crouching in an inch of water. The air dewy with it; creeping up the bricks, pervading their skin and hair. Clothes specifically designed to withstand most climates, so they are not soaked.
He nods his head. He doesn't apologize. Doesn't know how anymore. Words are so… temporary.
Leans forward, head resting on her shoulder; this is the most contact he allows them to have out in the open. But he knows when they get home, when they are no longer The Inscrutable and Sylph, the night will end differently, their argument will end differently.
Tires roundly slap the asphalt. Their target is here.
More waiting. But at least their fishing expedition has been fruitful. The mix of metaphor keeping him occupied.
They follow him. Find their next lead. Return home.
Eventually they would defeat Le Rouge Jacques. The psychotic Frenchman; or at least the man who pretended to be French, or at least the man who The Inscrutable thought was using the French pseudonym to throw suspicion off him and onto the country across the seas.
The man who had been terrorising the country, not that many people knew that though. Somehow, Le Rouge Jacques had managed to keep his 'work' (for lack of a better term) out of the spotlight. That was hard to do. The Inscrutable knew. He and Sylph still hadn't figured out how that was possible. Reporters; too much like pit bulls, once they bite down, you can't shake them off, they're worse than police. At least police obey the rules.
Le Rouge Jacques was so competent local and national law enforcement didn't even know about him. Of that Sylph was sure. She'd gotten some law abiding contacts. They'd dipped into the countries many security systems and databases, there wasn't a peep. No one seemed to know of the criminal that was Le Rouge Jacques.
But The Inscrutable and Sylph had researched; they could fairly accurately place fifty-seven deaths on Rouge Jacques' shoulders. Fifty-seven gruesome and terrible deaths; twelve more that they could tie to him, but couldn't prove.
Now, the police were sometimes dense, but they weren't stupid. Someone had to be cleaning up Rouge Jacques' deeds. There was just too much evidence pointing toward the man for this to have gone unnoticed for so long.
The Inscrutable scowled. A habit picked up from Sylph.
??!!??!!?!
The trio was in shock. They were Serious Crimes, they were the unexplained cases' team, this newest madman in the city should have been theirs. But they were denied access. From the top.
They retreated to Cho's office. Confounded.
"What the hell is going on?" Rigsby whined, as best he could with his gruff voice, and huge physique.
"I don't know. But..." Cho began.
"But?" Van Pelt prompted. Cho wasn't one to drop off a sentence. He was succinct.
Cho shook his head, picked up the stapler on his desk and rattled it.
"What are you doing?" Van Pelt asked; an eyebrow quirking.
"Did you give me this?" He asked.
Rigsby shook his head, glancing at Van Pelt questioningly.
"No." She responded, intrigued by his odd manner.
"It's not mine. Mine is white." They peered at the stapler, in awe of the seemingly everyday office appliance.
The stapler in question was black, shot with purple. In fact, it reminded Cho of a certain villain who shall remain nameless. He popped the back off the stapler; little shards of round paper fell onto the desk. False snow.
Flipping the now bare stapler over he saw a note stuck to the bottom (inside the underneath of the stapler). Plucking it out, he unfolded it carefully. Rigsby quietly closed the blinds. Their team considered odd enough as it was.
Took you long enough. Come to 12/38 Calpetti Avenue, knock thrice. The Inscrutable.
"Well... damn." Cho stated.
Van Pelt and Rigsby idled over to peer at the scrap of paper, correspondence from their target. Surprising that The Inscrutable wished to talk to them, unheard of, but not unwelcome.
"Let's go." Cho said, rising quickly, pulling his dark gold trench coat from the rack and leading the way out of the building.
Are you intrigued yet?
Wow, I'm really plugging the whole 'talk to me vibe' today, aren't I? :)
Arc