Disclaimer: Sanctuary and its characters do not belong to me, I just play with them. My words, however, are my own.
Author's Note: This chapter is a transitional chapter to…gulp…whump! Wish me luck! Thanks go once again to MajorSam for her fine Beta and for the use of the letters, WF and C.
Eye for an Eye
Chapter 2: Revelations
(Copyright 2010, NoCleverSig)
He'd been lying to her for days and she knew it.
Since the night when John and she had…in her office…on her…God! She shuddered thinking about it, not only because of their complete lack of decorum, but because it was some of the most amazing sex she'd ever had. And Helen Magnus had lived a very long time.
The point was, since that evening three nights ago, John was in one of two states: either completely withdrawn, utterly sullen, gone for hours at a time, or shadowing her every move and eventually, when she'd call him on it, tearing her clothes off, the sex frantic and desperate.
It wasn't that she didn't enjoy the sex. She did. But he wasn't right, and it reminded her too much of the dark days of Whitechapel when John's mood would swing wildly and their lovemaking, while astounding, was a forewarning of the shadows that lay ahead.
She watched him now, as discreetly as possible, he sitting on the arm of the sofa in her office, Kate seated at his side. Henry was next to her, and Will sat in a chair by Helen's desk. She wasn't the only one who'd noticed the change in John. Everyone had. Kate, being his partner, said nothing. Henry, who had started teaching John the ins and outs of Sanctuary technology, looked perpetually concerned. Will was the only one who had confronted her.
"There's something going on with him, Magnus," he'd said.
"I know, Will, but he won't talk to me. I've tried. I had hoped he'd confide in you."
Will shook his head. "No, he hasn't." He hesitated. "Magnus, based on what I know of John, the way he reacts…. If I had to guess, I'd say he was scared."
Helen narrowed her eyes. "Scared of what?"
"I have no idea. You've got to speak to him. He's not opening up to me. Frankly, I'm concerned that it's impairing his judgment, putting missions, people at risk."
Helen's eyes widened, alarmed. John acting strangely toward her was one thing. John jeopardizing the work and the safety of her team was another. "Has Kate told you something?" she quizzed him.
"I'm just concerned, that's all. For him and for us," Will answered cryptically.
She nodded. "I'll talk to him today. We'll get this sorted."
The staff meeting was nearly over. Just one more bit of business to attend to.
"Kate? John? Tomorrow I need you to travel to the London Sanctuary and assist Declan with a retrieval in the UK. I'll get you more information in the morning once he sends over the files."
"Roger that," Kate nodded.
"Will? I need you to accompany me to Old City. There's been a report of what may be an abnormal in the warehouse district. You and I need to…"
"No!"
The entire teamed jumped, shocked by John's outburst. He had risen from the edge of the sofa and stood perfectly straight, fists clenched, staring at Helen who leaned against the front of her desk with her arms crossed.
"Excuse me?" Helen responded calmly, trying to maintain a pretense of professionalism between them.
"I don't want you leaving the Sanctuary without me, Helen." His voice was loud and firm and extremely out of character. He never publicly questioned her when it came to Sanctuary business. A private discussion might occur between them later, perhaps, but never in front of her team. It was an understanding they shared.
"John," Magnus worked to keep her voice level. "You and Kate need to go to the UK. This is a simple mission that Will and I can handle quite easily on our…"
"No!" He shouted it this time.
The room fell silent. Will shot Magnus a furtive glance. She acknowledged it, nodding at him almost imperceptibly, and swallowed.
"Right….Everyone, if you'll please excuse us for a moment."
Kate, Henry, and Will filed out of the room. Will was the last to leave, giving Magnus a look that told her he'd be close if she needed him, and shut the door.
Helen pushed herself off the desk and walked straight toward John, hands on her hips, the anger mounting inside her.
"What the bloody hell was that?"
John took a deep breath, his voice low. "I don't want you leaving the Sanctuary without me, Helen. It's not…." He stopped.
"It's not what?" Magnus demanded.
He stood silent for a moment, searching her eyes, his expression anguished. After a moment he reached out and laid his palms on the side of her face, crushing his lips to hers. Helen put her hands on his chest and shoved him hard, throwing him off balance, making him stumble and land on the sofa behind him.
"Stop it!" she yelled. "Just stop it! I want an explanation and I want it now!"
John rose slowly, glaring at her. She unconsciously took a step back. In that moment he looked so much like Jack, she had to close her eyes to wipe the vision from her mind. Whitechapel…the glint of a blade in the gaslight…blood gushing from a woman's freshly slit neck…a gunshot.
"John…" she pleaded, opening them again.
His eyes cleared. He took a step toward her then wrapped his arms around her so tightly she could barely breathe. He was shaking.
Dear God! What is happening? Helen thought. She moved her arms instinctively to circle his waist, to comfort him. "John, please, let me help you…"
"You can't, love. Not with this," he murmured, caressing her hair in long, rhythmic strokes.
"John, if the Sanctuary, if my team is at risk... If you're at risk, I need to know," she whispered, her breath against his neck.
She could feel him shaking his head. "I just need a little more time, Helen. Please...," he begged.
"Time for what?" she questioned, confused, pulling away to look at him.
"To deal with this. Just a little more time. Until then, promise me you'll stay here. Don't go anywhere without me."
"John…."
"Please!" he pleaded.
His intensity shocked her. "All right. You have today, but tonight we talk."
He stroked her hair once more, smiled, and stepped away from her.
"I'll be back soon."
"John!" she shouted, but he was already gone.
He returned hours later. She was asleep. A rarity for her, John thought. She lay in the dark of their bed, the covers surrounding her, a pillow gripped between her arms where he would normally lay, the dim light from the window casting the room in shadow.
John Druitt was scared; frightened beyond measure. Not for himself, his life be damned! Rather he feared for everything he had regained after so long in limbo, and mostly he feared for her.
She was everything.
For so long he had been the hunter, now he was the hunted. Although he had attempted to turn the tables these last few days, to reestablish his role as predator, he'd discovered…nothing.
He understood she was worried, confused. He knew he would have to tell her… eventually. But not yet. Not now. He had revealed so many of his secrets to her on that cold morning in Hyde Park, a few months ago now, and she had accepted him regardless. He had confessed his guilt then, purged himself, he believed. But he'd been wrong. His crimes were too deep, too damning.
They would follow him to the grave and no doubt beyond.
He thought about leaving. If he left, would the evil chase after him and withdraw from her and his home? If he was sure it would, he would go, no matter the pain. And there would be pain...eternally. But he was uncertain, so he remained: too scared to stay, too frightened to flee.
In limbo once again.
He removed his duster, folded it, and laid it over the chair of the desk. Then he unbuttoned his shirt, removed his shoes, his socks, his pants, and slipped into bed beside her, cradling her in his arms. She moved against him instinctively, sighing in her sleep. Fear of losing her coupled with desire to have her overtook him, and he tightened his hold on her waist, feeling her warmth, her curves, through her thin gown.
Did she understand how much he loved her? Did she comprehend what would happen to him if she was lost?
He'd been trying to tell her for days. Loving her was the only way he knew to ease the fear that shot like ice through his veins.
He nuzzled her hair with his face, breathing deep the smell of her, lavender and spice. She was so beautiful. He wanted, needed her so badly.
He reached his hand down to pull her gown up, slowly sliding it above her thighs, her waist, trying not to wake her. She stirred in his arms but remained blissfully asleep, her breathing relaxed and heavy. He reached down and started stroking her, gently, softly. She shifted against him, her hips unconsciously beginning to move in rhythm to his fingers, his hand descending between her wet, warm folds. He could feel her heat, hear her breathing deepen in slumber.
His own breathing quickened, his heart raced, and he found himself erect and ready. He shifted position and slid into her gently from behind, grasping her tight about the waist. She moaned, the sound of her response to his entry making him grow even larger and hungrier for her. He changed angles behind her, placing his hands on her shoulders so he could drive deeper into her, slowly, methodically.
She moved with him, caught in that dreamlike state between sleep and waking. He removed one hand from her shoulder and reached down between her legs again to stroke her in perfect time with his rhythm. She lifted her leg instinctively to grant him access and answered him in kind, pushing back against him, their bodies in perfect unison. "John…" she murmured, slowly waking now, but saying nothing more.
After a time he gripped her shoulder tighter, his eyes closed, his breathing ragged, his pace building, his body tightening. He could feel her clenching around him as well and he stroked her faster, harder, thrusting into her over and over.
He could feel her tremble, hear her cry out as she came, feel her shudder against him. He reached his arm back up to her other shoulder, holding fast to her with both hands, shifting again so he could drive even deeper into her from behind, pounding against her, spilling himself inside her, tumbling after her, crying out as well, dropping his face into her hair.
When they were done and able to move, he pulled her back against his chest, cradling her once more. Helen reached up and held his hand, grasping it tightly to her stomach. She should get up, clean up, but something inside her told her that this moment should be savored. So she remained there, feeling him still hard inside her, his warmth spilling out from within her.
They stayed that way for a long time, neither saying anything to the other, simply holding on. John grasped her waist and she clung to his hand.
"John, what was in the envelope?" Helen finally whispered.
She felt him freeze beside her. He hadn't expected the question.
She turned to face him, forcing him to pull out of her. "John?"
"I assume Mr. Foss told you?" he asked plainly, no accusation in his voice.
Helen nodded. "He was worried, John. We all are. After this morning…yesterday morning," she corrected herself, noting the time. "He came to see me. He said you asked him to scan a large manila envelope for fingerprints but he didn't find any."
"No, he did not." John said.
"What was inside? What's going on, John? Please…."
Druitt lay on his side gazing at her. He closed his eyes and nodded, moved the covers back, and stood up, his tall, naked frame in shadow as he strode across the room. He moved to his coat and pulled something out of his inner pocket, returned to the bed, and handed it to her.
Helen sat up and turned on her bedside lamp. It was plain piece of paper, the letters cut out of headlines from a newspaper like some Hollywood crime drama.
I KNOW WHO YOUARE.
I KNOW WHAT YOU'VE DONE.
AND YOU WILL PAY.
The blood rushed to Helen's head; her heart pounded. Someone knew John Druitt was a murderer, perhaps even the Ripper.
"John, when did you get this?" she asked, trying to keep the trembling out of her voice, her hands.
He swallowed, avoiding her eyes, tucking the paper back into the envelope it came in, only his name, "JOHN DRUITT," addressed in all capital letters on the front.
"Three, four days ago…the morning of the night we spent in your office."
She nodded. It made sense now, his behavior. "That's where you've been. Searching for whoever sent this."
"Without success, unfortunately," he sighed.
"How was it delivered?" Helen asked.
"Left outside on the door step. Your manservant found it and gave it to me."
Helen sighed. Not only did the person know who John was, what crimes he'd committed, he knew where he lived, which meant he most likely knew about the Sanctuary and their work. They were all in jeopardy. That's what had scared John. That's what made him react the way he had.
"Was there anything else inside the envelope, John? Do you have any clue who it could be?" She was desperate for anything.
He looked away from her. "No," he shook his head, lying.
Helen nodded. "I'll have Henry increase security. In the meantime, we'll work with Will. He has experience with these things. His profiling abilities are astounding."
John gave her a soft smile for reassurance.
"It'll be alright." Helen said, placing a hand on his cheek. He laid his hand atop hers, turned his head into her palm and kissed it.
This time they were both pretending.
She did as Druitt asked and stayed in the Sanctuary the next day sending Kate and John to the UK and Will and Henry out to search for the abnormal in the Warehouse district. She assumed whoever it was threatening him was here in the city. John being in the UK was probably safer than remaining at home. As far as home was concerned, Henry had ramped up security, and the Big Guy was on high alert. There was little more they could do.
John and Will had begun work on a list of possible suspects, people connected to crimes John had committed who might still be alive, but the list was short. Almost all of John's victims, aside from the Cabal, had been women, most of them prostitutes with no known family or close friends. He'd been careful to kill them free of witnesses. In other words, they had no clue.
Today she had decided to spend her time researching, seeing if she could dig up something, anything on who his stalker might be. She had only one meeting to take away time from the search. Miguel de Garavilla was a financier who had made his money in pharmaceuticals. Magnus had met him at a fundraising party last year, and he had taken an interest in her work. He had contributed, generously, to her foundation ever since. The last time he'd been to the Sanctuary was three months ago for a thank you party she'd thrown for key contributors. He was in town for the week and asked if he could have a tour of her latest "acquisitions." It was a term she disdained, but she'd gained a certain tolerance for such insensitive slips from donors choosing to educate rather than irritate her financial backers.
An hour later, having made no headway in her research, a knock came at her door.
"Come," she said.
The Big Guy stood in the doorway. "Mr. de Garavilla is here to see you."
Miguel walked in; a large, handsome man in his late 40s, dressed in an Armani suit, with jet black hair and beard. Helen rose from her desk and walked around to greet him. "Miguel," she smiled, shaking his hand. He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. "Helen, you look radiant as ever!"
"Thank you. Please have a seat," she gestured to the couch.
"How have you been? How is your family?" Magnus asked.
"Fine. Everyone is well," he said with a slight South American accent. "And you? The Sanctuary is thriving, yes?"
She nodded. "Yes. We've made some interesting discoveries as of late."
"So you've said in your reports. I am anxious to see them," he replied.
"Well," she said standing, pointing at the door, "No time like the present. I'm anxious to give you the tour." Truth be told, she was anxious to get rid of him and get back to solving the more important problem at hand.
"Thank you, Helen. I know how busy you are. I appreciate you fitting me into your busy schedule," Garavilla smiled.
"Of course, anytime, you know that."
He nodded.
"Shall we?" she suggested.
"Of course, ladies first," he said, bowing and gesturing for her to take the lead.
When she did, Garavilla reached into his inner coat pocket, pulled out a syringe, and plunged it into Helen's neck. Within seconds Magnus collapsed onto the floor. Quickly, he shut the door and pulled Helen over to her desk. He reached into his inner pocket again and pulled out another, larger syringe, tucking it under his shirt sleeve. He ran to the door and opened it.
"Help! Anyone!" he yelled. "Dr. Magnus! She's collapsed!"
The Big Guy came running down the hall and flew into Magnus' office. He stopped dead in his tracks staring at Helen's lifeless form on the floor.
"I don't know what happened! She got up and then she simply collapsed. Shall I call an ambulance? What can we do?" Garavilla asked, trying to look concerned while keeping the smirk off his face.
Big Guy looked at him and then back at Magnus and ran to her side, kneeling down beside her. Garavilla pulled the syringe out from his shirt sleeve and plunged it into the hairy beast's shoulder. Biggie turned, throwing his arm across Garavilla's chest, sending him crashing into the side table and knocking him against the far wall. Garavilla lay there on the ground, dizzy, staring up as the giant Sasquatch bore down on him, his eyes full of rage, when suddenly Big Guy faltered, took another hesitant step forward, then crashed onto the ground, unconscious.
Garavilla smiled. "I sized you up pretty good, eh?" he laughed.
He got up, dusted himself off, and walked over to Magnus, towering above her. He searched through his pocket and took out a phone. "Everything's secure. Time for my guest to go for a ride."
He looked at Magnus laying there unconscious. "Stupid cunt," he growled, and kicked her hard in the ribs, her dead weight taking the force of the blow.
"Time for us to play," he grinned.
(to be continued)