A.N: I apologise for the late update. I've been quite busy with university, and as I'm doing a drama course there's a lot of rehearsing and extra-curricular stuff. I've had this planned for quite a while, it was difficult actually writing it as I'd got lots of ideas and wasn't sure how to put them down. I will warn you that the next chapter will most likely be the last. Thank you for reading this far.

Something For the Rest of Us

Chapter Four

He felt dizzy. He hadn't even been running for long, a half hour or so. He loved running, had done since he was a kid. He used to sneak out and just run around the sewers for hours. He couldn't really explain why he liked it, he just did. Sprinting through the jungle was best. He could go for miles listening to the squelch of damp earth beneath his feet and feeling a sprinkling of sun on his shell.

He hated running through snow. It turned to slosh and made his feet feel like blocks of ice. It was slippery too, he'd nearly broke his neck a few times. Still, it was harder to leave tracks when the snow was just grey slops.

He hoped Raph wasn't following him. He didn't want another confrontation with him, not when he had such an important task. He didn't think Raph would do that anyway, he was the live and let live type usually. Besides, it wasn't like he could get into any more trouble. He was already in Splinter's bad books.

He almost laughed out loud at the irony. Within days he'd destroyed that paradisical son image. If he'd have been told that he would start sneaking outside, carelessly assaulting his younger brother for no good reason, blatantly disobeying his father, he wouldn't have believed it at all. But he supposed there was a limit to everything. His good behaviour was bound to falter some time.

He'd deal with that in the morning. Confront Raph and draw up a compromise or something. Keep a cool head and refuse to take the bait. The guy couldn't complain at that surely. He would be giving in, giving him what he wanted. Raph would be happy and he'd finally catch a break.

But for now, he'd go to Queen's Estate. He wanted answers, and Taryn's sister was his only lead. He didn't even know if she still lived there, but it was a start. It was not a nice block, he knew. He couldn't quite imagine the slight, plain girl against the crumbling brickwork and graffiti but she had indeed lived, and died, there.

It was an hour's run from April's, in a district they frequented often. It was a well-known spot for drug dealers and gang wars. There was always some sort of trouble going on and they were always the ones to clean it up. No doubt the Nightwatcher had become a familiar face there.

Leo pushed all thoughts of Raph out of his head and carried on, he still had a long ways to go yet. He had to be careful, had to go the long way around. Many of the rooftops were littered with obscene, blinding Christmas lights and he couldn't find himself in the glare of them in case he was spotted. As he neared Anya Walker's neighbourhood however, the decorations were getting cheaper and sparser.

Queen's Estate had barely any at all. Ragged strips of faded tinsel lined a couple of windows. One tacky Santa silhouette flickered in a window on the top floor. The place looked empty. Most of the flats had dark, broken windows, ripped grey curtains swung gently in the breeze. A few on the bottom floors had lights. It was eerily quiet, no music, no voices, no people, no cars. Just the screaming of the wind.

He leapt down lightly, wondering which one, if any, belonged to Anya Walker. He didn't know where she was, jail for all he knew. But there had been no more articles in the news archives detailing any arrests. She might have moved long ago, could even be dead. Somewhere, a baby began to cry. Only one way to find out.

He crept through the shadows towards the front doors of the block of flats, but he need not have bothered, there wasn't a soul in sight. To the left were rows of buzzers for each flat, though only a couple had names beside them. He lightly traced them with his finger, hardly daring to breathe, searching, searching. His breath caught painfully in his throat. Anya Walker, flat thirty four. She still lived here.

He'd found her. Now what to do? He couldn't march up the steps and hammer down her door. The locket, that was all he wanted. He couldn't afford to get wrapped up in this any further. He'd have to swallow his anger, his pride, and leave her be. There would be a reason why she wasn't sentenced. He had no right to play God.

He peered through the doors, squinting past the grime. There were four more inside, each one leading to someone's home. He retreated and mentally did the maths. He nodded to himself, satisfied with his answer, and edged around the back, careful to scuff out his trail as he went. Hopefully some more snow would fall in the night and disguise it better.

It was getting colder, he was sure of it. Shivering, he tilted his head upwards to count floors. He didn't know what he was going to do when he got in, but he'd figure that out when he got there. Gracefully he swung himself up onto the balcony of the first floor, wincing when the frozen metal groaned under the sudden weight. He paused nervously, but no one looked out of their window. The baby stopped wailing.

Slowly he made his way up each ladder, floor by floor, feet crunching the untouched snow. He cursed the wintry weather. This would have been so much easier if they weren't in the midst of December. Finally, he made it to the eighth floor, very near the top of the building. He gulped anxiously and made a mental note not to look down.

He wiped the frost from a window, thankful to see the entrance before him led to the lobby of that floor. He was starting to feel a little jittery, probably a mixture of nerves and the chill. He tried the handle, cold and stiff, but not locked. It opened easily and without a sound, someone used this often.

It was warmer inside, but dark. Just one light blinked dimly in the corner. This was stupid, he realised. What was he going to do, pick the lock and stumble into her front room? That was just asking for trouble. But what choice did he have? He had no way of scaling the wall to reach one of the outside windows. Besides, looking at the way the bricks were disintegrating, he didn't fancy his chances. He should have waited, planned this better. He would have to be on his guard.

Swiftly, he slid into the shadows created by the niche of flat thirty four's door and that of thirty five. Reaching out, he rapped three times on the hard wood, sharply and urgently, before quickly withdrawing his arm. He took a deep intake of air, mentally preparing himself for who might answer the door.

It took them a while, but he waited patiently, hearing the scurry of footsteps and the tumble of locks. The door slowly opened, just a crack at first, revealing a round bloodshot eye, but then further until a whole woman emerged, small and slight. Leo didn't look at her face.

She hesitantly peered around, eyes wide in panic, before fully stepping outside. She glanced around, fear turning into confusion. She even took a few steps into the lobby, peeping down the stairs to see if her visitor had decided to flee. She didn't notice the ninja slip behind her into her apartment. She shuddered, not entirely due to the cold, and hurried inside, drawing her faded silk gown tighter against herself.

Leo had already slunk into the darkened corner of the large, dully lit room, his well-trained eyes scanning the vicinity. It was open plan, a kitchenette to his left, a dining table and chairs to his right and the living area before him. There were three other doors, one past the kitchenette, and two together in the hallway, probably bedrooms. The place stunk of mould and smoke and cat urine.

Greying wallpaper covered the walls, peeling and stained in some places. The furniture was dated, dirty, dusty. A lamp next to the couch cast the only light, showing a musty, threadbare carpet. His stomach churned sickeningly. Used syringes were dotted on the floor with an equal amount of baby toys and diapers.

He had to grit his teeth to quell the unexpected rage that boiled within him. The crying baby from earlier. How could anyone raise a child in this kind of environment? It nauseated him, the sheer, selfish stupidity of this woman. The anger he felt over Taryn's murder paled in comparison to this.

He watched her come down the hallway into the light and nearly found himself growling. There was no mistake, this was Taryn's younger sister. There was the same straight, black hair, full red lips and dark eyes. But where Taryn was slim, this woman was gaunt, sallow skin stretched across her cheekbones. She was malnourished, sick even. Leo could see the deep purple rings underneath her eyes.

She headed straight for the counter, head bent and focussed. She looked old, he noticed, a lot older than twenty eight years. Old and haggard. But he didn't feel sorry for her, not in the slightest. An rational thought he had vanished. This woman hadn't changed one bit. Murdering her own sister hadn't brought anything home, and for that he loathed her.

"Nice night," He commented dryly.

She jumped out of her skin and turned to face him, clearly terrified. Her eyes frantically searched the darkness but failed to identify anything other than his bulky, intimidating shadow. She clenched the grubby counter with a white, bony, shaking hand.

"Andrew? I...I told you. I ain't got your money," She stammered, voice barely more than a whisper. Her voice was hoarse, gravelly, completely unlike her sister's.

"I'm not Andrew," He replied gravely, watching her in disdain. She was probably in no end of debt too, if money was the first thing she thought he was after.

"Who are you? Who sent you?" She demanded in a panic. Leo grinned darkly. She grimaced at the flash of white in the blackness.

"Taryn,"

She hissed through her teeth, actually took a step back. He had to laugh at her face twisted in horror. It was like something from a horror movie, Mike would be in his element. She made several attempts to speak, her voice cracking and failing in her throat.

"St...stop tricking me," She whispered, frozen.

"Taryn sent me. She wants back what you stole from her, Anya," He spoke her name with particular menace, enjoying her frightened gasp.

"You're lying!" Came her screech.

The baby in another room instantly began wailing horrifically. It took just a split-second. In the moment his eyes were torn in the child's direction, it's mother dived desperately for him. A silver kitchen knife glinted in the shadows. He stepped back in shock, unable to think clearly. She was wild, crying and moaning in frenzy.

Her swipes were erratic and berserk, causing him to stumble backwards. He grabbed her wrists tightly but she struggled and snarled like a woman possessed. He leaned back to avoid that nasty serrated blade and ended up tripping on a misplaced baby rattle. His feet slipped from underneath him and there was an almighty crash as they fell into the dining table. It splintered and shattered under their weight.

He hissed sharply as he felt the ice-cold metal nip easily through his thin coat and the web of muscle on his left bicep as if it were made of butter. He yanked himself free and seized the weapon, tossing it blindly into the corner. She wrenched herself out of the tangle of wood and limbs and clambered backwards into the middle of the room and back into the light, panting heavily. Slowly, he climbed to his feet, kicking wood aside.

"Who are you?" She howled, chest heaving. The baby was still bawling.

"I'm your sister's messenger," He responded solemnly.

He briefly touched his arm, felt blood. He wasn't too worried, it seemed shallow and didn't sting much. He'd just have to be careful not to let it drip anywhere. She began to weep pitifully, curling her arms tightly around her knees, rocking backwards and forwards. No doubt withdrawal had brought on the hysteria.

"You don't understand. What would you have done?" She moaned, tears staining her cheeks.

"You should have known she'd want it back," He scoffed at her pathetic state.

"He was going to kill me!" She screamed, clutching at her throat and scowling in his direction. Leo growled deeply, finally losing his temper.

"Rather let him kill you!" He shouted furiously, nearly forgetting himself and storming into the light. Instead he took a step backwards and spoke calmly. "Rather let him kill you than strangle your own sister," He spat.

"She deserved it! She deserved it," She choked into her knees, repeating it to herself over and over.

"Give it up. Do you realise how ridiculous you look?" He jeered in disbelief.

This seemed to annoy her, unlike his other words. Her head snapped up and she glared hotly in his direction, pulling so hard at her threadbare gown he thought it might tear. He noticed now the ugly abrasions on her bare legs. Glass rattled as she knelt up and then stood on her feet. Her chestnut brown eyes were red raw.

"What does she want then? What on earth could my precious big sister want that she couldn't drag herself from the grave to fetch, huh?" She snapped, backing towards the large, dusty window behind her. The baby hiccuped, finally settling.

"I think you already know Anya," He answered quietly, eyes alert. There was no telling what she might do.

"No, I don't. Come on, tell me. What is it? What does she want? My sanity? My baby?" Her hysterical tone dropped darkly, her hand placed on the window latch. "My life?"

"Anya," He began worriedly, his whole body tensed with trepidation now. She was beginning to scare him, and not like her sister did.

"Why didn't she come herself and ask me, huh?" She wanted to know, clearly ignoring him. "Was the bitch too scared to demand my life?" She cracked the latch open, the sound sharp and final.

"Anya, wait,"

She was going to throw herself out of that damn window, he could see it. It was wide enough too, and they were eight floors up. She wasn't frightened either. Her voice and movements were too certain, too eager. But it was like she'd forgotten he was even there. Her eyes were glazed over, talking to someone he couldn't see.

"'Cause I'll give it to her. God, it'd be my fucking pleasure! In fact, I might even pay her a visit!"

With that, she slid the window upwards, the frame groaning with the effort. A chilly wind forced its way in, disrupting the curtains. Leo's heart leapt into his throat as he watched her turn towards the night air. He had to do something! All feelings of animosity dispersed and instead he was left with a numb panic.

"Anya, stop!" He dashed forwards into the pool of light thrown out by the lamp, hands reaching out to pull her to safety.

She spun to face him and shrieked in terror at the monster she was met with. Repulsed at the green skin and unusual features she scrambled backwards, clutching at the curtains recklessly. Her bare feet stepped onto a toy, which rolled from underneath her and threw her rearwards. Before he could barely move she had smashed her head against the plastic window frame, the crack of bone offensive. He bolted forwards but she had already toppled through.

He reached the ledge too late. She was falling through the night sky, her gown billowing and rippling in the breeze. Her cold glassy eyes stared accusingly into his as she hurtled towards the concrete car park below. A trickle of blood oozed from her temple. She hit the pavement like a porcelain doll, limbs splayed, white as china.

He lurched back, clutching his stomach and fighting the bile rising in his throat. He never meant for her to die. He shouldn't have made a spectacle, shouldn't have terrified her. He should have just found the locket and left. Would Taryn be angry? He'd orphaned her nephew or niece, triggered the accidental death of her sister.

He didn't feel guilty, but he didn't feel joy at her death either. Just a cold, empty numbness, deep within his heart. It was almost as if his brain had switched onto autopilot, he was barely aware of what he was doing. The locket, he had to find it. And fast, before her neighbours discovered the body.

He turned away from the window and observed his surroundings. She hadn't been wearing the necklace, this he knew, as the neckline of her gown was cut to reveal the throat. So that, he was grateful for. But where on earth would she keep it. Did she even have it? She could have sold it or misplaced it or given it away years ago. He wanted to avoid rifling through her private belongings as much as possible.

He didn't have much time. His eyes fell onto the lamp on the cabinet beside the couch. It was as good a place to start as any. He hurriedly dropped to his knees and wrenched the drawer open. He pushed aside useless letters and bills and pacifiers, but no locket.

Growling in frustration he pulled on the cupboard door beneath, nearly wrestling the handle off. It was jammed, probably from neglect or misuse. He pulled harder and it groaned awfully before finally shooting open. There was a single photo frame inside, covered in dust.

He reached forwards and picked it up, wiping the glass clean. It was an old picture, probably thirty years old, if not more. It was of a small, plump woman, middle-aged. She was stood next to a large elm tree, which towered over her and cast shadows on her pretty face. She wore plain clothes, had long, wavy hair. Black, with rosy red lips and dark eyes.

Their mom, he realised with a start. He could see both of them in her despite the slight differences. He wondered where she was, this woman who had now lost two daughters. Would she ever know what had occurred here tonight? What would she think? Suicide or foul play?

He noticed bumps in the paper, underneath the glass. Curious, he turned it over and undid the thick cardboard backing. Out tumbled something silver and delicate that had been confined within. He looked down in surprise and saw the plainest piece of jewellery he'd ever seen.

He set aside the photo and picked it up, handling the thin chain with utmost care in his large fingers. It wasn't at all fancy, nothing like the ones you'd find in a jewellery store today. It was oval shaped and plain silver, with no engravings, no stones, nothing. Deftly, he cracked it open to find the tiniest pair of baby photos, almost identical.

Taryn and Anya, many, many, many years ago. Their small, innocent faces made him smile regretfully. A mom's necklace, the real treasure was hidden within. He closed it back up and slipped it into his belt. He put the photograph back together and placed it in the cabinet where it belonged. Stiffly, he got to his feet.

His arm twinged, reminding him of his injury. He'd better hurry and get out of here. He hunted for the knife, found it on the wooden floorboards next to the stove. He wiped it clean on his coat and tucked it into his pocket. He couldn't leave it lying around with his blood on it for anyone to find. There was no use worrying about fingerprints either. It wasn't like he could get rid of those.

He was positive he could hear sirens in the distance. Deciding the baby would be fine for a little while longer, he raced down the hallway and out of her apartment door. He sprinted back out onto the balcony but instead of descending he thundered up two more ladders and onto the rooftop.

It was snowing now, fat flakes drifting through the cobalt blue sky. He could definitely hear sirens wailing now and they were getting closer. There were voices too, cries of consternation at the discovery of the grisly corpse ten floors below. He didn't look down and he didn't stick around either.

He retraced his steps home, a feeling of accomplishment settling over him despite the unlucky turn of events. He would see Taryn tomorrow night. Tonight he would rest, she could wait another day. He would face anything Raph and Splinter threw at him, as long as he could climb into bed and sleep afterwards.

Abruptly he became aware of thousands of pressing shadows and presences. He skidded to a halt, heart thumping loudly in his chest. The darkness was suffocating, enveloping him from all sides. There were no physical bodies there but he could just feel people clamouring from every angle, striving to reach him.

He spun on his heel to dash in the other direction but it was there still, closing in. A voice now, male or female he didn't know, yelling. He closed his eyes tightly, trying to block it out, but more were starting, crying out over and over in his ears. He wanted to lash out, to fight back but he couldn't even breathe. He fell to his knees, gasping, struggling, but it was no use.

They were crushing him.

To Be Continued

A.N: I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I'm realising they are getting longer and longer heh. Feedback appreciated! Take care!