Intermission Two: Survivors

Patience was not a virtue that one readily attributed to Alana Rayner. An inquisitive, yet pragmatic, mind; a stocky figure and natural aptitude for martial arts; a healthy reserve of common sense - these all numbered among her finer traits. But when it came to sitting and waiting for things to happen, the redhead was not going to be winning her country any medals, especially in times of crisis.

When she'd found out, by eavesdropping on the officers guarding her apartment, about the G.P.D's mass mobilisation to the Granite Orphanage - where Dave had gone - she had leapt promptly into action. Unfortunately, by the time she'd bundled Leanne into her car and driven the hour-long journey in just over thirty minutes, it was already over. The building was little more than a charred pile of rubble, bleeding smoke into the sky. For a moment, she felt her heart lurch painfully at the thought that her partner might still have been inside.

They stopped just outside the police cordon. Then the stout woman grabbed her charge by the wrist and, ignoring her insistence that she would stay in the car, dragged her out into the open air. They pushed through the mess of uniformed men, and the small contingent of reporters, unchallenged. Whether they recognised one of the two females, or just the dangerous gleam in the leader's eyes, she didn't know or care. Leanne periodically dug her heels in, but each delay only earned her an impatient growl that made her quickly rethink her reticence.

Focused as she was, her guardian didn't notice the tears in the younger female's eyes or the fear etched on her face as they drew nearer.

The sight of a familiar figure in the courtyard made Alana's tension melt away, however. Dave was standing in front of the blackened ruin, alive and - as far as she could see - well. The moment she saw him, she released the death grip on the girl's hand and ran over to the detective, leaping onto his back and wrapping her arms around his shoulders in a tight embrace. For his part, the blond leapt almost three feet off the ground and let out a yelp that pierced the air, even over the sounds of idling car engines, heavy machinery and chattering voices.

Several men nearby shot them withering looks, but she didn't even notice, so deep was her face pressed into the back of her beloved's suit jacket. To his credit, he calmed down quickly and turned to pull her close to his chest, where she stayed for quite some time.

"Are you okay?" she asked eventually, as they parted.

"I'm fine," he insisted, bringing his hand up to brush a loose lock of red hair out of her round face, "it could have been a lot worse, you know?"

He smiled as he spoke, but there was a grim look in his eye that made her tilt her head curiously. She spotted the bandage wrapped around his hand and seized upon it, placing a soft kiss on his palm. Then, still clutching his wrist, she dragged him closer to the building, and further from Leanne, so that they could speak privately.

At this distance, she could see that the damage to the building was absolute. It had been destroyed by the fire, leaving only charred bricks in heaps around jutting black beams, as though its flesh had sloughed from its skeleton. The only part of it that looked to be intact was a brass plaque that someone had wiped clean of ash after the fire, bolted to the wall beside the door. It read: "Granite Orphanage: A Kind House on a Kind Earth." Now, the words seemed sadly ironic.

"What happened anyway?" she whispered, keeping her voice low, "how did this place burn down?"

"It was him, Alana," Dave responded, gripping her hands tightly in his own and staring her straight in the eye, "the Scissorman."

The name registered in stages. At first, there was shock, her eyes opening wide, then horror, her mouth gaping, then confusion, her brow furrowing. All the while, she babbled her muddled thoughts, seeming to completely forget that they had stepped to the side so that they couldn't be heard. "He was here! Fuck me, he could have killed you! I mean, are you sure it was the same guy from the Barrows Mansion and not a copycat or something? "

"Pretty sure," he insisted, glancing at the wound on his hand, which she stroked softly, "he looked exactly like she described him. Good news is, Weaver won't close the case now that we've got an active suspect, and eyewitnesses to the crime. We'll hunt this guy until we find him."

Alana shot him a suspicious glare. "Well, that's great, but what's the bad news?"

"The Chief said he wanted this under wraps until we have control of the situation," he offered, and she knew immediately that she wasn't going to like what he had to say, "he's getting the Fire Chief to write this up as an electrical fire, and I'm not allowed to tell anyone that isn't involved in the case about what happened. I'm risking my job just by telling you.

"We are involved in this case, Dave. If he's still alive then he'll be after Leanne, and that means we're both targets too," she snapped, more angrily than she had wanted to, and she felt a flush of guilt when he blanched. She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek, lowering her voice again. "But thank you. I know it must be difficult to go against orders like that. I appreciate it"

"Don't worry about it," he said, waving her concerns away, "I'm not going to let you walk around oblivious while all this is happening."

"Unlike Weaver, who's going to leave the whole fucking city in the dark while a serial killer's lurking in the streets. Where is he, anyway?"

She looked around at the various uniformed personnel swarming around the remains of the orphanage, trying to pick out a gruff, broad-shouldered Chief of Police among them. "Talking over Federal involvement with the Mayor," he told her, before putting his hands firmly on her shoulders and turning her to face him, "he's not here, Alana. You don't need to keep looking."

"I swear I'm going to kick him so hard in the balls that he'll be able to taste cum for a year."

"What's wrong with Leanne?" he asked then.

He was obviously looking for some way to change the topic, but it was enough to make her whirl around, body tensed for some kind of danger. Instead, she just saw the teenager standing where she had been before, her arms wrapped tightly around her own torso, staring distractedly at the burnt out husk that had once been her home.

"Sweetheart, what's the matter?" Alana asked as she approached, causing the girl to flinch as she was suddenly brought back to the real world.

"Nothing," she insisted quickly, before turning to look back at the orphanage, "I just want to go home, now, please."

Realisation dawned on the older woman, and suddenly the stab of shame she had felt when she had snapped at her boyfriend returned tenfold. "Aww, I'm sorry girlie. I ... fuck, I'm really sorry. Okay, let's go, in the car." She ushered her charge back towards the cordon, and she gratefully obeyed, turning away from the 'kind house' and towards her new home. Alana turned back to Dave. "You coming, darling?"

"Yeah..." he replied, nodding, though his tone sounded doubtful, and he earned himself the quizzical tilt of the head for a second time. He explained himself. "Weaver wants me to collect statements from the other survivors at Greenville General. I need to swing by there before I come home."

The redhead snorted. "Oh fuck that. Leave it for tomorrow."

"I can't," he insisted, "I want to have the eyewitness accounts of this fucker on record before I clock off tonight. I don't want to take anymore risks with this case."

"Okay, then, we'll come with you, right Leanne?" she asked, turning to call to the younger woman who had stopped to look back at them. She nodded, though Alana suspected it was more for the sake of being able to leave quicker than because she had heard the question. "You want to ride along with us so you don't have to drive anymore today? You can get a patrol car to bring you back here tomorrow, maybe?"

"Thanks, but I'll just follow you," he said, "frankly, if I ever have to see this place again then it'll be too soon."

She nodded. Something told her that he wasn't the only one who felt that way right now.

-x-x-x-x-x-

The drive back to Greenville was spent in much the same way as their journey to the orphanage. Alana was stoically silent the entire time, focusing on the road and the multitude of thoughts her conversation with Dave had no doubt sparked. She hadn't said much, other than that Leanne's worst nightmares had come true, and that the Scissorman was back in her life. For her part, the girl remained equally quiet, but inside there was turmoil.

The fear had never really left her. It remained as a silent undercurrent, dogging her every movement, manifesting in fleeting glances over her shoulder and an inability to sleep with the light off. But now she felt it intensifying, tearing at the vestiges of her self-control, making her want to scream and beg and plead for it to be over. Part of her had hoped that she was insane, that the monster with the scissors really had been a hallucination, but now there was no doubt - the Scissorman was real, and after her.

She had no doubt that, had Dave been there, her guardian would have talked his ear off, but probably in hushed tones, difficult to make out over the engine noise. Then she'd have felt like a bitch for listening in on their private conversations - one of their many private conversations. Sometimes, when they shut themselves away in another room to be alone together, Leanne felt exceptionally isolated.

When they reached the hospital, Alana's boyfriend excused himself and went upstairs to find the other survivors of the Granite Orphanage. She could hardly believe that her former home, and all the people she had once known there, were now gone. It almost felt as though her stalker were trying to erase her life. If so, then her newest friends would be next. She couldn't bare the thought.

They waited for him in the building's main lobby. It was getting late. Visiting hours were over, and the only people left around were the receptionist, the noticeable security personnel watching every entrance and exit, and a couple of stragglers, including themselves. While the older woman entertained herself with a copy of 'The Hunchback of Notre-Dame' she had found in the glove box of her car, Leanne contemplated the merits of chocolate.

She had never had much of a sweet tooth. The other kids had spent what meagre allowances they had on treats whenever they could, but she had always liked to pick up lasting trinkets. They were something she could use to decorate her otherwise empty room, as well as mark the passing of her time at the orphanage. She had hoped that, one day, she'd be able to leave with her mementoes in a little box, to remind her of where she had come from and the people she might have to leave behind. Instead, she'd stayed there right up until her eighteenth birthday, when someone had adopted her with the sole intent of trying to kill her.

After that, she'd let the caretakers - her old minders - share her treasured keepsakes out among the other children, not wanting to see them, or the memories they conjured, anymore.

Now, however, she was sorely tempted by the various sweets on offer in the lobby's vending machines. Unfortunately, she was confronted with a dizzying selection of different ways to indulge, each looking more inviting than the last, and just didn't know which to choose. She had heard somewhere that chocolate was good for depression, so she definitely wanted something with that, but that didn't really narrow her options. Most of the items were full of chocolate - or sugar, at least - in some way or another.

She jabbed her finger randomly at something in the machine, resolving that she would pick that as her choice, then thought better of it and chose again. Just as she was about to make her third choice, someone spoke up from beside her.

"You never really appreciate vending machines until you're stuck eating hospital food," the person said, and she wheeled around to see a young man, maybe no older than twenty, standing next to her. He had an unruly mop of dark hair and was wearing a hospital gown, which marked him as a patient. He grinned sheepishly at her reaction. "Sorry. My name's Caleb Moore, but everyone just calls me Kay. You're not a prisoner - I mean, patient - here, then?"

Leanne shook her head, hoping that he wouldn't ask her to shake hands, just in case she freaked out and he went away thinking that she was some kind of psycho.

"Good for you," he continued, and she smiled as genuinely as she could to show that she'd found the joke funny, "no, I mean it. I keep telling them I'm fine, but they won't listen to me. They think I might have inhaled some smoke or something."

"Were you in a fire?" the redhead asked, wondering if there had been two blazes in the area recently.

"Yeah, the orphanage where I was working burned down," he told her, and she knew immediately that it was the very same place she had just come from, "there were only four survivors, I think."

"The Granite Orphanage? You worked there?"

He nodded, his affable smile taking on a strained look. "Not very long. I actually only started last week. Apparently, some official group said they needed to take on more staff to manage the number of kids they had there. They were all ... good kids, you know? I can't believe they're all gone, just like that."

He was silent, and she couldn't think of anything to say to fill the gap. It stood to reason that - if he had survived, just like she had - he felt the same way about those lost in the disaster. He glanced up at her, warm, chocolate-coloured eyes meeting her own steel grey gaze, and she looked away, flushing slightly.

"Don't I recognise you from somewhere?" he asked, and she felt a knot of dread tie itself in her stomach.

"Oh, I don't think so."

"No, I definitely do," he insisted, much to her chagrin, "you're Leanne, right? The girl who survived the Barrows Mansion? I've seen your picture around the orphanage. Miss Klein spoke about you a lot. I think you might have been her favourite... What's the matter?"

Leanne herself wasn't sure what the matter was, though she quickly realised just how much her face was burning, and noticed that she was scuffing her feet against the tiled floor self-consciously. She stopped herself from moving her feet by sheer force of will, but couldn't make her cheeks change colour.

"Nothing, it's just..."

She trailed off.

"Oh, right," he said, seeming to understand, "sorry, I guess you don't want to talk about it, huh? I guess I'd feel the same if it'd been me. I mean, you probably told everything you could to the police, and they're the only ones who need to know so... People just won't leave you alone to get on with your life, right?"

She nodded, wondering what she could say to change the topic. She thought back to the reason why she was here, the errand that her guardian's partner was currently chasing up. It occurred to her that she might be able to help. "Uhm, Dave ... I mean, Detective Carter said you were with the young boy who was found at the Barrows Mansion," she muttered, hoping he could hear her, as she loathed having to repeat herself, "is that true?"

"You mean Edward? Yeah, that's right. They wanted me to show him special attention, because he'd lost his memory."

"You mean, he doesn't remember anything?" she asked incredulously, "about the Clock Tower?"

"About anything," he replied, with a shrug, "he's almost a complete blank slate. He kept crying for his mommy, but he doesn't remember who his mommy is. We only called him Edward because it was awkward without a name. Did I say something wrong?"

"No, it's just..."

Again, she trailed off. This time, when he spoke, his voice was softer, a pang of genuine sympathy in his tone.

"You lost family at the Clock Tower, and maybe you wanted someone to understand what you'd gone through?" he hazarded, and she gave a small nod, "my family were killed too. That's why I wanted to work with orphans, you know? I wanted to make a difference for kids who grew up without their parents, like me. And ... like you, I guess."

He reached out to put a hand on her arm in what he probably thought was a reassuring manner, but she jumped back out of his reach before he had even made contact. By the time she was able to gather her wits and go red with embarrassment, her hand had already dipped into the pocket where she was keeping Alana's flick-knife. She only hoped to God that he hadn't seen it.

It didn't seem like he had. Instead, he reached out towards her, his mouth open with shock, his own features taking on a glow of their own.

"Oh, God! I'm sorry, I didn't mean..."

"Hey!" a voice yelled from across the lobby, moments before Alana thundered over like an angry, redheaded storm cloud, "who the fuck are you?"

The young man recoiled, and then recovered himself quickly. "Oh, my name's Caleb - Caleb Moore - but everyone just calls me..."

"Yeah, save it," she snapped, jaw set, eyes narrowed, looking for all the world like a shark ready to torpedo straight at his jugular, "stay away from my sister or I'll cut your fucking balls off."

"Okay, okay, damn," he said, backing away with his hands raised, before jerking his head in the direction of the vending machines, "can I at least get something to eat?"

Alana snarled, and Kay backed away another step, obviously deciding that it was better not to antagonise the woman standing in front of him. Instead, he simply turned to face Leanne.

"Sorry again," he offered, before walking away towards the elevators.

Leanne watched him leave. She understood that her guardian was just making sure that she was safe, that her motives were good and that she herself had been so kind to her thus far, but it was hard not to feel frustrated. The thought of someone else touching her had freaked her out, but that didn't mean she had wanted him to leave. In truth, she had enjoyed the chance to speak with someone other than police officers or psychologists. It had been awhile since she'd been able to do that.

It was more than that, though. Speaking to the boy, who was about her age, had worked where she had once lived, and who seemed to know what she had been through, made her feel somewhat less isolated, somewhat less alone.

And, right then, she'd probably have given anything not to feel that loneliness anymore.

-x-x-x-x-x-

The interviews with the other survivors went about as well as could be expected. Caleb Moore, the caretaker who had been found in the orphanage's wine cellar with the boy, had been the most useful witness. He'd described the Scissorman in detail as the perpetrator, which would help immensely in forcing Weaver's hand. Apparently, Dave hadn't been the only one to clash with the killer either, as the younger man was showing a few lacerations from a straight blade that could only have been the infamous scissors.

To his surprise, the boy - whose name was Edward, but not really - proved to be the least help. He didn't recall anything of interest from the orphanage, other than being trapped in the cellar. On top of that, he couldn't remember anything that had happened prior to when he'd been found in the Barrows Mansion two weeks earlier. He was sullen and unresponsive for the most part, and Dave quickly wrote him off as a bust.

It occurred to him as he was leaving their room that, had the Scissorman not attacked the building while he'd been visiting that day, Weaver would have had his way with the case. Edward's testimony would have been inconclusive to keep the manhunt going. Instead, the new turn of events had opened up so many new doorways to him and the rest of the investigative team. His own report would be enough, but combined with Caleb's, they now had enough evidence to exonerate Leanne from the label of fantasist.

He visited the blind girl last. She introduced herself as Millie Rose, and she was a sincere and helpful child. She listened intently to his questions without interrupting and answered what she could, though there was little that would really assist him at that point. Her description of the Scissorman matched Caleb's, but didn't add anything to it. She couldn't remember what he looked like under the mask.

The only memory she had of the moment when his face was exposed was her own sudden blindness, as though her eyes had just given up the ghost. It was an eerie thought, that an unmasked Scissorman could steal away someone's sight. He didn't like the idea much.

When he was finished with his interrogation, she asked a question of her own.

"Where's Miss Klein?"

At that point, Dave was too tired to think of a comfortable deception, nor was he happy with the idea of simply leaving the duty of telling her the grim truth to the nursing staff. They had enough to deal with. And so, the detective did what he usually did when he found himself in doubt. He told the truth and hoped for the best.

Millie Rose wasn't ignorant of death, but she certainly wasn't emotionally stunted either. She cried for a solid twenty minutes in a way that earned the blond himself a lot of dirty looks from passing porters, even when he let her cling to his torso and bury her tear-streaked face in his shirt. She understood, without it needing to be explained, that Miss Klein was gone forever, and that someone was responsible for her being gone. Dave didn't have children of his own, and couldn't remember enough about his own childhood to know when it was suitable for a child to know about death, but she knew and accepted it quickly.

Sleeping in a strange bed wasn't a new thing for her either. Pretty soon after she had calmed down, one of the nurses had come to tuck her in, and he had given her a pat on the head and wished her goodnight before departing. It almost seemed like a shame, to leave her there alone, but the hospital staff would be there for her if she needed anything. Besides, right now he needed to go home and be with his own loved one. That was more important than anything else.

He waited for the elevator, but because there were only two, and over a dozen floors, he gave up after a few frustrating seconds and started down the stairs instead. By the time he reached the last flight, he was taking the steps two at a time, his pace impatiently rapid. He leapt the last four, before straightening and smoothing down his jacket. Then, he pushed into the lobby. Alana greeted him with a tight embrace and a kiss, while Leanne offered him a wave.

She was a quiet kid, and obviously enjoyed her privacy, so he tried to make sure she got time to herself where possible. His girlfriend seemed to think she wanted to talk, and would spend hours trying to get her to speak with them, but Dave knew she would come to them as and when she felt comfortable. There was no point in rushing her, anyway. They had no intention of asking her to leave before she was good and ready.

He was also met by the two police officers who had been assigned to their little trio by Weaver, a pair of veteran beat cops who knew all the tricks. He shook hands with them and introduced them to Alana, who eyed them suspiciously. They were supposed to make them all feel more comfortable, but there was an unspoken consensus among the three of them that this was an unwanted precaution.

In fact, if the blond hadn't known better, he'd have thought that this was the Chief getting back at him for going over his head. The older man hadn't seemed very happy about that when they'd spoken, but he hadn't so much as said anything about it at the time.

The men obviously didn't like the idea of following them everywhere anymore than they did, but they were professional enough not to say it.

"Alright," Dave said, once the initial spate of greetings was over with, "let's head home."

"Hey, Dave," the stout redhead beside him began, as they walked towards the hospital's main entrance, flanked on either side by an armed guard, "you think, maybe, we might be able to stop on the way home and pick up some ... coffee cake?"

Ordinarily, she wouldn't have needed to ask him if it was okay. Her wish was his command. On this occasion, however, they had a couple of others whom they had to check with. "That okay with you, Leanne?" he asked, receiving a nod from their charge, before turning to their escort, "what about you guys?"

"We're just supposed to follow you, Detective," one of them - a surly, dark-haired fellow - replied, "you can do what you like."

"Coffee cake it is then," he announced, and Alana let out a cheer as they passed out into the cool air.

It was dark now, and stars were starting to twinkle in a sky of midnight blue. Beneath the orange luminescence of the street lamps, a row of cars gleamed, among them the two four-doors - one black, one green - owned by Dave and his girlfriend. The patrol car driven by the two officers was parked between them.

Someone walked past them and through the door, into the hospital's lobby, a blonde girl in a blue blazer and skirt. The detective followed her with his eyes, brow furrowing as he fought to work out why he recognised her.

"What's the matter?" his partner asked, when he paused mid-stride.

"I know that girl from somewhere," he replied, "just wish I could remember where."

As he turned to walk to his car, as the automatic doors hummed shut behind him, the girl in question surveyed the hospital's foyer, smiling to herself.

Alka Kunnas was on the case.

-x-x-x-x-x-