CHAPTER TITLE: "The Scarlet Red Motel"
FANDOM: Fringe
CHARACTERS: Olivia Dunham, Walter Bishop, Peter Bishop, Astrid Farnsworth
GENRE: Scifi
RATING: M
CORRESPONDING EPISODE: 1.02 "The Same Old Story"
WARNINGS: Graphic medical description
AUTHOR'S NOTE: None
Within the secret lab beneath the campus of UNLV, there is a small office which has been commandeered by Olivia as 'hers'. It serves as her own private sanctuary away from the craziness that makes up her new job. At the moment, it is occupied by her, Peter Bishop, and Agent Broyles, who is sharing the rundown with them.
Peter isn't sparing the dramatics as he waves a picture of the full grown man-baby. "All right, let's assume for a second that bundle of joy here is for real. What are we doing here?"
"A series of events has occurred, continues to occur, that has us and other agencies on alert. These events appear to be scientific in nature and suggest a larger strategy, a coordinated effort. It's been referred to as 'The Pattern'," Broyles explains.
Peter doesn't look happy in the slightest. "Mr Broyles, I consider myself a fairly intelligent guy. But I'm not following you here."
Olivia begins to usher them out of her office and into the main lab. "Inexplicable and frightening things are happening and there's a connection somehow."
Peter gives her an especially tart smile. "Thanks. That much I understand."
Farnsworth leans around stack of magazines and newspapers bought for Dr Bishop, her hand covering the mouth piece of phone to her ear. "I got Henning on the phone. The hospital got a call from a guest at the Scarlet Red Motel, checking to see if the pregnant woman was doing okay."
Olivia feels her heart jump. "Was she staying there?"
Farnsworth nods, one of her long, dangling earrings shaking against her jumpsuit's collar. "Yes, with a caucasian male - 20's, brown hair... but there's no description of him or the car he was driving.
"Well, call the motel—make sure they don't touch anything. They shouldn't even go in."
Farnsworth smiles. "I already called, and you're good to go. The motel room's empty and locked."
"Dr Bishop? I may need you to take samples from the motel room. I need you to come with me." He says nothing and she repeats herself. "Walter."
Dr Bishop, who is leaning over the corpse at the moment, looks wild again, just like when she met him. "Do you see what I'm idoingi here?"
Peter takes a step back, frowning at his father. "Hey—relax."
"I can't figure this out with a girl buzzing in my ear," Dr Bishop snarls. "I am trying to put these pieces together like a puzzle. How this happened, how he happened to her. I'm working."
Peter touches her shoulder to get her attention. Come on, Olivia. I can do this. My limited stint at M.I.T. did teach me something."
"Loraine Daisy Alcott," Olivia says as she passes over the dossier on the victim.
They're at the Scarlet Red Motel, a dodgy little one-story place that tries to cash in on the seedy, kitchy appeal of Las Vegas. Painted on the doors and walls are show girls covering themselves with red feather fans, their eyes flirtatious and the paint peeling and faded. The room that the victim occupied is in the absolute centre of the U-shaped motel, across from the half-filled pool in the centre of the parking lot and drive. Olivia spots a folding chair in the algae tinted water.
Peter accepts the dossier and smirks. "Loraine Daisy... that's just sad."
"One 'r'," she says sympathetically; she doesn't like victims being badmouthed, especially over something they can't help, but she really doesn't want Peter to jump so she doesn't criticise.
They begin to go through the room collecting evidence. Peter makes his way into the bathroom while Olivia begins to notice things in the room that are disturbingly familiar to her.
"Hey," he calls out. "I think I actually got something to sample in here. It's some kind of orange gel...or Dayquil or something." He comes from the bathroom with a clear evidence bag containing a few cotton swabs of the sample. "I'm sorry about my father. He always was a little myopic."
Olivia's distracted with something more important than if her feelings have been hurt or not. "Her things were left behind, but not his."
Peter watches her study the sheets for a moment then asks, "Checking the thread count?"
He smirks at his own joke but she looks up at him, dead serious. "Yeah. Open the cabinet."
He frowns when she points to the corner. "Why?"
"There are gonna be sheets in there," she says quietly.
He does as she requests and as if she just demonstrated some cheap card trick, he laughs when he sees the sheets wadded up. "Okay, how'd you do that?"
Olivia stomps out of the room, disgusted with herself for not realising sooner what the problem was.
Peter calls after her as she walks past the car towards the enclosed pool. "Hey! Car's right here. Olivia, what's going on?"
She sits down heavily on a sun bleached plastic lounge chair, worrying her hands and resting her elbows on knees. Peter takes a seat on the chair across from her, his brow knotted in confusion.
"That's what he would do," she says lowly. "He'd go to motels ahead of time, to replace the sheets with leak-proof medical grade linen, so he wouldn't leave any blood evidence."
He shifts on the chair and it creaks. "Who?
"I know who was in that room. The killer. I know his profile. It was a case that John and I worked. Serial murders in New Jersey and New York, and we never caught him."
He grabs her firmly by the shoulders and looks her square in the eye. "Look, you can't beat yourself up 'cause you didn't catch the bastard on your first try."
She rubs the base of her palms up her forehead, breathing in deeply. "I feel like I've been asleep for the last year. Every case that John and I worked together, I have to go back and try and find whatever I missed."
He chews the inside of his cheek and then says, "Okay, then, tell me...how'd the killer do it?"
Olivia glances over to the pool water, her mind briefly wondering when the last time someone swam in it was. "When I joined the F.B.I., this was one of the cases John and I investigated together. Each time, the man would kill five young women within a few days. He's pick them up, take them to motels...and then he'd give them a muscle paralyzer. They'd be wide awake, but unable to move. He's make an incision here, along their gums. And then he'd pull their mouths open up to their eyes."
Peter winces at her illustration and quickly says, "Okay, that's enough. You can stop right there."
She ignores him. "He'd go through their nasal cavity and remove a piece of their brain."
"And all of this connects to magic old man-baby and the pregnant woman...how?" Peter wrinkles his nose.
"I don't know. But there's a connection somewhere. The muscle paralyzer he used was bright orange. So if that's our sample, then I'm telling you, this is our guy. Which means—" she grimaces, "—he's gonna kill again."
