Disclaimer: I do not own the Following! All I own are the alternative histories of the characters that I may create, as well as the plot to this tale!
A/N: Hi! So anyone surprised at the quicker update? If so, hopefully this will be a good surprise! I have so very much enjoyed getting back to this story, and hope that it shows! In fact today I was listening to "The Following" Season 1 on DVD in the background as I worked at updating this chapter! Even if I'm not fully watching the show, I feel that it encourages me so much in writing this tale!
In this Author's Note, I'd like to point out something:
In this chapter, two histories for Joe and Ryan will be introduced, especially regarding the former. I understand that this is NOT the same histories as are portrayed in the show. This is merely me extending my artistic freedom to have the two characters viewed in a different light! I hope that you find them interesting!
-End-of-Author's Note-
(Enjoy!)
The two of them had been walking for a few minutes before they reached the trees on the outskirts of the woods. Ryan sucked in a deep rattling breath as he glanced around at the large trees that seemed to surround them as they walked down the wooded path. As he went, he vaguely noticed the loss of Joe's arm across his shoulders. Still, the woods seemed to only deepen the severity and tension of the situation at hand. Ryan figured this was no ordinary walk, that it had a dual purpose. Perhaps this was meant to show him his first "lesson" regarding killing. He gritted his teeth and let out a sigh. He felt that in that instant he'd rather be anywhere but right there walking beside the Serial Killer.
"I like to drink it in myself. It's very soothing," Joe remarked at that moment, not an ounce of tension or unrest in his voice. Ryan jerked his head around, the man walking a bit in front of him, the backpack he wore bulging slightly with whatever might be inside it. The thing was mostly black with blood red racing stripes down the sides. Ryan didn't want to know what was inside there. It could range from food to weapons. He'd sooner not find out. "Don't you think they're soothing Ryan?" Joe didn't even turn his head as he said it.
Ryan blinked. The woods weren't soothing to him at all. Perhaps if he felt he could escape through them, perhaps outrun the killer in front of him, they may be. But he knew that with his pacemaker, he couldn't possibly outrun the man in front of him. He'd always heard that authors were weaker than most, sitting behind desks or at computers, just tapping away at stories. If that was the traditional authorial mold, Joe had shattered it. Ripped it apart. His muscles showed all the more with the clothes he wore now, his calf muscles quite thick as well as his arm muscles. The man wasn't overly buff, but he was fit. I suppose some strength is needed to murder so many people, a dry voice in Ryan's head sounded. Joe's strength definitely gave him the advantage over Ryan in this scenario. After all, Joe's heart hadn't been shredded. . .
Furthermore, how was Ryan supposed to leave with Claire and Joey still in harm's way? He felt just as trapped out here as he had in the house. That feeling would surely be a constant, whether there was a roof above his head or a pale blue sky. And the trees only made it worse with their closer proximity. He felt like he was being trapped even more, forced by them to be even closer to the killer before him. Like he was being suffocated by them and pushed closer and closer to the devil of a man before him.
Joe turned his head, smiling his crooked smile as he gazed over his shoulder at Ryan. If the man sensed Ryan's discomfort, he certainly didn't share or show it. "Meghan Reynolds, one of my first kills at Winslow University, was a freshman when I got to her. Always wore this perfume of hers that smelled just like the trees. It was so soothing, and intoxicating. Every time I walk through these woods, I'm reminded of how it felt to prey upon her and ultimately finish her. She was young for being a freshman, having a late birthday, and the girl confided in me as a professor and mentor. She frequently came to my office for one-on-one conferences. She was a fan of Poe and she knew that he was one of my favorites. I was her literature professor and she was wanting to do a project on him for a literature fair the college was about to host in the Fine Arts Center. It was ambitious of her, wanting to impress the other professors in the Literature department. Due to her dedication to Poe, I became her 'favorite person', you could say." "Well, you were well known for your passion for Poe," Ryan remarked as they continued to walk with Joe still having his one eye on Ryan, "You were her best bet at creating a quality project."
Joe's eye shone with pride at Ryan's words, "So true! So, naturally I offered to come over and see her display, read her paper. She let me right into her room at the sorority house. The other girls teased her about her project, so she waited until all the others were at a party to have me over. Of course, none knew that I was there, and I left no fingerprints. The project was amazing, the paper compelling, and oh her death. . . it was so . . . satisfying to see the life finally leave her eyes. With each stab into her gut, with each cry that she made, I just stared at her eyes. I'd drugged her with a sedative and while she'd been out, cut away the lids. There was no way for her to close them. I saw the panic, the fear, and drank it in. Oh, it was a beautiful death. Between the tears running down her face, to the blood being coughed up from her mouth, to the feel of it running over my hands as my knife pierced her. Such beauty! It was breathtaking, watching her pupils expand in death as she stared blankly up at me at last, her body jolting involuntarily one last time, convulsing. Then I leaned down, so the last thing she heard was that I had tied her down on her desk on top of her project. I said that it was the perfect finishing touch. . . right before I took those beautiful green eyes from her. Then I decided to take her heart from her chest. She'd been doing her project on the story The Tell-Tale Heart, focusing on the old man's eye along with the killer's delusion regardibg the still beating heart in that story. Fitting to take both organs from her, wasn't it?"
He paused, and Ryan knew that an answer was expected. His stomach had started turning as Joe had spoken of how he'd slaughtered the poor girl. He gritted his teeth and turned to gaze at the ground, "I suppose some may say it was . . . poetic." He forced the last word through his lips. he moved to shove his hands in his pockets, something he did when he was uncomfortable, but found that he had no such things on the outside of his shorts. Inside, he was furious. Furious at Joe for killing the girl who was so trusting to him, but even more furious that even more girls had to die because Joe was too clever for Law Enforcement to be able to catch him.
Joe chuckled, shaking his head, and turned to face Ryan, and Ryan stopped as he did so. Walking forward calmly, Joe reached out and tilted Ryan's chin up, "I know you don't like hearing about how I killed her, Ryan." Ryan gritted his teeth, frowning into Joe's dark, smoldering eyes. The dark eyes of a demon. Joe tilted his head, "How does it feel to have the hand that killed her, that tore that poor girl's heart straight from her bosom, on you now? How does it feel, to have a hand you know is responsible for so many deaths on your skin right now?" Ryan shivered as the man spoke his smooth, slurred words. Like a conniving serpent, seeking to cause a crack in Ryan's armor and to create an opening into the man's psyche so that he may slither in and wharp it in accordance to his delusions. He couldn't let Joe do that. At least, not yet.
He had to try to hold out as long as he could against Joe's attempts to change him. He couldn't let Joe see just how much his story had rattled Ryan. He had to be strong. But he also had to answer the man. Trying to steady his voice in spite of how uncomfortable he felt gazing into the killer's eyes with the other man standing so close, as the man's thumb stroked his chin so firmly, he muttered, "The hand didn't kill her, it was just a tool you used to carry out your psychotic desires. It wasn't responsible for her death, you were."
Joe let a smirk cross his face, "That's what I've always admired about you Ryan, the fact that even when the rest of you is overcome with fear and uncertainty, you're able to draw on that inner strength of yours. Just imagine how that strength will be, what it will help you do, when directed to your true purpose and potential. When guided by your own inner darkness that races akin to it within your soul."
Ryan licked his lips, knowing he was pushing his luck, and that he had to word this just right, "But what if you're wrong Joe? What if I don't have this inner darkness that you claim to see in me? What if I'm not able to achieve this ultimate purpose you perceive for me to have?" Joe frowned and took a step back, resting both hands on Ryan's shoulders, gripping them firmly, "I'm not wrong about this Ryan. You do have an inner darkness in you, the same that I have always had, and with my tutelage in the beautiful, darker arts, you will achieve greatness." Ryan gritted his teeth, "But I'm not you Joe." Joe blinked, "I know you're not me. But you could be like me. We will speak no more on the matter." The last was said firmly and with finality. Turning the man marched on at a quicker pace, and Ryan knew that any further discussion of the matter would not be productive for now. He sighed and walked on, at a slower pace.
"You know, Ryan," Joe remarked a few minutes later, and Ryan, who had been having his head bowed as he'd walked, his hands hanging loosely at his sides as he'd focused on the ground moving beneath his feet, looked up. Joe had his head up, looking at the forest around them as birds sang their songs and creatures moved in the undergrowth, his hands on his hips as he stood in the path, turning around slightly. "Death isn't as unnatural as you make it out to be. In fact, killing is the most natural thing in the world," he murmured. Seeing something he found interesting in the woods beyond the path, he smiled and turning, motioned for Ryan to follow as he stepped over logs and bushes and headed deeper into the trees. Ryan was wary as he shifted his weight from one foot to another. What Joe wanted couldn't possibly help him. Still, he knew it was in his current situation's best interest to do what the man said. So he walked behind him, ducking beneath branches and around trunks as he went. Finally, he saw what Joe had stopped at and his stomach turned.
The dead rabbit had long since been ravaged by creatures of the forest and left to die, flies landing and laying eggs inside its tattered rotting skin. He sucked in a deep breath as Joe turned, noticed Ryan pause, and gripped the FBI agent's arm firmly before pulling him closer, "Come now, don't be shy. This happens every day. Animals being killed and feasted upon by those they may have lived in harmony with the day before. Or perhaps even the hour before." Ryan put up a small bit of resistance as he was pulled roughly forward, as he stared down at the rabbit, "You. . . you don't know if it was killed. . .it could have just died of natural. . ." "Oh no. You see, I know it was killed. See how its neck was snapped?" Carroll nudged at the rabbit's neck with his shoe, and Ryan saw the bone poking out, and noticed how the neck was grotesquely shaped. It was clear that this wasn't an accident. Ryan saw that now. He sighed and sagged his shoulders.
"One of my followers must have done this," Joe murmured gently, as if admiring a beloved child's painting, "But did the animals of the forest seem appalled by it? No. Instead, they ate the rabbit out once it was left here. Almost immediately too, for they know the truth: if the follower hadn't killed the rabbit, another animal or predator would have. In the animal kingdom, creatures are killed every day, and organized society finds it perfectly acceptable. Why should it not be the same for humans? Why is it unacceptable for us to kill one another?"
Ryan turned to Joe, frowning hard, and pointed at the rabbit, "Animals only kill out of necessity. Out of a need for food." Joe smirked and shook his head, "Not all of them. They have other reasons: territory, fear, or simply just the display of dominance." Ryan blinked, "Ok, so what's your point?" Joe smirked, "Do humans not kill for similar reasons? What about territory? Say a man doesn't like another. Hates the way he behaves, looks, speaks. . . Can't stand to have him in the same neighborhood, much less the same room. Maybe even. . ." Joe chuckled, "The same country or world. Or what about fear? Self-Defense. And dominance. . . say someone feels a person may steal their loved one. Or perhaps they feel they're just too cocky. These are the same reasons for which animals kill, and yet for humans it's deemed by society to be 'unacceptable'."
Ryan frowned hard at Joe, "But humans can reason Joe. If a person doesn't like another, he can stay away from him. If a person is fearful of another, they can try other options to neutralize the fear. And if a person feels that someone is threatening to take their loved one away, can they not speak to either one about it? Besides, how do any of the reasons why animals kill justify your own kills? None of those are reasons that could apply to you." Joe smirked, "What if I fear not satiating my own inner darkness or my desires? What if I fear not showing the world the beauty I can so naturally create?" Ryan blinked.
Joe smiled, and reaching out, carressed Ryan's cheek, "What if the follower who killed this rabbit feared he may lose control around some of his fellow followers and decided to vent on the rabbit instead? Ryan, every kill can be explained with a natural reason as its basis. That makes every kill natural. It's foolish humans who claim it to be unnatural." "Maybe they aren't so foolish, and claim it to be unnatural because they care too much about the lives of others?" Ryan said coldly. and turning, began to walk off. He wanted to keep Joe happy, but even that had its limits. "Funny you should mention that. After all, that'll be the natural reason for you when you start killing," Joe remarked firmly. Suddenly his demeanor changed from that of a calm teacher passionate about his subject to that of the cold, strategic killer Ryan had come to know and fear him to be.
Ryan froze, and Joe smirked, walking up behind Ryan and gripping the back of his neck firmly. Ryan was reminded of how one did that to a dog that was getting unruly and needed to be reminded who was boss. He shook under the firm grasp, as Joe continued in a hiss, "These hands that killed college girls can also slaughter my ex-wife and son. They can do it right before your eyes, Ryan, an image you can never block out. . . Should you reject my practices." Ryan licked his lips, "If you think I would so eagerly reject your practices, Joe, how could you possibly think I have that same inner darkness that lies within you? I'm sure no one had to threaten those you loved to make you kill. How can you claim that it's just as natural for me to kill as it is for you, when it comes so much easier for you?" Joe smiled and his fingers gently stroked the man's skin in circles, "I'm not so sure killing doesn't come so easily for you, Ryan. Still, I will admit that for some the fact that killing is only natural comes easily. For others, a lifetime of socialization that says that killing is unnatural and wrong has to be slowly peeled away via proof that killing is in fact the most natural thing in the world. Come, let me explain to you how I myself came to find killing so natural. Since we just happen to be on the subject." He took a step forward and when Ryan refused to walk onward, the man chuckled, and added more intense pressure.
When Ryan still didn't move, Joe growled, a bit impatient, and moving behind Ryan, put a firm hand on his back and gave him a shove. Ryan gasped and stumbled forward. It didn't really cause him pain but he was surprised Joe made such a physical move against him. It shocked him to the point of moving where the man wanted him to go, anyway.
Joe in no time guided him to a large, mossy boulder. It was closer to the path and closer to where they'd entered into the forest. Moving his hand that was on Ryan's back to his shoulder as he slid his other hand around to grasp the front of Ryan's throat rather than the back, he forced the man to sit on the boulder. Ryan grunted as his butt met hard stone so roughly, and he breathed hard, looking at Joe and expecting irritation or retaliation for his rude behavior. But Joe only handed him what looked like a homemade granola bar from his left shorts pocket, slinging his backpack down and onto the ground. As Ryan turned the cellophane wrapped item over in his hands, he glanced at Joe as the man pulled out a gallon jug of water from his pack and put it firmly on the boulder beside Ryan, "To wash it down," the man muttered. Ryan gulped.
He hadn't meant to push Joe so much, but seeing the rabbit, and hearing Joe spit out his "killing is natural" philosophy, as if humans were no greater than vicious animals, had struck a chord deep within him. . . killing was not the answer, or at the very least was the last answer. Humans were capable of controlling themselves, of not killing . . . "It only makes sense, Ryan, only makes sense, understand?" Jenny whispered, cupping Ryan's face as tears raced down the violently shaking boy's cheeks, as he stared, terrified, into her face. Ryan shuddered. and reaching up, gripped his head. No. . . no, I won't think about that, not now, he thought fervently. "Headache?" Joe remarked and Ryan shot his face up to stare at the man who had an arched eyebrow, "Or is it something else?" the author remarked calmly. Ryan gritted his teeth. No, he wouldn't let him know what had just raced through his mind. It would only encourage the man. . . "Headache," he whispered hoarsely. Forced through his lips.
Joe didn't look quite convinced but smiled calmly, "You haven't eaten since last night, so it's understandable. I figured you'd be hungry. So go ahead, eat it," he murmured, "I can talk while you eat and drink. It's got electrolytes and protein in there." Ryan frowned and looked down, turning it over some more in his hand, "Who made it?" "A follower of mine. Interesting story. She was a nanny and maid for so many affluent families. But each would act just the wrong way. . . so she just slipped a bit of rat poison, naturally showing dominance over the fools who thought they were her betters, into their meals and, well. . ." he broke off and laughed as Ryan paled, "No, no! Don't worry! she didn't poison that bar! She knows not to. She knows what I'll naturally do to her if she does. Eat it, go on!" Ryan sighed and slid the wrapper off before he bit into it. So I suppose I'll be labeling this as the "Natural" lesson in that damn diary. . . he thought wryly. Still, he couldn't deny that the bar was delicious. He tasted marshmallow cream as he felt semi-sweet chocolate chips and granola pieces crunch under his teeth as he ate.
Joe sighed and rolled his head back on his shoulders, closing his eyes, before opening them, gazing at the treetops, "I didn't grow up in that bad a home, you know." Ryan frowned and glanced at him, munching on the food in his mouth and rolling it around slightly to draw out the small meal, "What do you mean, Joe?" "I had a mother who was your typical beautiful housekeeper," Joe murmured, smiling up at the sun, "And a businessman for a father. A very successful one. We weren't impoverished, to say the least. Plus I was an only child, so I often got what I wanted. Until I wanted something I couldn't have. . ." Ryan frowned. He had a feeling this wasn't going to go well. . . the granola seemed to stick in his throat.
Turning, he uncapped the water jug and tilted it to his lips, gulping the liquid down slowly and feeling rivers of it streaming down the sides of his chin as he listened as Joe drolled forward with his tale, "You see, Ryan, I always had this urge, this drive to kill. Back then I wasn't so sure it was natural. Society had gotten to me just like it got to you. Still, I had that inner darkness that could not go without being appeased, and so I decided to start with things that no one would really miss. I started off with the family cat. . . my dad saw me carving it open in the backyard one day. . . you should have seen me," he chuckled, "I was so . . . so adventurous. . ." he grinned for a moment then frowned and shook his head as Ryan lowered the jug. Ryan had been gripping the granola bar a bit tighter as Joe spoke and it crumbled slightly in his hand. he grunted and caught the top half of it in his hand and moving it around, brought it back up to his lips, biting it slowly as Joe continued.
"Yes, I was adventurous. . . but sloppy. I was new at it, you see. . . the whole killing thing. . . I just carved it open with all I had. I cut so deep that I punctured most of the organs. Blood was everywhere. . . Thank goodness I learned to cut lighter later on in order to see into a person. It's so much more fun to see all the organs for the most part in tact. Draws it out so much more, makes it much more fascinating." Ryan felt his stomach turn and he gritted his teeth, trying to hold down the bar.
"I figured my dad would be okay with it. He didn't really like the cat. . . Apparently I was wrong, because he beat me so hard with his black leather belt with the golden buckle,that I didn't know if I'd have any undamaged skin on my back by the end of it. . ." Joe fell silent for a moment then continued, "According to him I was to never do anything so 'freaky and weird' again. It might harm his image if people found out." Joe chuckled at that, "That's society, I suppose, right? Trying to stifle my natural tendencies." Ryan gritted his teeth. not sure if he was meant to comment about what Joe had just said or not. . . and if he was, he had no idea what to say, as he forced more of the bar down. He didn't have to worry about it any further because almost immediately Joe started up again, "So I turned to books for imaginative release, since apparently animals were still too precious. As you can probably guess, I found Poe to be my favorite of the dark authors, and he was able to give me the greatest relief out of all of them. So I memorized every word. To me, it was clear that that man was a pure genius, that he really understood the dark nature within me without even having to know me personally. He knew me better than my own damn father. Obviously, every boarding school project I had to do in regards to the literary arts was done regarding him. . . oh yes, I forgot to mention how my father just sent me away. . . guess he was too disgusted with me to see me every day. . . " he chuckled, "But back to the projects: I made A's on each one. . ."
"I imagine you did," Ryan whispered, frowning as he swallowed the last of the bar. Joe turned his head back down and gazed at him. Slowly, he let a proud smile cross his face, "A compliment? Well, such politeness ought to be rewarded." Ryan sucked in a shuddering breath, staring up at the man. He endured those moments of not knowing what was coming next until Joe pulled yet another bar from his pocket. Ryan felt his stomach growl a bit, hungry for more. Joe held it out to him, "See how much better it is when you mind your manners around me?" Ryan gritted his teeth and forced himself to nod. He hated seeming to agree with the man, but Joe reminding him of his previous actions brought into perspective that he needed to make up for his earlier obstinance in the killer's eyes. And to an extent, Joe's perspective was something Ryn had to concern himself with either way he wanted to look at it. Joe smirked, waiting until Ryan had taken his first bite of the bar to continue, "Well, as you most likely assume, I was rather obsessed. I would go to all my fellow classmates and quote Poe. Hell, you could call me one of Poe's 'sidewalk prophets', trying to scream his doctrine from street corners to people not entirely wanting to hear it but who needed to understand it. They asked me not to do it, but I was smarter than them, so I felt that they were just too stupid to understand the need they had to hear such genius . . . to be honest, I still feel that way now. . ." Joe shrugged,"Eventually I decided to give up on reciting Poe to them. Thinking that the classmates were too immature to understand Poe's genius, I tried to impress my father's friends. Unfortunately, once they realized that I was so fanatic about death and the way Poe relayed his own passion for it. . . well that all but let the cat out of the bag. . . about how I was . . . different from what they wanted me to be," Joe sighed and shook his head, "They were the ones who were wrong. . .still, my father failed to see that. I suppose because he was just as dimwitted as they were."
After a moment of silence, he continued, "After I tried to perform for them, I was locked in my room by my father for two weeks straight. For those two weeks, I was only fed when he came in to beat me. He claimed he was 'trying to beat the freak out of me'." Joe snarled and spat onto the ground, and Ryan jumped, staring at the saliva where it landed in the dirt as Joe continued, "I hated those words. In those moments of solitude and pain, I began to realize that I wanted to kill my father. . . that I had always wanted to kill him, and that I would kill him. The fool didn't deserve to live."
The look on Joe's face was so full of renewed anger, was so full of fury and distaste, that it sent a shiver down Ryan's spine. The sweet tasting granola bar lost all flavor and felt just like a heavy lump in Ryan's mouth. He gulped hard to try to force it down. Quickly recomposing himself, Joe smiled calmly, "When I came out of my room, I was sent right back to boarding school early, at least two weeks before the fall session began. It was clear that I was sent there just so that I'd be out of my dad's hair. Somewhere I couldn't cause any more trouble for him. But I didn't mind. It gave me a lot of uninterrupted time to plan his death. It also gave me time to practice for other deaths I anticipated would be soon to follow his. I killed many animals I found at or near the campus. Stray cats, dogs, birds, etc. With them I honed my skills. But I knew that I needed to make it less personal for my father, no matter how much I wanted to see the life leave his eyes as my hands slaughtered him. Oh how I wanted to hack off the hands that had beaten me at the caveman's bidding. To hack them off with my own. Still, if I were to do that, it'd be too obvious. And if I went to jail then, I wouldn't be able to kill anyone else. I wanted to at least kill some others before I was stopped, you see. So I knew it had to look like an accident. So I thought, and thought, until I had a plan." Ryan blinked, putting the cellophane wrappers together and rolling them into a ball. "I came home that Christmas and . . . well I told you this part. . . my dad had this tragic accident coming home one night after a dinner party with his friends. . . it was a gentleman's only dinner, and he was coming home late, when the timing belt on his car just snapped! Quite a clever little trick on my part, and ironic seeing as he refused to have the parties at his house anymore for fear that I might embarrass him."
Joe let a cheshire cat grin cross his face, "I might not have done the killing, but at the very least it was a surprise! AFTER ALL, WHO KNEW WHEN IT WOULD HAPPEN?! I CERTAINLY DIDN'T! I mean, I started the tear, but he finished it! And as it turns out, he ran right off of a bridge and into the river! If the fall didn't kill him, that meant he slowly drowned, and what a way to die! To feel death's cold grip slowly claim you! I wonder if he realized I did it in the end! That would have been so great!" he was breathing hard now, holding his hands up in front of him in excitement, fists clenched so hard the knuckles turned white, "Ryan, you should have seen his body after that. . . so deathly white." Joe gave a happy, euphoric sigh, closing his eyes and hanging his head back, arms still before him, "I snuck a feel of the body, at the visitation, Ryan. . . it was so cold. . . and then I was able to go to his grave and gaze down at his grave stone after he'd been buried. . . Do you know what I said? I said, 'Turns out you couldn't 'beat the freak out of me' after all old man.' And just left the grave! Do you think he knew somehow that I'd said it? I hope so!" He said the last in a rush, too excited to not do so. And panted for a short while after, as silence seemed to fall on the forest.
Ryan gritted his teeth moments before Joe continued, stroking his chin thoughtfully, "Of course, then there was the issue of my mother. She went into this deep depression- it was rather annoying really-and as I was 18, I had to stay at home to take care of her after I graduated from boarding school that next Spring. It was a real pity. . . I had my hopes set on coming over here to study literature at Harvard in the states, and that old hag whined and cried all the time about me leaving her like my father had." Ryan frowned, "Why do you call her a hag? Did she beat you like your father did?" Joe scoffed, "No, but she certainly didn't step in and stop him. She was just as responsible. And now she burdened me, held me back from living a fulfilling life over here, away from the dark shadow of our 'honorable family'. What's worse, sometimes she wouldn't eat and the doctor got onto me for not forcing her to! Can you believe that?! She annoyed me all through that Summer, claiming that I didn't love her and that I'd like nothing more but to be rid of her. Deep down, I think she knew that I was the one who killed my father . . . she was just trying to torture me for it. So I decided to prove her right. By the end of it, I wanted to get rid of her. I truly would like nothing more! So, at the end of that July she just happened to take an overdose of her anti-depressants one evening, and tragically died during the night. So sad," he finished the last sarcastically.
Ryan heaved a sigh, hoping that the gothic tale was ended, but Joe had more to say, crossing his arms, "Well as any 'good son', I had the funeral performed immediately, a nice big one to satisfy all of our 'prominent' friends. It was far bigger than I felt she deserved. Then that next Fall with all of my family's inheritance having been moved to my personal account, I paid my way to go to Harvard. Once I graduated from there, I sold our British estate and used that money in the purchasing of a permanent place of residence in Richmond, VA. A place very significant to Poe," Joe walked forward, kneeling down to look right into Ryan's eyes, which had turned downward. The FBI agent's face had gone paler and paler with the tale. "You seem distressed Ryan. Don't worry, the tale's almost over," he slurred, "As you know, in Richmond, I found Claire, found my job at Winslow University, had Joey, killed those lovely girls, and met . . . you."
He smiled at Ryan at that, and turning, moved the water jug off of the boulder and sat down before he wrapped an arm around Ryan's shoulders, grinning at him as he gave him a friendly squeeze, "You know, Ryan, I've spent many nights pondering what drew you to me and me to you. . . And as I said last night, I finally did realize that I saw that inner darkness in you. I believe that drew me to you and you, at least partially, to me . . . but there had to be something more. . . something that drew you to me a little more. . ." "You're a master at being charismatic and manipulative, Joe. That's all. You were easy to talk to. And knew a lot about Poe, whose works I knew were connected to the deaths. . . that's all. That's the only reason I sought you ou-" Ryan whispered, as if the trees could listen in on their conversation. Joe didn't let him finish, "No, no, that's not it. . . I was pondering this, as I said, when it hit me. . . couldn't believe I didn't think of it before. . . Ryan, have you ever killed anyone before?"
Ryan turned and stared at him, mouth open in shock at what he'd just heard, "W-what?" Joe smiled calmly back, at him "Have you killed anyone before? It would make sense. After all, you so firmly denied earlier that killing was natural. . . You know they have a word for that in psychology: Reaction Formulation." Ryan shook his head, closing his eyes tight, "No. . .No I've never killed anyone. Not in cold blood like that." Joe leaned forward, his warm breath on Ryan's ear, "Oh really? No one? Not one bit?" Ryan groaned, shaking his head as he leaned forward, clasping his hands over his ears, panting. . . The man shook his head, refusing as firmly as possible in his current state, "N-no, I'm good. . . n –no more. . ." Ryan took in a deep, shuddering breath and shook his head, frowning at him, "One more. . ." "I'm good. . ." the man moaned, holding a hand up in a stopping gesture, "I'm good. . ." "No," Ryan whispered weakly, a hot tear racing down his face as he pushed the thought away, "You're the killer, not me. . ."
"That won't be the case for long, Ryan, you know that. Even if it was true that as far as killing goes you're still a virgin. . ." Joe paused, and Ryan darted his eyes over to the man who had a devilish smirk on his face, before lowering his gaze to the ground, shuddering. Joe leaned closer, gripping Ryan's chin and forcing his eyes onto Joe's, "But that's not true is it?" The man seemed to have decided that he wanted to push harder, and it sent fear into Ryan. No. . . no, he wouldn't tell. . . he couldn't. . . He began to shake violently all over. Joe smirked, "I've always felt that killers can sense the presence of other killers. That's how you knew about me, eh? That's how you knew to follow me around a bit more closely. . . Now come on, tell me about your kill," Joe urged, chuckling.
He screamed as blood spouted up from the guy's chest where the bullet wound had formed. Ryan groaned and shut his eyes tight, clutching his head as the memories forced their way into his brain, no matter how hard he tried to stop them. . . drawing his feet up against him, he whimpered, wrapping his arms around them and clutching his forehead as he drew them closer to his face, like a child hiding from the monsters of the dark. Joe chuckled, "Aaaah, Regression. I suppose this happened in your childhood? Or, at a stretch, perhaps adolescence in a situation where you felt like outside forces made things so outside of your control that you felt as helpless as a child. . ." Ryan groaned and shook his head. Ryan's eyes were only on the man and Ray, as his older brother leaned over, and pushed the syringe into the man's arm as he writhed on the couch. Whipping around, he growled, gathering up their things quickly after stuffing the automatic into the guy's hands before turning to Jenny, glaring hard at her as the man on the couch slowed his movements in death, "GET RYAN OUT OF HERE!"
Joe smiled and reaching over, gripped Ryan's arm on the other side, "You're remembering it, aren't you Ryan? How about if you tell me?"he whispered eagerly. Ryan groaned and shook his head, panting a little as he began to sweat, the liquid running down his face and stinging his eyes. His heart beat was in his ears. He felt like his tongue had swollen. . . he felt like his throat was constricting. . . as if he couldn't say anything even if he wanted to . . . as if subconsciously the organ knew he didn't want to say anything to Joe. . . soon he couldn't breathe either. . . Ryan groaned. He needed to calm down. He pulled away from Joe and the man tried to grip his arm tighter, "N-No. . . stay away. . . stay away. . ." Ryan whimpered.
Throwing the side door of the truck open, Jenny pushed her hysterical baby brother inside the cab before clamoring in herself. The world around Ryan spun a little, and Joe's hand was now on his that was rubbing his temple, "Come on, Ryan. It's best if you tell me . . . I told you mine. . . it's only fair. . ." Ryan cried out, panicking as the memories overflowed his mind, and whirling, screamed, "NO!" his hand landed harsh across Joe's cheek with a crack. Turning, he bolted away.
His heart beat was in his ears and his breath came in gasps as his legs tumbled through the undergrowth. Cuts soon littered his legs and his knees bled from where he'd fallen a few times on his knees, slamming into the forest floor as he rushed away. Still he pushed on towards the forest path they'd come from, and turning left, began to race down the way they'd been headed, tears racing down his hot aged face, mingling with the sweat. He knew he was pushing his heart and its pacemaker, but he had to keep moving. He just had to! He had just slapped Joe Carroll. He'd backhanded the devil himself. The man upon whom the decision regarding the continuation of the lives of Claire and Joey depended. He whimpered, remembering how Roderick had looked earlier and imagining whatever had happened to him happening to Ryan. Or worse.
Just as panic gripped him, a raven flew out of a bush nearby in a flurry of feathers to his left and Ryan jumped, yelping, to the side, a bit too close to the other edge of the path where a small dip in the ground was. His sneaker hit the pine needles which slid beneath the grips of the shoe, and his feet shot out from under him, slamming his back hard into the ground. The breath was knocked out of him as he wheezed, and Ryan felt the bile work its way up his throat from his worked up stomach. Getting up, trying to force the bile down, he rolled over on his hands and knees and stood, staggering to his feet. Turning, the man began to make his way through the woods. If he stayed on the path, there was a higher chance of Joe finding him sooner. As he went, he quickened his speed, trying his best to put more distance betwixt him and the path. He knew he was pushing his pacemaker, his chest kept tightening all the more with each breath, each heartbeat. But he had to keep moving. Panic fueled his speed, and although his head began to spin, he pushed onward, trying to keep the bile down as he began to get more and more sick as he pushed himself onward..
Ryan finally staggered, unable to move on any further and doubled over, breathing hard, eyes closed, his head pressed against the rough bark of a large pine. Collapsing to his knees, not even noticing the twigs and briars and needles assaulting the open wounds there and causing further irritation, his stomach churned more, he gave a lurch, and his eyes shut tight. He hurled himself forward as the bile flew out of his mouth and spewed onto the tree.
For hours it seemed, he proceeded to thrust against the tree, shuddering each time as he clung to it for support until finally his entire stomach was empty. When the last of his stomach's contents were emptied out on the tree, he shuddered with a bit of the stuff dripping from his lips, before he licked his lips to get the remainder away and groaned. Twisting around, he slid down to lean against the tree, away from the bile, the back of his head pressing back against the bark. With his gag reflex subsiding and leaving him exhausted, he couldn't hold them back any longer. . . the memories that had been plaguing him finally flooded into his mind, just as the entire event behind them unfolded in his memory. An event that for so long he'd pushed down deeper into his subconscious than anything else he'd ever known.
-End-of-Chapter-
A/N: So what did you think of the chapter? Did you like it? Not like it? Let me know! :) I had originally planned on keeping Ryan's and Joe's histories in the same chapter, as a comparison, but I felt that that might end up rushing the chapter or overtaxing the reader, so I split the chapter yet again. This chapter should only have three parts, and the first part "Shall The Character Resume His Role?" as well as the second part "It's Only Natural" have been completed and posted. Most of the third is finished, it just needs to be revised. I plan for it to have a different ending, but that shouldn't take long for me to write at all. As far as Joe's story is concerned, I took part of the inspiration from a case regarding sociopathy that I remember very vividly from when I studied the psychosis as an independent project I did on the side in college. I also had Joe be from Britain originally, rather than being born and raised in the US. This is my way of paying respect to James Purefoy, the amazing actor who brought Joe Carroll to life before our eyes. He is from England himself.
Some of the hardest parts to write in this chapter were the interactions between Ryan and Joe. Ryan had every intention of keeping his objections to Joe and his philosophy to a minimum if you do recall at the end of the previous chapter. However, Joe will have none of that. Every moment is a lesson betwixt him and Ryan, and also a way to get his claws in Ryan to start to change him and take more control of him. He therefore tries to subtly strike every chord he feels Ryan has, forcing Ryan to act out and also become vulnerable. After all, even though Ryan is acting out against Joe's philosophy, his acting out forces him to think of Joe's point of view, or the philosophy that he's fighting. And whether he likes it or not, that begins to cause the philosophy to at least enter and be considered by his mind. Furthermore, by Ryan acting out, that gives Joe all the more reason of "reminding Ryan who's boss". Joe wants to inevitably be the undisputed controller of Ryan, even after Ryan becomes a killer like Joe, and any chance Joe has of forcing Ryan to acknowledge his authority is going to be taken.
Also, "Reaction Formulation" is a defensive mechanism. Joe was right about that. And I hope that you saw connections between Ryan's small bouts of "Regression" in this chapter and the first chapter. You will see more regression in his memories in the next chapter! I promise! This again is a defense mechanism used when the situation around or within oneself becomes too much to normally handle.
