Chapter 9 – Swans Reflecting Elephants


The muzzle velocity of a M9 gun was 354 meters per second. It only took half a millisecond to pull a trigger. Guy eyes focused on his right for just about the same time. By then all possibilities had crossed Arthur's mind and with them the emotions attached to each.

Doubt.

Could he do it?

Fear.

Was he going to miss?

Conviction.

No. He wasn't. He could do it. He had to.

In a cold and hard decision, one that didn't leave room for mistake, Arthur pulled the trigger. Blood splattered across Ariadne's face and scarf as the bullet hit Nouvelle's right hand and left shoulder, just barely avoiding Ariadne's ear, the hit was followed by a scream and a gun dropping on the floor.

He only registered his success after hearing the sound of his own heart calming, giving room for the professional attitude to come back in full force. He signaled to Ariadne, indicating the gun on the floor, which she took it before going back to the same tense position.

"You shot my hand!" Guy screamed holding his bleeding hand with the good one. "You fucking shot my hand!"

"Glad you noticed. Now that I have your attention and Ariadne got your gun, let me tell you something…"

He walked near them, standing in front of Guy, who was now crouching on the floor, moaning with pain. Ariadne spared him a glance, but Arthur didn't want to look at her right now. He had to do something before he could do that.

"You don't ever threaten my team. You don't get in the way of my job. You can't die? I don't care. Pain works fine for me."

Nouvelle grunted something, probably another curse. Arthur crouched to get closer to him, his gun pointing at his knee, threatening.

"I'm taking you out of this mission. You're going to stay here in this level, bleeding in the floor, waiting for the timer to go off."

Another grunt.

"Eames, cuff him."

He got up, observing while Eames grabbed Guy by the shoulder and locked him on one of the arms of a chair. Nouvelle glared at Arthur, most of his shirt was covered in blood and his hands were still together, trying to stop the bleeding.

"Don't think I'm gonna just wait here like…"

Eames also put a gag over his mouth.

"Ah, beautiful silence at last," the forger commented, giving the boy a pat on the damaged shoulder.

Arthur finally let his eyes wander to her. Ariadne was still staring at him, blood on her white scarf and blushed cheeks, hands hanging in an awkward way, like she forgot completely what do with them. He walked to her, taking the gun out of her hand gently.

"Are you okay? I'm sorry I didn't warned you before…" he said, the gun on his hands feeling heavier and heavier by the second. "I had to."

"I'm glad you did it," she said, avoiding his eyes. "It's just…"

The confusion in her eyes scared him. He didn't doubt that she could handle the pressure of that type of situation, but what would she think of a man that risked her life apparently so easy?

"Don't you trust my aim?" he joked weakly. "I'm the fastest drawn on this side of Chicago."

She let a small smile grace her lips for second. He almost reached for her jaw to offer some form of comfort and really feel that she was there still and safe. As much safe she could anyway.

"The real or the dream one?"

"Both. I'm that good."

She laughed, appearing less tense and also moving a little bit forward, making him want even more to touch her face. He never felt a fear so intense than the one he felt on seeing a gun pointed at her. It was a strange sensation, of feeling completely out of control of a situation, for a brief moment he didn't know what to do or how to save her. And then…

And Arthur realized that he could never ever let something harm her.

"Are you okay?" he asked her again. He wanted to be sure, because nothing else mattered.

"Yes. And… I wasn't really afraid," she said, pulling her hair behind her ear. "You should know. Limbo really doesn't scare me."

"Yes. About that…"

"Don't start. I'm going and that's final. I don't care what you think; I don't care if you are afraid I'm going to see something… I can't let you go alone. So, don't even try to start."

He chuckled, thinking of how adorable she was. Even with blood on her, a crazy mission waiting for them and who knows what else, she was just… So incredible adorable.

"Okay. You win. We're going to have to time it right because of you being the dreamer in the second level, but… Okay."

"Really? That easy?"

"I don't I have a choice, not really."

"For real this time? No last minute change of mind, no plans of leaving me behind?"

He hesitated for a second, before smiling, making her punch him light in the shoulder.

"I just want to make sure that…" he began, taking a deep breath. "Well, that we all make out of this."

"Me too."

Silence fell between them and Ariadne moved a little bit closer, just enough for him to hold his breath and test his self-control. He needed space. Quick.

"Ariadne…" he cleared his throat. "Your scarf has blood on it."

She looked at it, surprised at finding him right.

"I'm glad this is a dream. I can't even image what a nightmare is cleaning that."

"Actually I have some good tips…"

"Of course, you do," she laughed, half-serious.

"Are you two done with the flirting?" Eames said, remembering Arthur where they were and who was also there besides Ariadne. "It's extremely cute, but we are on a tight schedule."

He cleared his throat and Ariadne gave a short laugh, neither seemed to like Eames tease very much. Maybe because it hit too close to home.

"Right. He's right, for once," Arthur said, moving away from her and sitting in one of the chairs. "Where were we?"

She gave him a short look, one he didn't understand.

"I think I was pissing my pants," Yusuf commented, also sitting. "But before that, we were analyzing Edwards' note."

"He didn't seem to realize who sent him the note. And got really testy about it too," Eames said, dream journal back in his hands. "I'm going to make our little crazy friend here ecstatic, but in my professional opinion Edwards is hiding something."

"His reaction to Carl's being shot seemed real enough," Arthur interjected, somewhat surprised by Eames' opinion. "Maybe he's hiding something, but that doesn't necessary mean it has to do with the murder."

"I think is. Denial can be a very powerful thing. Look at yourself."

"Funny," Arthur said, crossing his arms and looking at the time. "I still don't think anyone can fool us here. Not unless they knew they're dreaming."

"Well, maybe he's not trying to fool us. Maybe he's trying to lie to himself?" Ariadne suggested, still standing. She took off the scarf. "The best lie is the one you believe in it."

"That requires a deep delusional mind," Yusuf said, giving Guy a sideway glance."And that's really not the type of mind I want to visit much."

"Or maybe a real smart one. One that can fool a jury," Eames countered.

Arthur wasn't convinced yet.

"This is still all speculation. We don't have the gun; we don't have the missing picture. And above that, he didn't seem all that interested in Carl. All we have is a strange note and sleep problems. That means nothing. I suggest we do this again. He's going to wake up soon, let's try a different approach."

"Like what?" Ariadne asked, slowing cleaning her face of blood with the still white part of her scarf.

"How about the Lawyer Routine?" Eames suggested, tossing the journal on one of the unoccupied chairs.

"What's that?"

"We arrest the subject, threat him, pressuring him with prison, then…" Arthur said, thinking it was a good idea.

"Then his lawyer comes, saving the day," Eames finished.

"Do you think he's going to confess to a lawyer?" Yusuf asked. "Why? When he apparently doesn't even want to admit to himself?"

"Well, the lawyer brings things to the surface; he becomes a protector figure, much like Mr. Charles, so the subject trusts him implicitly. He also has a good reason to ask about Edwards's involvement and question his motives without appearing odd. It may be our best shot for now."

"What about the projections? Won't they try to protect Edwards from the police?" Ariadne said, hanging her dirty scarf on a chair.

"Not if we do this right."


..aa.. ..aa.. ..aa..


Ariadne watched as the dinner's television reported Carl's fake murder. The waitress and the cook heard it as well, looking at the screen with shocked expressions. She started to notice that nearly all projections were most of the time eerie silent, when not playing a big "part" on the dream. Even when talking, they were just making noise. It was a funny and strange reminder that in our heads we were always the center of the universe and everyone else was just background noise.

Finally Edwards' picture appeared on the TV, leading to a chain reaction more quickly than Ariadne anticipated. It seemed that Eames was right: the man was feeling guilty if not for the real murder, at least for witnessing and running on the day before. Following Eames theory his guilty allowed the projections not doubt the news put by Yusuf, but instead embrace like the truth.

Sometimes dream logic gave her a headache.

Sirens grew louder and swiftly police cars appeared, stopping in front of the man's apartment building, grabbing the attention of most people in the street. Ariadne watched as a few projections dressed as cops went inside the place, guns in their hands. In a slower pace Arthur and Eames also got out of the one the cars, playing their part as detectives on the case.

Soon Edwards was out, head down, grabbed by his arms and put inside the police's car without any struggle.

She left two dollars on the table (realizing a second later it was not needed) and exited the dinner, going inside Yusuf's van. In the backseat Guy was moaning, still handcuffed and gagged. She shot him a quick look, angry with his earlier stunt. Grief and youth could only justify so much.

Yusuf started the car, following the police at a safe distance. In her opinion Arthur's and Eames' plan sounded too risky. While the entire city was a maze, the police station was not a very deep one. It could only take a few minutes to solve it. Besides, it was going to be full of policemen, armed and ready to kill them. Still, she knew they had little choice.

The van stopped in front of the station and Ariadne got out, receiving a good luck from Yusuf. Someone had to stay behind to not only make sure Guy didn't do anything else stupid, but to keep the engine running if they needed a quick escape.

She went inside; using a fake ID that Eames had conjured for her. She really wasn't the best person to pretend to be a lawyer, her knowledge of the profession started with "Objection" and ended with "Overruled". It was sad that so many nights watching TV shows were really proved to be wasted time.

Yet, luckily, nobody questioned her on her skills. All she had to do was to walk like she belonged in there, ordered some people around, and everybody believed her.

Perhaps Edwards' also had only TV as his source too.

They let her in on the interrogation room, where Eames was questioning the very scared-looking man. She found Arthur on the other side of a two-away mirror, watching their conversation.

"He's the bad cop?" she asked, approaching him.

"Something like that. Are you ready?"

"Not really," she snorted. "I mean… What if I say the wrong thing?"

"Then we all wake up. And I'll go for a long vacation. Probably in the Chicago River. With cement shoes."

"Thanks. No pressure then."

"I'm exaggerating," he noted with a small smile. "A little. You'll be fine, you make…"

"I make people talk."

"You also don't look threatening."

"You're saying I'm a fragile little girl?" she raised an eyebrow, half-joking.

"You know I don't mean like that. What I mean is… You'll make him comfortable enough to speak. He'll trust you because you are honest, sincere and a genuinely good person. You'll know just the right thing to say,"

She knew what he had meant. Still, it was nice hearing him say out loud.

"Will I ever know the right thing to say to you?"

The question obviously caught him off guard, yet he didn't try to change the subject for once.

"You already do," he finally said, avoiding her eyes and focusing on the mirror where Edwards was asking for water. "We're friends aren't we?"

"Yes. I guess we are," she watched as Eames laughed at the man, denying him the glass. "Arthur… I didn't thank you for earlier. So… Thanks."

"You're welcome."

She sighed, wishing she had more courage to speak more.

"I think is time for me to go in there and save the day."

Arthur nodded and she left the room, going to the other side of the mirror. Eames was still pressuring Edwards into confessing. The man was sweating and looked pale. She wished she knew if it was only confusion and not guilt overwhelming him.

She walked in the middle of an answer from Edwards, with Eames giving her a wink.

"Mr. Edwards, please stop talking. They can't make you say anything. I'm here to represent you. And you," she turned to Eames, trying hard to stay in character. "Stop harassing my client and leave now."

"Fine, lady. He's all ours."

When the door closed, she sat on a chair opposite from her "client." Only a frail table was between them. Edwards was supporting his head with his hands, closed together by the handcuffs. She crossed her legs and tried to appear professional and ready.

"I… I didn't ask for a lawyer. I don't have the money."

"The state provides everyone with one. Don't worry; you won't have to pay me. Now… Do you need anything? Water?"

He nodded. She got up and took a jar and a glass left in by Eames and passed to him. With difficulty he drank it all.

"Thank you."

"I'm Sam, by the way. Samantha Holloway."

"Nice to meet you. I wish I could shake your hand Miss. Holloway, but… Well, I can't right now."

"I am sorry for the handcuffs. But, for now, the police won't take them away."

He nodded slowly, hiding his hands bellow the table.

"So… They said to me that you are the prime suspect in Carl Adler's murder. The boy was shot just last night and someone saw you running scared away from there. Is that true?"

His eyes went pass her and he readjusted his body in the chair, the question making him uncomfortable.

"I… No."

"No? Mr. Edwards, you need to tell me truth. I can't prove your innocence if I don't have the facts right," she tried, but he just recoiled more. "And if you are not innocent, I'm sure it was accident. Either way, I can help you."

"I… Okay. Yeah. I was there… I ran away."

"Why?"

"Because… Because that was a dead body in front of me! Why else?"

"Did you saw someone else?"

"I… Yes. I think that I did. He's probably the one who did it."

She could almost feel Arthur deep gaze, noticing every little gesture and word, anxious for more answers. Ariadne could also imagine Eames whispering into her ear: "You're giving him excuses, darling. Leading him into a convenient lie."

"So you didn't shoot him?"

"No! Of course not! It was someone else!"

"Why didn't you call for an ambulance?"

"I… I was scared. But I tried… I think I did. I don't remember…"

She could see he was slipping away from her. He kept shaking his leg and avoiding her eyes. She changed her tone a little, trying to be gentler.

"Can you describe to me what you do remember? It's important to focus on details so we can help you. Why were you at that dream club? Can you remember that?"

"Someone paid me to go, so I could sleep."

"Who?"

"I… A friend."

"Okay. So, you left the club. What then?"

"I don't remember. It's all very confusing, I think I went home, but I know I didn't. I saw the guy fall and… Die. And then… I ran."

Was he confusing dream with reality? His testimony in the real world months after the murder made him sound so calm and sure… It was like she was talking to a different person. Perhaps by the time the police pointed him out as suspect, he already had prepared a story?

"And who was the other person you saw?"

Silence. His hands went to his face, covering it, she heard him suppress a sob.

"Mr. Edwards, please. If you can tell me anything about this man or woman, maybe we can convince the police to let you go. Can you describe the person to me?"

"I'm sorry. I'm just so confused. God, how did I end up in this mess?" he breathed hard. "I was in the club and then… Then he was falling in front of me… And… I just kept running. I don't remember anything else."

"Okay. That's okay. Maybe it will come to you later. The police didn't find the gun used in the crime. Did you saw it?"

There was another pause, this time he didn't look away. She could see that he knew the answer already. He stopped shaking.

"No."

It was a lie, that much was clear. But unlike the first one, he appeared to be more confident that she would believe in it.

"You said you were in front of the victim, are you sure that you didn't see the gun?"

"No. I already told you: I heard the gunshot and I just ran the other way."

"Did you talk to Carl Adler before the murder?"

"Yes. I asked him if his father was enjoying his new hotel in Aruba."

That was new information. Which could mean she was on the right track.

"You were bitter because you're fired."

"Yes."

"The persecution could use this against you. We need something stronger that could prove your innocence."

"How about the fact that he was mugged? I'm not a thief; I don't need any more money."

That made her pause. He was definitely thinking of the real murder night. Not only that, but the way he said sounded like a rehashed speech. Sobbing one minute, calm and composed the other? Also, he suddenly wasn't so poor?

"How do you know he was mugged? The police didn't write that in the report."

Something changed in him immediately, he looked away from her. His leg was shaking again. Gone was the air of certainty, in its place was now a man close to tears.

"No? I thought… I was sure that…"

She then tried something a little more radical. She extended her arm towards him and put one hand over his hands, trying to calm him and show him her sympathy.

"If you did do it, you have to tell me. I will defend you in court no matter what, but I need to know the truth."

He looked at her, his eyes searching her face for something. From scared to calm and back, Edwards's appeared more tired than ever. He always had dark circles under his eyes, but now they were deeper, like it was too hard to keep awake or keep a secret hidden.

"I… I don't know," he admitted, dropping his head in defeat. "Maybe I did? Sometimes I know I did. Sometimes I just… It's like I'm watching a movie, like I'm not in control. The gun… It's in my hands and then is not. I think I'm crazy. Can… Can you help me? P-Please? I just want to sleep. Just for a few minutes…"

"I'm sorry, but we need to keep going for now," she tightened her grip on his hands, to keep him focused. "You said that gun was in your hands and then it wasn't?"

"Yes… I ran and the gun was in my hand and… I threw away, inside a truck. A garbage truck, it got crushed by the machine... I forgot that. I thought it was dream… Like a nightmare. But I did throw away, didn't I? So it couldn't be found."

She looked at the mirror. It seemed that Guy was right: Edwards was the murderer. She didn't ask any more questions for a minute or so, in an effort to keep herself calm. It was the news she didn't want to hear. After a deep breath, she hid those thoughts at the back of her mind for now.

"What about the picture? What did you do with it?"

"Picture?"

"The one with Carl and his parents on the beach."

"Oh. That. I… I don't know. I looked at it and made me mad. I ripped apart, threw on the river. I remember now. I was angry, but I'm never angry. I just deal with things… I never…"

Something clicked in his mind and he was back at facing her. His whole body was tense, a deep frown forming.

"I… I think I did it. I… did it. God…"

"Did what?"

He stared at her, mouth open.

"I murdered him. I shot him. It didn't felt me… I didn't think. I just shot him, I saw him in the club and I was so… So angry. I shouted at him, he left but it wasn't enough, I had to follow him. Why did I do it? I would never hurt anybody! It isn't fair! I thought it was over! No more thinking of this! I never wanted this! He made me do it."

His hands were trembling underneath hers and she was, frankly, a little off put by his display of distress. His speech was disorienting, his voice trembling and after it he kept pleading for her help. She didn't know what to do and, most of all, if she felt pity for him now, how could she let Arthur destroy his mind?

Before she could decide on her own feelings on the matter, the door opened. Arthur and Eames grabbed Edwards quickly and she could only follow them. The police station was now empty, no projections stood on their away. They put Edwards in the back of a police van; he sat on the bench and was chained to the floor. Meanwhile Ariadne walked to Yusuf's car, entering and explaining to him (and Guy) what had happened.

In silence, they went back to the safe house, drugging Edwards to sleep on the way. Guy, although pale, also looked pretty proud of himself.

Nobody said a thing while Arthur hooked the man on the PASIV. Nobody seemed to want to bring the issue to the surface. It was easier just to ignore it, pretend that what was going to happen next was just a regular job. She only dared to speak after she was lying on her chair, next to Arthur. It felt wrong not to voice her doubts before it was too late.

"Are we really going to do this?"

He looked at her, a trace of regret forming.

"I made a promise," was his apology.

"When did you start being sentimental on the job?" Eames commented, while pulling his sleeve up. "If you do this, do it because of the money. Anything else is asking for trouble."

But Arthur ignored him, instead focusing on her.

"I asked you then… You said you trusted me."

"I did… I do."

"Then you know I tried. We tried. We did more than anyone else would in the same situation. It's over."

She nodded, letting a sigh of disappointment escape from her lips. She lay back on the chair, waiting for Yusuf to start the machine.


..aa.. ..aa.. ..aa..


The three of them were near the front door. An opened window let a gust of wind inside. Outside, a hot day of summer awaited them. The floorboards cracked below his feet. He looked around the room.

Something was wrong.

"Where's Edwards?" he asked, mind racing.

The plan was the subject to appear inside the house with them, instead the man was gone. With a hand on his gun holster, Arthur walked to the living room, then to the kitchen. Empty. The feel of the house was wrong. Ariadne's replica was perfect, from the first to the second floor; all of it looked like a place someone was living in it, each detail enhancing the lie. But all the same, it felt like he had made a mistake somewhere along the way. Missed a clue or a sign.

"He's not on the second floor," Eames said, descending from the stairs.

"He's outside," Ariadne announced, looking over the window, pushing back the yellow colored curtain. "But…"

"What?"

"I… There are two of them."

"Projections?"

He walked towards her, looking out as well.

"No… Two Edwards."

She was wrong.

"Not two. More."

He counted five, but then another showed up. And then another. In a few seconds the house was surrounded. All them wearing the same worn out clothes and a blank expression on their faces. They didn't do anything beside watch the house, like strange phantoms waiting for them to get out. Or wanting to keep them inside.

He had never seen something like this.

"Well, this is strangely new." Eames said, going to another window, gun already on hands.

"Arthur?" Ariadne voice ringed beside him. "How is this possible?"

He searched his mind for an explanation. Police records, school records, emails, passwords, parking tickets, medical records... Anything to explain what the hell was happening. Was he a forger? Did he know all along he was dreaming? For how long? Was he was controlling everything? Did anyone ever saw anything like that?

"I don't know."

"Should we shoot them?" Eames said.

"All of them?" Ariadne replied, gripping the curtain in a nervous gesture. "What if one them is the real Edwards?"

Ariadne and Eames kept speculating on what to do, but Arthur tried to focus on why the hell something like this was happening. First, Edwards denied anything to do with Carl, he didn't seem anger at Adler or tried to offend him in the club, his reaction to the shooting was confusion, not guilt. Then he remembered killing Carl and the confession brought himself to tears? Maybe Yusuf had been right, Edwards was out of his mind.

"I'm going out," he finally said, stopping their discussion.

"What? Why?"

"Do you want to be ripped apart, darling?" Eames agreed.

"Don't worry. I have a gun," he argued, opening the front door.

He stepped outside, carrying his gun in one hand, pointing to the floor. The projections didn't react to his presence. He waved to the nearest one, making it turn its head slowly, facing Arthur.

"Edwards?" Arthur asked.

The projection disappeared. Arthur looked at the rest of the farm, noticing the absolute silence. No sound of birds or far away cars, no horses, cows or chicken, just the wind blowing. He went to another projection, asking the same question. Again, it simply disappeared. By now, Ariadne and Eames were out too, but staying close to the house, guns ready.

Losing a subject inside a dream wasn't unheard of; usually it happened when Point Man didn't do his job and forgot something about the person's routine or tastes. Sometimes it happened because of the dreamer or the architect, planning the level wrong or forgetting details, a door or a corridor leading to the wrong direction.

But never like this, with strange doubles appearing out of nowhere.

"They seem harmless at least," he commented back to others. "For now."

"But still very creepy," Ariadne said.

Suddenly a sound of a shovel working its way inside the earth made him turn fast. Near the barn and the leaking water tower, was another Edwards, digging with strange determination.

Arthur signaled to Eames and the two of them got near the man. By then, they could see what he was doing: he was digging what appeared to be a grave. His face was wet not only with sweat but tears as well, he was pale and his hands tried hard to keep working while trembling.

Eames gave Arthur a worried glance, probably more than a little freak out by now.

"Edwards?" Arthur repeated the question.

There was no answer; it was like he couldn't see them. Arthur got closer, touching the man slightly on the shoulder. His reaction was to yank himself away violently, falling backwards and dropping the shovel on the ground. But still he didn't make eye contact.

"Allow me," Eames whispered to Arthur, changing his appearance.

By the time he crouched near Edwards, Eames had taken the appearance of the man's mother. In a soothing tone, he asked what was wrong, trying to touch his hands carefully. When Edwards saw that, his eyes widen and he tried to get away, crawling backwards with fear.

"You… You're dead… What… Leave me alone!"

"No, sweetie, it's okay. I'm here. I'm not dead…"

"No! No! You were dead! Leave me alone!"

Eames tried once more to reach him, but Arthur heard Ariadne shouting just in time to see that the projections were all turning their heads to the scene, slowly moving towards them. Arthur pulled Eames back, while Edwards got up and ran inside the barn.

"Rather twitchy fellow, ain't he?" Eames said, annoyed with the failure.

"At least we found him. If that's really him…"

"Guys… Can we go back to the house, now?" Ariadne shouted at them, reminding him of the projections. "I think they woke up or something."

It was true; they were all looking at them, tilting their heads slightly in synchronized movements. Arthur didn't know what bother him the most: the fact that they were watching his every move or that they could all jump at him exactly at the same time. Slowly Eames and he went back to the house, Ariadne closing the door behind them. Not that could do much good in face of an angry mob of projections.

"What the hell is happening?" Ariadne asked, gesturing to him and then to the window.

"Crazy shit it's happening, darling. I say we wake up and start over."

"It's too soon, Yusuf's kick is still hours away," Arthur said, still watching the window.

"Okay, then we deal with it… It must have an explanation, right? This isn't random, there's reason. Like… Maybe..." Ariadne tried, passing a hand in her hair.

"He's crazy. That's a good reason," Eames said.

"Maybe he was in denial about the murder for so long that… Something snapped inside him?"

"Still, there's no way he could change the projections appearances'," Arthur argued, suddenly feeling trapped. "For that to happen, he must be in control of the dream."

"I say we shoot him, send him to Limbo and hope for the best. Adler will have to be satisfied with a coma."

Arthur sat on the third step of the stairs, on hand holding his gun, the other on his forehead. He needed to think, to stay calm, form a plan. Ariadne and Eames' chatter was too much.

"Maybe we could talk to him more… Gently."

"More gently than with his dear mother? I don't think so, love. Let's just grab him out of that barn…"

"I think I said that I want to be left alone."

All three heads turned to the living room door where Edwards now stood, hands crossed, dressed in a yellow suit and a gun hoisted in his belt. That was not the same Edwards that were digging outside, nor the one Ariadne interrogated, not even the one that run away from the crime scene. The general appearance was the same, but the way he stood there, calm and with an edge of danger, made Arthur realize something.

"Let's talk," Edwards continued, "Before you three cause any more damage."

Arthur stood up and moved closer to his team, positioning himself as their leader.

"So talk. How about by introducing yourself?"

"You know me already."

"You're James Edwards."

"Yeah."

"But not the Edwards. You are the other one, right?"

Ariadne and Eames all turned to him, confused.

"There is no other. I'm me."

"But sometimes you're shy and harmless, trying just to get by, not to draw too much attention. Afraid people will know."

"Sometimes."

"And then sometimes you just want to scream at your boss, shoot someone, risk a little."

"That too."

"Arthur… Is he… Does he have…?" Ariadne whispered.

"A double personality? Yeah."


..aa.. ..aa.. ..aa..


Note: Yeah, sorry for taking so long. I entered a bit of a depressed phase. The story didn't seem all that great; nothing I wrote was good… Most of the time I kept thinking "yeah this plot sucks" or "Jesus, this is boring." This was pretty hard to write. I still think I dropped the ball or something along the way, but what is done is done! I will try to be quicker next time. Also, do you guys like to receive reviews' replies from me? I like answering them, but I keep thinking it's annoying? Next chapter: more crazy shit happens. AA moments are also coming :)