CHAPTER NINE – Scrambled Eggs and Cyanide
Time: 8:01:24 a.m.
Unaware of all the commotion that had been occurring over the last four hours, fifty-eight year old Miriam Stimpson flipped from the right hand side of the king sized bed over to the left hand side. The second that this happened, her eyes immediately shot open; she had shifted over the side of the bed that she shared with her husband . . . her husband Derek Stimpson. This, straight away, did not settle well with her. She knew that her husband's night shift ended – Miriam averted her eyes towards the metal alarm clock that sat on the bedside table – a little over two hours ago and he would have stripped down to his briefs and got straight into bed; so not rolling on top of him caused suspicion inside her.
Deciding to get out of bed, she threw off the heavy duvet, swung her legs out and inserted her bare feet into a pair of cream slippers. Next, she stood up and straightened her night dress before taking her light blue cotton nightgown that hung onto a hook on the wardrobe and wrapped herself inside its snug confines.
She opened the door and stepped out into the hallway before calling out, "Derek? Derek, are you home?"
No-one responded.
As suspicion started to bubble in Miriam's gut, she went into the kitchen to see if there were any signs that her husband had returned . . . nothing.
This was certainly strange. It was never like Derek to not be asleep by this time of the morning. Well, all except when he was not working late Saturday evening into the ungodly hours of Sunday morning.
Something did not feel right. Miriam could not quite explain what it was, but whatever it was, she hated the feeling.
She would never call her husband whilst he was at work, unless it was an emergency situation. Well, work was the only place in the world where she thought he would be right now and as far as she was concerned, this was an emergency . . . Derek was missing.
She made her way over to the telephone and from memory, tapped the keys. Ending the eleven-digit number, the recurring dial tone rang in her ear as she waited for a response. With the phone glued to her ear, she walked over to were the television was situated. Taking the remote off of the top of the television, she pressed the stand-by button. As the dial tone kept up its mechanical pitch, Miriam almost dropped the phone to the floor as the television said 'Good Morning' to her, in the form Christian Solomon (the Jump City International News reporter) sitting behind a desk with the words 'Breaking News' emblazed along the bottom of the screen in bold capitals and in black and yellow writing with scenes of a burning building in the top corner of the screen.
". . . police authorities are currently undergoing their search of Caspar Confectionary. It was approximately around four o'clock in the early hours of this morning that the candy store that has been established in Jump City for more than a hundred years was reportedly the target of suspected-terrorist activity. Though it is uncertain to everyone as to why this store was targeted, we will inform you the moment the reasoning becomes clear. However, we can confirm that just under an hour ago, and a body – highly believed to be that of the shops owner, seventy-three year old Richie Caspar – was removed from the building and taken to the nearest mortuary via ambulance.
"As reported earlier by our correspondent Hilary Jenkins, another explosion transpired around six-twenty-five this morning, when a house in the rural area of Steinhouse Avenue was reported to have ignited. The cause of this explosion is yet unknown but we have been notified that fire services have already been issued down to that house and are currently putting an end to the fire; once the inferno has been subdued, the police will do a search of the property and we should know what the cause of the incident was.
"As of yet, the only injured individuals that we currently know about, who were affected by the Steinhouse Avenue explosion was the Tamaranian warrior and member of the prodigious faction of five, the Titans, Starfire."
The video footage that was taken from a camera showed the scene again where crowds of people gathered around an injured red-haired girl (Miriam instantly knew was Starfire) and the sight of a purple haired female (Raven, Miriam recognised just as quickly) pushing through those crowds in order to get to her teammate.
"For those of you who have just joined JCIN, the latest, breaking news story of today . . . explosions have rocked the Jump City area were there has been one reported death, that person again was Richie Caspar, seventy-three, owner of family run candy shop Caspar Confectionary and one injury, that person, again, is Titan member . . . Starfire . . ."
The telephone kept ringing its dialling tone.
Soon after he gave the little girl his autograph, Kimberly (the receptionist) approached Cyborg with a man behind her. The young receptionist introduced the man to Cyborg as Dr. Adrian Marley – the hospitals resident pathologist.
Cyborg recognised Adrian as a man in his early forties and quite gangly – then again, he was six feet five inches tall, mousy brown hair, freckled face, thin framed spectacles over light brown eyes and wore the traditional white overalls.
Holding out his hand, Adrian began the conversation, "Good morning Cyborg"
The mechanical man took the pathologists hand and shook it, "Hey doc"
Chuckling at the young's mans response; Adrian said "So, you told Kimberly that you needed to come down to the morgue"
Recognising that the waiting was not empty – minus himself and the pathologist of course – Cyborg asked, "Do ya know somewhere where we can talk about this? It's quite confidential"
"Oh, sure, no problem at all. Please, do follow me."
A short walk later, Adrian had led Cyborg to an unoccupied office, locked the door behind the pair of them and said, "Okay, why do you need to come down to the mortuary? Is this about the incident that happened at Caspar's?"
Milk chocolate eyes widened for a moment, "Uh, actually no, that's not the reason why I'm here"
Adrian was pleasantly surprised by the half man half machines response.
"Oh, no?"
"No, I'm here for something else"
"Oh. Okay then, what would that 'something else' be exactly?"
Breathing deep, Cyborg commenced speaking, "Okay, earlier this morning, roughly around six o'clock, two paramedics were called out to a distress call . . . Ridenour Street I think it was . . . anyways, when they got there, they found an elderly woman lying at the bottom of the stairs . . . dead"
Scrunching his eyes in concentration, the pathologist immediately replied, "Ah yes, would that be a woman by the name of Iona Islington?"
Cyborg's brain instantly froze; he had no clue what the ladies name was. In fact, he had no clue what the woman looked like or any specific feature that he could use to confirm the name. Stumbling for a response, Cyborg thought that the pathologist would not have offered up a name if he had not mentioned the street name.
Taking what was a gamble; Cyborg said "Yes, that's her"
"Yes" Adrian shook his head in despondency "she was here a few weeks ago. Had a family history of diabetes. It was one of the paramedics who recognised her. Was here a few weeks back actually for a blood test.
"When I heard she had died, I thought it was the diabetes. You know, her body not producing enough insulin, probably left her injections downstairs, went to get them, lost her footing and went tumbling"
"Well, there's the problem you see . . . we don't believe it was an accident"
Now this really grabbed the doctors attention, "What?"
Cyborg continued his explanation, "When me and my friends arrived at the house, Leo Mitchell and Melissa Pritchard who were the paramedics there when we arrived, said that the front door was open when they entered the house"
Adrian's eyes literally doubled in size, "What are you trying to say?"
"What I'm saying is . . . is that we don't believe that this is all as black and white as it seems"
"And when you say 'we', you're referring to you and your colleagues"
What Cyborg said next would probably land him and his friends into a world of shit, but if they was to get any closer to the truth, "If you're wondering whether I'm here on Robin's order, I can tell you that I'm not . . . Lieutenant Steve Brauner gave me the authority to come down here . . . he knows about this incident"
Adrian gave a breathy laugh, "Ah yes, young Stevie Brauner. Yes, I've had a few dealing with that jumped up little twerp"
Cyborg also scoffed in acknowledgment; at the same time, he hoped and prayed that this would convince Adrian enough to take Cyborg into the mortuary.
Adrian threw his hands in the air, "Well, if you've been given permission by an authority figure – plus, you are a Titan, I don't see any reason why you can't come down and report back on the findings"
Cyborg celebrated in his mind; elated that he had broken down what seemed to be an infrangible wall.
"Whilst you're here, you can pick up the findings on the Richie Caspar . . ."Adrian turned and unlocked the door, ". . . but I warn you" he turned his head to look at the cybernetic being, "it's not a pretty sight".
"Thanks fine doc, I've got a big enough stomach to handle anything" Cyborg joked to the pathologist, who in return, also laughed at the Titans' words.
Unbeknown to the pathologist – as well as Cyborg for that matter – there was no longer just one Titan who was currently occupying the hospital.
Staring through the sheet of glass, forest green eyes that were tinted with dark red streaks were unblinking at the state of the orange skinned girl that lay on a hospital bed. His heart could have broken into a million pieces at the sight of such a fragile, defenceless, delicate disposition.
For what must have felt like an hour, BeastBoy had not uttered a single word to anyone. He could not muster any energy to say anything. In front of him lay Starfire, the girl who, to him, was as good as his sister. She was someone who was always there for him whenever he needed cheering up, always there whenever he wanted anyone to laugh at his jokes (even if she did not understand a single one of them), always there to consume the delicacies of his tofu foods whenever anyone else would throw it back in his face . . . he found it astonishing just how much someone meant to him when they could have had their life taken away from them in the blink of an eye. He just wanted her to wake up, wanted her to lighten the room with her personality, her infectious aura, her joy-laden voice; he just wanted to be crushed to death by her vice-grip embrace.
All the tears that he thought he had cried out in the ambulance began flowing out once again. He pressed his head against the glass, shut his bloodshot eyes and silently cried.
Sorrow quickly became rage.
I swear, when I find out who did this to you Star, I promise you that I'll make them pay.
His fists began to shake, manifesting the anger building up in his stomach.
The opening of the hospital rooms' door snapped BeastBoy out of his state. Quietly calming himself – which was no easy feat – a middle-aged man wearing a pristine white coat over a sky blue shirt accompanied by a navy blue tie, black trousers and gleaming black shoes stood facing him with a file in hand.
"You must be Starfire's friend? Uh, BeastBoy?" the doctor – whose name was Eric Lloyd – asked, extending a hand to the superhero.
"Yeah, yeah I am" replied the changeling, reciprocating the hand shake, "Is she gonna be okay doc? She's not gonna . . . well, is she . . .?"
Placing a hand on the teenagers shoulder, Eric answered, "She's going to be fine young man. Whenever people are in an unconscious state, they can be out from a matter of seconds to years."
The changeling's eyes widened with fright.
"But there's no need to worry" Eric continued, adding urgency to that sentence. He took his hand off of the hero and opened up his file "Ever heard of such a thing called the Glasgow Coma Scale?"
BeastBoy shook his head.
"Well, it's what's used to determine the condition of a person in an unconscious state. When a patient is in an unconscious state, we check their EMV responses – that's Eyes, Verbal and Motor responses. Depending on how the patient responds to specific criteria determines the severity of the state of unconsciousness. Based on the type of response, depends on what score we give towards that response.
"Now, Starfire's eyes responded whenever I communicated with her, that scored three points" Eric recognised the unbridled confusion in the shape shifters eyes, but carried on nonetheless, "Her verbal response scored four points, which meant that she managed to answer some basic questions that I asked her, but not fluently enough in order to engage in conversation with and showed obvious signs of disorientation when answering them. Lastly, her motor responses scored four points, meaning that she withdraw from pain when applied to her nail-bed but nothing else beyond that. Which, in conclusion, this means that with a total of eleven points, your friend is suffering from a moderate unconsciousness. Trust me when I say that it could have been a helluva lot worse. In conjunction to this, since your friend isn't, well . . . human, her recovery rates would probably much rapid than those of a human."
During the doctor's speech, BeastBoy thanked God for keeping Starfire away from serious danger. Now the tears were really falling and falling thick and fast. But these were not tears of sorrow; they were tears of relief.
Eric returned his hand to the green teens shoulder, "As a matter of fact, I can't imagine that it'll be long before she's able to speak to you and . . . where has the other one got to?"
Looking at his surroundings, BeastBoy had not noticed that Raven had gone AWOL. Neither he nor she had attempted in making small talk when they arrived at the hospital or in the ambulance. He had not even paid any attention to her during their arrival
"I dunno" was the changeling's only response.
"Oh, well, once I determine that Starfire is in a good enough condition, I'll notify you and then you can come in a talk to her, okay?"
"Sure thing doc . . . and thanks again"
Eric nodded his head in appreciation before turning on his heel and going back into Starfire's room.
BeastBoy chose to take a seat on one of the many plastic chairs that lined up along the wall. He cleaned his face of the tears that stained his cheeks and were swimming in his eyes before turning them to his open hands. He was tired; he had not had any sleep whatsoever for the last eighteen or so hours and he was starving. Considering that all he had to eat yesterday was tofu for breakfast and lunch, skipped dinner and substituted it for the junk food he kept in his bedroom, it was no wonder that he was craving for something to eat.
The rustling of a plastic bag knocked him out of his absent-minded state and brought him back into reality. Removing his face from his gloves, his eyes were greeted to the sight of navy blue boots, matching coloured cape and grey skinned legs. Looking up, he saw Raven hold out a drinks cup to him.
Taking the cup, thanking her in the process, he took a sip of the liquid, his tongue danced, swam and singed in the sour taste of black coffee. After his first consumption of the drink, he noticed Raven digging into the plastic bag, retrieving two bananas and handing them to the green teen.
After taking the fruit, Raven saw BeastBoy look at her in slight confusion, to which she responded, "Breakfast . . . hospitals do not supply tofu"
BeastBoy tittered at her comment and thanked for the food.
Raven sat down, three seats separating her from her colleague and took out her own food from the bag, an apple.
Before chowing down on his breakfast, BeastBoy thought that he should fill the empath in on what he was told about Starfire condition.
During his explanation, Raven could feel the pain that swarmed inside the shape shifter, his emotions were so raw, so conflicted, and it took a great deal concentration to control her own emotions from going haywire.
As he concluded what Eric had explained, BeastBoy concluded his dialogue, ". . . I know she's gonna be fine, but I still cant help but think that all this could've been so different. She could've been killed. She could've . . ." it was no good, tears came trickling down his cheeks again.
Raven watched in despondency as BeastBoy's waterworks resumed. Her concentration intensified; the sorrow that consumed the green teen was incredibly powerful and it was starting to make Raven quite disorientated. However, there was something nagging at her, something that bothered her.
He said that 'she' could've been killed. He solely referred to Starfire when he spoke, not once did he make any allusion to me. Does he even care that I might've been seriously injured in the explosion?
Raven stopped her thoughts right there. This was not the time for such thought. Yes, she was still bothered by BeastBoy not fully believing that she was sorry about her treatment of him in Tokyo and that he vocalized an acceptance that was lacklustre in truth, but with what has happened, it would be completely inappropriate to bring up such ambivalence.
So, she asked something else that had been plaguing her mind, "BeastBoy, where's Robin?"
BeastBoy ceased crying and sighed despondently, readying himself for the explanation that was about to come; both heroes completely unaware that their Tamaranian teammate was awakening from her comatose condition.
Having never been in a mortuary before, Cyborg anticipated that one would feel like a haunting environment. He expected the inner sanctum of the room filled with the deceased would be a cold, clinical environment and completely devoid of any emotion. Well, Cyborg was correct; except it was about a thousand times worse than he envisaged.
The very moment that Adrian Marley opened the metal door that led to the morgue, Cyborg felt his body temperature plummet from normal to arctic in a matter of nanoseconds; he was not certain whether this was just his preconceived conception about how morgue's were supposed to feel, or whether the room of the dead was actually supposed to be that cold. The sight of the multitude of freezers that were lined up at the furthest end of the room, one after the other, sent shivers through Cyborg's system; he did not care if all of them contained any deceased entities, just the knowledge that hundreds, possibly even thousands of bodies had been in those metal capsules was good enough to unnerve him. Situated in the middle of the room, was a row of four dissection tables. Each one of them gleaming in the illumination of the halogens light fixtures that shone on top of them and emitting the stench of Deodorx Plus – a brand of disinfectant that is commonly used to clean dissecting tables; Cyborg spotted that the furthest table had a body bag on it already.
Cyborg's attention to his surroundings distracted him from the pathologist approaching one of the many freezers, unlocking it and opening the door.
"Here's what you came to see Cyborg" Adrian snapped the Titan out of his pensive trance and brought his attention to the black body bag that lay on the roll-in table.
Cyborg paced over to the black bag of death that the doctor had removed from its frozen confines; waves of frigidity flowed from the bag into thin air. As the doctor unzipped the bag, the cybernetic being braced himself for the moment where the sight of a deceased body welcomed him.
If he was honest, seeing the deceased Iona Islington for the first time was not as traumatic as he initially anticipated. She looked quite peaceful, undisturbed, as though she died peacefully; she would have looked that way if it was not for the blatant bruise on her neck that attracted Cyborg's attention like a beacon. It was that moment there that Cyborg, for the first time, thought that Robin and BeastBoy were actually onto something.
"I'm just going to do an examination of the deceased; which is going to take some time" said Adrian.
"Not a problem doc, I can wait" replied Cyborg.
The pathologist smirked again at the young mans reference to him as 'doc'.
As Jump City General Hospitals' resident pathologist began his magic, Cyborg decided to waste some time meandering around the mortuary.
Not a lot took the Titans' eye to begin with. The dissecting tables were as clean as humanly possible, the dissecting instruments were spotless, and he had no intention of taking a peek in any of the freezers . . . but his attention kept calling back to the body bag that was already laid on the non-vacant table.
If anyone was so riddled with curiosity that they thought something like that deserved their intervention, that person was usually BeastBoy, however, Cyborg thought it ironic that he would find himself in this position in such unimaginable circumstances.
Giving a cursory glance at Dr. Marley and ensuring that his attention was solely on Iona; Cyborg crept over to the body bag and examined the outer shell.
The bag itself certainly looked quite . . . empty. There were a few odd bumps here and there but no real indication that an entire deceased entity was encased in the bag.
With his metal fingers tantalizing hovering over the zip, Cyborg surrendered to temptation, gently gripped the zip and opened the bag until it reached the end. But it was not the sight of the bag that grabbed his immediate attention . . . it was the smell that instantly hit his nasal passages that introduced him to the contents. The incense of burnt flesh constricted Cyborg's insides; despite not having a functioning human stomach, his brain still forced him to exude a gag reflex. Whilst he did not have any human organs in his stomach, the waste product that remained in his bionic stomach maintained waste product which was his own 'unique' vomit. Eventually, he brought himself to grip the edges of the bag and . . .
Adrian saw the cybernetic Titan rush from the open body bag over to one of the many sinks that were lined up at the opposite end of the room and hurl. He gave a small snort and shook his head at the end result of Cyborg's curiosity. Calling out to the stricken hero, Adrian said, "I see that you've acquainted yourself with ol' Richie Caspar"
Turning on the tap, Cyborg cleaned out the sink, filled his mouth with water and swished and swirled the liquid in his mouth a few dozen times before spitting it out into the drain; he repeated this process many times, trying desperately to get the revolting aftertaste of vomit from his mouth.
Adrian, momentarily, ceased his work on Iona to go over to Richie's body bag and closed it. The sight of the deceased sweet shop owner did not bother him as mush as it did the Titan, primarily because he had seen much horrendous cases than Richie's limbs and strewn organs encased inside the black bag.
"Once you're finished over there, you can come and join me and I'll give you the information that I've found out about Iona . . . and uh, I recommend that you make fundamentally sure that your stomach is completely empty before you do so"
Once Cyborg had finished cleaning himself up, he turned around – shuddering at the sight of the now closed body bag – and made his way over to Adrian. Clapping his eyes on what the pathologist had done and what he was currently doing, he exclaimed, "Jeez doc . . . I don't think . . ."
Adrian had to chuckle at Cyborg sprinting back to the sinks to (hopefully) empty his robotic stomach. He made a mental note . . . make sure you're not holding a deceased woman's brain in your hands after Cyborg has thrown up after seeing the burnt remains of another human being.
With Iona's brain still in his hands, Adrian took the organ over to the scales and placed it in the dish. Like a pendulum, the hand swung back and forth before finally settling on the accurate weight of the brain. He made a mental note of how much the brain weighed before taking it out of the dish and returning in back onto the dissecting table. He took a quick glance at Cyborg, who right now, was facing Adrian's direction, gripping the stainless steel sink, trying to steady himself. The cybernetic being's face was lathered in perspiration, drawn and hinted with a pale tint, he was panting heavily, remains of vomit strewn along the corners of his mouth, tears falling down his face, knees shaking . . . all in all, to say that he looked terrible would have been a severe understatement.
"Okay" the pathologist spoke again, "this time, make absolutely certain that you're ready before you come back over here"
Cyborg gave a low grunt in response and regained his composure. Once this was done, he let go of the sink, wobbling slightly, before taking one slow footstep after the next and reaching his desired destination.
"Cyborg, meet Iona Islington"
Milk chocolate eyes widened in horror at the sight of the tools that were strewn across the dissecting table. The blood covered scalpels, scissors, hammer, skull breaker and knife, saws and . . . a garden hedge trimmer?
Noticing that his eyes were on the hedge trimmers, Adrian picked up the garden tool, grinned beneath his surgical mask and spoke up, "I find these to be a damn sight easier to cut open the rib cage than the bone cutting forceps", snapping the trimmers once he finished this sentence.
Cut open the rib cage? What the . . . Cyborg tore his eyes off of the pathologist onto the butchered body. His eyes doubled in size, his breathing stuttered and a chill swept through his entity and the sight before him. The ghastly sight of the Y-incision running from Iona's shoulders, down her mid-section, ending at her pubic bone and the skin ripped back, revealing a myriad of organs inside the old woman's body horrified that young Titan. He also noticed her rib cage had been cut in half, from the top down to the bottom; dust from her bones sprinkled over the insides of her body like a dusting of icing sugar on top of a cake. Her lungs had been cut away from her Primary bronchi and nestled back in her chest and they had been cut open. A little further up, Cyborg registered that Iona's Vertebrate trachea had also been cut open, the inside of the tube showed signs of blood and a white, frothy substances layered around the tube.
Steadying himself after absorbing the grizzly show before him, Cyborg regained his composure before finally speaking, "So . . . tell me doc, what's the news?"
"Well" the pathologist pointed a gloved finger at the marks on Iona's neck, "you see this bruise on her neck, virtually on top of her windpipe?"
"Yeah"
"Classic tell-tale sign of a neck injury, possibly the result of a blunt instrument compressing hard on her neck. Next, these splotches of red and purple dots, not only on her face" Adrian went from hovering his finger over Iona's face, to taking a thumb and opening up the deceased woman's eyelid, "but also in her eyes as well. Also in addition to these dots being found in the facial area of this woman" he then turned his attention towards the lungs; returning to his hovering motion, "you can see that she has the same coloured dots scattered on her lungs; in medical terms, we call these, Petechial Hemorrhages.
"Upon further analysis, I discovered that her throat" Adrian took a pointing finger and directing the metal mans attention to Iona's throat area, "was bleeding and that in her larynx, she had a build up of foam that has formed in her airwaves, which in turn" he turned his attention back to the lungs – the parts where a scalpel had infiltrated the outer shell of the innards, "produces mucus that has formed in her lungs.
"More signs of the cause of death can be found with the heart" Cyborg glared at the once pumping organ; the graphic descriptions, in conjunction with seeing the mutilated organs up close and personal was close to forcing the cybernetic being to throw up again. Adrian continued, "After measuring the cardiac circumference, I discovered that the circumference of the heart was 450, and considering that the normal range is 300, I can tell you straight off the cuff that that heart of hers is enlarged."
"So this means . . .?"
"That the cause of death was not an accidental trip down the stairs . . . Iona was murdered. Diagnosis: deliberate asphyxiation.
With his stress levels through the roof, mixed in with early signs of exhaustion, Robin rested his face on an open palm, his elbow supported by a wooden table. His venture to Caspar's had turned out to be a waste of time. He was not allowed to enter the premises due the forensic still gathering evidence and clues as to what 'actually' caused the explosion; Robin pointed out countless times what the cause was, but all fell on deaf ears. After many attempts to get stuck into the mission at hand, it was all to no avail; primarily because Lieutenant Steve Brauner would not allow Robin to intervene and constantly reminded him that Robin was not there to intervene, he was there to 'obtain information and aide the police service in their objectives', as the 'charming' officer put it – charming used as a loose term. Steve also told the caped crusader that if he wanted new information, he was going to in for a long wait. Realising that he had hit a brick wall, Robin decided that he had to occupy himself with something, discover anything that would point him into the direction of the perpetrator.
And so here he was. Steve had sent for one of his officers – a twenty-something year old officer called Chloe – to 'take young Rob-Rob here to the station, so that he can make himself useful', his wonderful rhetoric tearing through Robin like a knife through butter as he spoke.
With help from the station criminal files, Robin (again) ransacked the computers system. Record after record went rolling past his masked eyes, the countless pixels and numerous changes of colour and script – on more than one occasion – almost sent him into a slumber. After what Robin thought was the forth time – but was actually the tenth time – his eyes slumped shut and the two times that he trawled through the criminal records, he pushed himself away from the desk and rubbed his eyes vigorously, willing himself to stay awake.
"Here" a woman's voice called. Robin turned to see Chloe standing over him as she placed a steaming cup of coffee on the table along with a plate that contained a toasted bagel that had been lathered in cream cheese on top, "this'll give you some energy."
Robin thanked the young officer, took a large bite from the bagel, followed by two gulps of the muddy brown liquid. The sensation of the steaming hot drink gave him a short stab of alertness that caused him to sit up straight; whether it was the caffeine taking a quick effect in his system or that the drink scolded the insides of his mouth, he did not care. He flung himself back onto the computer and madly tapped away at the keyboard.
"There has to have been something that I'm missing. There just has to be"
Pulling up a chair, Chloe took a seat next to the young Titan and watched in what could perhaps be described as awe as she observed him pounding away at the keyboard for a third time. She could not help but be somewhat amazed at the young mans persistence.
"Any luck yet?" she said.
Robin hated being distracted whilst he was grafting away at something that he considered to be 'severe'. Begrudgingly, still tapping at the keys, tongue slightly protruding from his teeth and poking out of the corner of his mouth, he replied, "Not . . . yet . . . but hopefully . . . I'll find something soon"
"What exactly are you looking for?"
Not caring that the last time he took a mouthful of the coffee, he virtually set the insides of his mouth on fire, Robin deliberately drained the rest of the liquid from the cup and held it out for the female officer to take, "You don't mind filling this back up will you? I'm gonna need all the coffee I can get down my throat"
Slightly perturbed by what she thought was blatant rudeness on the Boy Wonders behalf, Chloe took the white mug from his green-gloved hand, stood up from the chair and replied, "Uh, yeah, sure thing"
"Thanks"
Robin watched from the corner of his eye as the female police officer made her way out of the room.
Good, hopefully I won't get any distractions for the next five minutes. Couldn't she see that I didn't need any distractions whilst I'm working? Man, she's just as bad as Star . . .
Robin froze during his trail of thought. His dialogue was instantaneously exchanged with the image of his red-haired girlfriend's face. Like a flashing beacon, his mind constantly reminded Batman's ex-protégé that she was currently in a comatose state and was holed in a hospital somewhere and that Raven and BeastBoy were with her. He also remembered that he had sent Cyborg to Jump City General Hospital to retrieve information on the old woman who had died at Ridenour Street.
Unclasping his communicator from his utility belt, Robin glared at the T symbol emblazed across the circular device. He weighed out two possibilities: contact either Raven or BeastBoy and ask for an update on Starfire's current condition or contact Cyborg and find out if he had unearthed anything about the deceased woman.
Contemplating his choices for another few seconds, he made his decision, flipped open the device and called into the mouthpiece . . .
"Robin calling Cyborg . . . come in Cyborg"
Moments later, Cyborg's half human half robotic face appeared on the screen, "Cyborg here"
"Did you find anything out about . . .?"
"Yeah man, I got something useful" Cyborg then dropped his voice into a whisper, "sorry for cutting you off, but I had too pretend that I knew who the woman was in order to obtain this information . . . and ended up bringing that Lieutenant into this in order to get this far"
"Great work Cy. What'cha discover?"
At the other end of the communicator, Cyborg moved over to the other side of wherever he was and resumed speaking, "Well, the old woman's called Iona Islington . . . and it turned out yours and BB's hunch was correct.
"The pathologist conducted an autopsy on Iona and found out that she didn't die falling down the stairs . . . she was strangled to death"
Robin mentally celebrated that he was correct all along.
"I've found something else that may interest you Rob"
The Boy Wonder stopped his inner jubilation and heightened his attention.
"Richie Caspar was also brought here"
Masked eyes doubled in size at this robotic mans revelation.
"Trust me when I say that it ain't a pretty sight. The poor guy ended up in what must've been about six or seven pieces. Man, I still can't get those images outta my memory. Once you've seen what I've seen, well, needless to say, they're sights that will guarantee . . ."
"Cyborg just tell me what you discovered", it was Robins turn to interrupt his colleague.
Slightly taken aback by Robin's sudden interruption, Cyborg decided, wisely, not to bite back; instead, he chose to respond to his leaders demand, "Adrian – the guy who did the autopsy – discovered traces of plastic explosive smeared on what remained of his skin and of what remained of his clothes"
Absorbing this new information, Robin now had some new leads and had every intention to use these effectively. He did not have much time to plan out his next move as Cyborg's voice became audible, "Quick question dude . . . where the hell are ya? Did ya hear what happened to Starfire?"
This caught Robin slightly off guard. How did Cyborg know about Starfire? BeastBoy? Raven? Well, whoever told him about Starfire that did not matter at this moment in time.
"Yeah, I heard what happened to Starfire. And as to where I am, I'm at the police station."
At this response, Cyborg's mind instantly filled with confusion, "Uh, dude, why the hell are you at the police station? Why aren't you with Starfire?"
"It's taken care of Cy. Raven told me what happened and that an ambulance had been ordered to pick Starfire up and so I ordered BeastBoy to go to where they were and go with those two to the hospital whilst I . . ."
The interrupting commenced once more with Cyborg expressing his distaste at Robin's decision, "Rob, what the hell were you thinking?"
Oh great, Robin whined in his mind, first BeastBoy gets on my back about my decisions and now Cyborg.
"What do you mean 'what was I thinking'?"
"That's cold Rob, that's really cold. You're seriously saying that your girlfriend was put in a comatose state . . . and you chose to not go to her, and you sent BeastBoy instead? What the fuck's wrong with you?"
Exhaling heavily, Robin answered, "Cyborg, I made a decision about what I believed was the right thing to do. And . . ."
"The right thing to do? THE RIGHT THING TO DO? WHAT IN THE NAME OFF . . . "
"CYBORG! Raven and BeastBoy are with Starfire. Star will be safe. What was I supposed to do . . . go with those two as well and not follow up on something that could possibly identify the person who blew up Caspar's and killed Iona?"
Cyborg breathed excessively, trying his damndest to calm himself before replying to Robin – which took roughly thirty seconds for him to do so.
"You're unbelievable Rob. You really are. Your ego, your selfishness, your intent on finding a perpetrator is more important than your girlfriend?"
The rage from Cyborg seemed to transfer over to Robin, because this time, the Boy Wonder exploded, "HOW DARE YOU SAY THAT. HOW FUCKING WELL DARE YOU SAY THAT . . ."
"Answer me this then Rob . . . if Starfire means so much to you, then why are you not at her side?"
Robin stuttered his way through an attempted explanation. Cyborg's words almost had him defeated until his brain intervened . . .
C'mon Rob. People have been murdered. The person who killed them is still out there, still on the loose, still running around town. Who knows how many others they have killed? What the fuck does Cyborg know? You already know how important Starfire is, so why the hell are you getting so overworked about what Cy's saying? Besides, Raven and BeastBoy are with Starfire and they will inform you of any improvements and you know they will. You had no other choice.
"I don't have time for your petulance Cyborg . . . Robin out"
"Hey, don't you dare cut . . ."
Robin flipped the communicator shut and returned it to his belt; completely clueless that Chloe was standing at an open door, cup of coffee in hand.
Jump City Central Park was littered with the twittering of birds in the trees, flying in the fresh, morning sky, pecking at stale food on the floor, engaging in conversation with their fellow aviation species.
A swift zephyr kissed the leaves and the trees and they swayed as the gentleness of the wind came and went.
The beauty of nature was discourteously broken by the unearthly, high-pitched screaming of an elderly woman at the sight of a twenty-something year old, blonde female in exercise attire, splayed on the concrete pathway in a river of blood.
"Look mommy look. Look at the doggy."
"Keep away from it Simon"
"But I wanna go a stroke him" the eight-year boy whined to his mother.
"No Simon, he may bite you." the mother – Theresa was her name – stressed.
Simon's baby blue eyes widened at the sight of the burly dog whimpering at around a dingy, dreary, dark alleyway.
"But mommy, he's sad. I gonna go and say 'hi' to him"
"Simon . . . NO!"
But it was too late, the child broke from his mothers grasp and sprinted as fast as he could towards the Alsatian; his mother hurriedly chasing him, which was a struggle in high heeled shoes.
Simon saw the dog dart into the alleyway and so, fuelled on his over-activity and curiosity, he followed the German Shepherd Dog down the alleyway . . . and froze at what he saw laying in the dirty water and his head in a puddle of blood.
"Simon, what in the name of . . ."
Once Theresa saw what Simon saw, she also froze. The sight of the deceased male caused the pair of them to scream at the top of their lungs.
If The Face and his female compatriot tuned their ears fine enough, they would have heard a young mother and her child screaming in horrifying terror at the sight of Billy Wilson lying in pool of his own blood from the fatal neck wound he suffered, all thanks to his femme fatale. But the pair were so engrossed in their breakfast order of scrambled eggs, bacon, toast and sauté tomatoes that they were not paying attention to the ongoing events of outside; where a scatter of individuals starting running in the direction of the screams, even a few of the customers – and the café owner and two out of the four waiting staff – bolted out of the eating establishment to see what the commotion was. It was only those two and a handful of diners that chose to stay. Both admitted that the food tasted like crap and the coffee was not decent either, but it all came to a measly six dollars and thirty nine cents, and it was food, so they really did not have much to complain about. They had quite an eventful day ahead of them and so they needed all the energy they could purchase; even if it did taste like shit.
Placing her knife and fork on the know empty plate and helping the mixture of toasted bread and egg down her throat with the aide of the coffee, she asked The Face, "How do you think the Titans are coping right now?" she kept her voice at a whisper so that she was not to be heard.
Leaning back in the seat, a forkful of tomatoes in one hand, he replied, "I should imagine that they are coping fine right now. Although, the same cannot be said of poor little Starfire"
Both smiled simultaneously at the mention of this. The television at the very top corner of the café was rampant about the events that had taken place in the last four-plus hours. As the video footage re-ran the scene of civilians crowding around Starfire and Raven trying desperately to break through the barrier to get to her friend and screaming her name once she saw her . . . well, the jubilation and elation that went through their bodies was indescribable.
"I'm still amazed that you stayed there and videotaped it on your phone" he posed to his accomplice.
"Well, I was getting changed into the running gear to visit that pretty little slut Hannah. I hid behind one of the houses and then I heard voices that were familiar . . . all too familiar.
"When I saw Raven and Starfire standing there, I instantly thought about bolting it before they caught whiff of me. But the moment that house exploded and they went sailing through the air . . . my God" a grin a wide as humanly possible spread from ear to ear on her face "Especially when I discovered that Starfire was hurt, it was too big of an opportunity to not film it"
His tone dropped into a gravely scorn, "And you thought that it was wise to give the phone to Hilary Jenkins?"
Her eyes peered at his eye over her coffee cup.
"Knowing beyond any shadow of a doubt, that your DNA will be all over that phone, along with every message I sent you; including details of the plan and if by any chance that if the police should go sniffing for the phone . . ."
"Chillax will ya?" she derided his negativity towards her actions with a flailing hand, "Why would the police want anything to do with the phone? And don't worry, I deleted every text, there were no numbers on the phone and I removed the sim card, snapped it in two and disposed of it" she collapsed back in her seat and threw her arm over the back, "there's nothing to worry about. We're untraceable."
Of course, his accomplice had a history of cockiness, being incredibly conceited and self-assertive and he was completely the opposite. Even though he had boundless confidence in his own abilities, he was always careful, meticulous and scrupulous in his work; making sure that no stone was left turned over so that the authorities – and the Titans – could trace him.
Straightening himself, asserting his authoritative aura, he said, "Still, you could have been caught by the girls. It was too dangerous of a risk and I don't want you to do it again. Do you understand me?"
Waving her loose hand again, she replied, "Sure, whatever you say boss" and finished the rest of her drink.
He pushed back his wavering content for his assistant before darting his eye towards the customer that just entered the single door.
"Ah, our guest has arrived"
Turning her head, she saw who she was talking about; the mental image of the persons photograph matched that of the person who just entered.
Ellie Illingworth, eighteen years of age, breezed through the café door, her blonde hair nestled underneath a red beret, lipstick coated lips that matched the colour of the flat crowned hat, her breasts virtually on show for all the world to see underneath a white low-cut top, a short denim skirt and leather boots that covered her legs all the way up to her thighs.
She turned her head to look back at him. She could not help but notice how he was observing the teenager, admiring the 'wonderful works' of God himself . . . and she hated it.
Oh sure, any slut who's is half decent looking and flashes her tits for any man will get eyeballed. Probably the only way the whore gets any attention.
"Not having second thoughts are you?" she slipped in the question, hoping to catch him off guard.
"Not at all" he replied, grinning at his accomplice's undeniable malignity, inundated with jealousy, "why, have you got a problem with the concept of 'look, but do not touch'?"
She seethed at the teasing in his voice, but chose not to show it, "Only when the 'thing' that you're looking at is worth the attention in the first place"
"My, my. Are we getting a little jealous my dear? Would you prefer it if my wandering eye examined you instead of unsuspecting, little Ellie?"
"Haven't we got a job to do?"
He chuckled at the way she batted off his question. Yet, she was right. There was a job to do and the second that Ellie sat down with her glass of orange juice and dry toast, the job was officially on.
Digging into his pocket, his removed a little test tube with a cork in the top containing white powder and waved it in the air.
"I'm waiting" was all he said.
Instantly she stood up and began making her way to the door. She passed Ellie on her way, sneering at her presence before (deliberately) slipping on the floor.
The Face saw his accomplice go flying and a group of people, including Ellie, all rose from their seats to go and check on her. As she was being attended to, he too rose to his feet, took one of the eating utensils that was on his table and uncorked the test tube. Approaching the table Ellie was sat at, he unloaded the white powder into her orange juice, gave it a quick stir with the utensil, stuffed the empty glass tube into his trench coat and tossed the knife in a random direction. Once the objective had been completed, he quickly returned to his table and claimed the briefcase before putting on his own act.
Pushing past the people, he tried his best to sound as worried as possible, "Excuse me, excuse me, she's with me" the people parted as he bent down towards his 'injured' colleague and placed his hand on her shoulder, "sweetheart, are you okay?"
Feigning hurt, she propped herself on an open palm and stared into his eye, "No, I'm fine. I promise dear, I'm not hurt"
"Are you sure?" the speech patterns of another person entered; she saw that they came from the bimbo herself, "That was a heavy fall you took" Ellie concluded.
"Thanks for your concern" she replied, swallowing down the bile that threatened to rise out of her throat, "but I'm alright"
Helping her onto her feet, he took her hand, reiterated the thanks and left the café with the briefcase in one hand and hers in his other. Leading her out of the building and onto the street, they both observed the crowd that was still gathered around the alleyway where poor little Billy was still lying stone cold dead on the dirty concrete. The wailing of police sirens caused him to say, "I think that's our cue to leave"
Still holding her hand, the demonic duo began to leave Pinehurst Street.
It was about fifteen minutes later – fast approaching nine-twenty a.m. – when it registered in her mind that he was still holding her hand. She was not sure whether he forgot or not, but for some reason, completely clueless to the logic behind what she felt, she liked his large, strong, gloved hand gently embracing hers.
The silence between the pair of them was deafening, so she decided to break it with a question, "So, um . . . what exactly was in that envelope that you left the Titans?"
Tilting his head side to side, checking for any oncoming traffic before crossing the street, he answered, "A little invitation for our friends my dear"
Her heart fluttered at him calling her that. Calming herself, she replied "Invitation?"
"An invitation for them to be involved in a treasure hunt"
Allowing this answer to settle in her mind for a few moments, she replied, "You mean for the Titans to find us?"
Beneath the shade of his hat, he smirked. In the corner of his eye, he saw that she was aghast by this plan.
"Are you crazy?" she stopped walking, but still kept hold of his hand. "You seriously want them to find us?"
He too stopped walking and looked into her brown eyes – that were still containing the brown coloured contact lenses, "Now, now, it wouldn't be fair for the Titans to have no chance it solving this mystery.
"If they're lucky enough, they will get front row seats for the grand finale. Do you not agree that having the Titans join us for when that moment arrives will be much more satisfying? Seeing their faces for when they witness the masterpiece that I have planned?"
The cogs in her mind began falling into place and turning without a hitch as she saw the genius logic behind his answer. One more encounter with the Titans would be an exhilarating prospect . . . and then they'll be picked off one by one, just like the rest of them.
"You know, you have no idea how glad I am to be a part of history" she said.
"I think I have a pretty good idea"
A short walk later, they had reached her apartment. Inside were the instruments and the information that were required for the next few hours.
Suddenly, she felt her hand go cold. Looking down, she realised that he had let go of her hand and now it was placed behind his back.
"Just to clarify my dear" there it was again, the fluttering in her heart, "I completely forgot that I held your hand from the café to the apartment" he took a key out of his trouser pocket and inserted it into the lock, "so don't read too much into that. . . this is strictly business"
END OF CHAPTER NINE
Reading Recommendations (all Christmas themed) . . .
One Christmas Eve by beautifulpurpleflame . . . The Titans are all invited to the Mayor's annual Christmas Ball, all are excited to go . . . except for one (guess who that person is). After Raven is convinced by BeastBoy to go, will she end up having a nice night out? And what will the consequences of her coming result in at the end of the day.
Tis the season by BlueTitan . . . a poem inspired by an iconic X-Mas poem, this is a self-penned piece written by another talented author. A romantic rhyming song that is sure to ignite the Christmas fire in anyone.
The Spirit of Christmas Titan by Scribbler . . . crossing over the state, Titans East are celebrating the season too. However, faced with psychotic animal rights activists, killer fairy lights and their ever disappearing leader . . . it looks as thought Christmas for Bumblebee and the gang is going to be ruined. Every Christmas needs a good laugh and this is one to check out.
As I sit here with a beer, fully satisfied after a filling dinner; still wearing the Christmas hat that you get from the crackers, I wanna take time to thank everyone who has been following this story right from the start, reviewing the chapters, adding to your favourites, subscribing et cetera . . . and for your ongoing support and your kind words; it's only fair to thank those (individually) for your generosity, so (in alphabetical order) . . .
.Es
Commander Lagasse
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Draugeltheshadowhero
E.
Eaglewolf05
Everydaydude
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Fishy9494
Helikesitheymikey
Master Doc
MathiasMatt
Mors101
Moving Mountains
Novus Ordo Seclorum
Oracle in Vayne
Renting
Sandjewel
SchallhornM
shugokage
spartan585
Spotteh
stella-s55
TheForceIsStrongWithThisOne
xoxSamIAmxox
Your support has inspired me to keep this story going and it's because of you guys that makes this story the (moderate) success it is.
Thank You very much, to you, and to all the other readers.
Please, read, review (even if you're bitter this X-Mas and just want to vent your anger by flaming this story go ahead), favourite, subscribe et cetera . . .
And finally, from me to you, Merry Christmas and I hope you have enjoyed your Christmas; or if you are across the ocean, I hope that you enjoy your Christmas Day and overload on luscious foods and alcohol.
And let's hope that 2011 is a joyous and prosperous year for all of us.