hi!
boy, you reviewers sure do know how to make a gal feel wanted :) never have i been asked to update soon by so many people. so here it is; the long-awaited update. methinks it is worth the long wait. do tell me what you think.
XXXXX
As he carried plastic chairs out into the green field right in front of the house, Danny cursed himself and his damned inability to say no. No. Just one simple syllable, and he still hadn't learnt to say it. And that was why he was stuck here, helping Evelyn set up the party with the help of the lovely Walkers. There wasn't a single corner of the house where he could escape the sound of his mother's voice and so he had taken refuge outside, setting up the table and chairs for the night.
It was so difficult to stop himself from running right inside and screaming the truth at her; that he was her son and that he was a pilot now and he missed her. Would she be proud of him? Would she love him? In this perfect little world, she might just and wouldn't that just be the end of things? After all the crap he had spouted all week about needing to leave and being in the army, imagine how two-faced he'd some across if he just chose to stay. He didn't even know what he wanted anymore.
"Hey!" Rafe's voice drew him from his inner rant. "I'm going over to the store to pick some stuff up? Wanna come along? I could use some help. Then we're stopping over at Barney's for a drink."
"Sure." He answered without looking away from his immediate task, and realised what an idiot he was when he did look up. Cole had started the truck and Rafe had one door open; they were clearly waiting for him.
Thankfully, John the little monster that had gotten him into this mess in the first place came running up right at that moment, exclaiming "Wait for me! I wanna come too!"
"No, John, there isn't enough space in here for one more person. You stay with Mommy today, okay?"
"Actually, you can take him," Danny said. "I mean, unless you really need me to come along, I don't mind staying back here."
"Aww, come on man. John's gotta learn he can't have everything he wants."
"It's alright. I really don't mind."
"Alright. See ya, I guess." He picked the little boy up and put him in the truck. Danny could see Cole ask Rafe something, probably about him, and Rafe shrugged. Just as they turned the bend and he breathed a sigh of relief, someone else called his name.
"Danny!" It was Evelyn, and she was standing at the door, beckoning him in. "Come here for a moment, won't you?"
What was that someone once said about jumping out of the frying pan into the fire? Steeling himself, Danny walked into the house. "You wanted me?"
"Yeah, there's this can of chocolate on the uppermost shelf and I can't reach it. Didn't mean to bother you."
"It's not a problem."
But it was. He walked into the kitchen, and was faced with the sight of his mother pulling a freshly baked cake from the oven. She looked up and, with a smile so bright that it looked like she was actually happy to see him, said "Hi!"
"Hi."
"It's over there." Evelyn pointed at the shelf and spared him from having to say anything more. He pulled the can down with ease and handed it to her.
"Smells good. John's lucky to have such a good baker for his mom." Both women exchanged looks as soon as the words left his lips and he realised that Evelyn had probably told Elizabeth all about his lack of family.
"Are you sure the two of you aren't related somehow?" Evelyn asked, slowly opening the can. "I mean, you two share the same name and even look alike. You've got the same shade of hair."
"I'm remotely related to Rafe, Ev." It was amazing how he almost believed that now.
"Yeah, yeah, I know. It's just that you look like her long lost son or something."
"I never had a son." Elizabeth laughed. "Pity we didn't meet earlier, huh?"
"Yeah." Danny's voice was dangerously close to cracking. He slowly sat down at the table, and tried to project an image of neutrality.
"Want some?" Evelyn had made some sort of chocolate drink and waved a glass under his nose. Its warm scent wafted through the air, tempting him just accept it, you know you want to. He shook his head, wondering what higher power was trying so hard to prevent him from leaving.
"Where are you posted? I mean, where are you going after this?"
"If I tell you, I'll have to kill you."He was only half-joking.
"That is so…clichéd. Is it a secret mission or something? Do they actually have those things?"
"Yeah. The kind where you win medals, but they give them to your family." He quoted Rafe, realising for the first time the bitter truth of those words. What if he left and never made it back to this little patch of paradise?
His words darkened the mood, and both women lost their smiles for a moment. "Well, at least we're doing this for the greater good. At least John and the kids won't have to go through this awfulness after we're done. If we win, we can put an end to all of this fighting and dying."
The naïveté of Evelyn's words tossed him into a darker mood still. "No, it'll never end. Don't you see? World War I was supposed to be the war to end all wars. It was just the beginning. Now there's this. So, yeah, maybe John's generation will see all of this and know the cost of war and realise that anything is better than fighting things out. But what about the next generation? The ones who haven't seen what war can do? Give it time, and people will eventually get around to thinking that war is a viable solution to their problems. And then this whole thing will begin again."
"You're cynical." That was his mother.
"No. I'm just a realist." He was depressing himself with all of this woe-is-me crap, so he had really no idea why he was standing up for it like this. "Or maybe I am. Whatever."
They worked in silence for a while, no one quite knowing what to say to brighten the mood again. Evelyn sipped her chocolate drink and began making sandwiches. Elizabeth started to smother the cake with chocolate icing. He just sat there uselessly, watching them work.
He had just about retreated into the recesses of his mind when something drew him out again. It was a familiar tune, one that he remembered hearing but could not place if he tried. It didn't take him long to figure out the source, though; his mother was humming as she worked, completely oblivious to the effect she was having on him.
"Uhhh…uhh…excuse me?" It took him such a long time to get the words out, since he didn't want to interrupt her and thus end the music.
"Yes?"
"What song was that?"
"Goodness…I honestly can't remember. I heard it such a long time ago and it just comes to me sometimes. I used to sing it to my daughter when she was young. Why?"
She had a daughter. He could have had a sister. A whole, happy all-American family. "Oh, nothing. It…it's just that my mum used to sing to me before and well, it sounds like the same song."
"I see." They exchanged knowing glances once more, and he wondered exactly what they were thinking.
"Do you know the words to the song?"
"Of course. Do you want me to sing it to you?"
"Uhh…nahh…I mean, it's kinda private right? Something between your kid and you."
She looked him in the eyes. He held her piercing gaze for a moment, and averted his gaze; it felt like she was seeing deep into his deceptive soul. Before he could anticipate what she was about to do, she had reached over and ran her hand through his hair. He closed his eyes, savouring the feeling of his mother's caress. "Danny, do you want me to sing it to you?"
"Yes."
"Hushabye child, don't you cry, I'll sing a sweet lullaby. Hushabye, don't you weep, pray for your soul to keep."
It was exactly like he remembered; the sweet voice that used to lull him to sleep every night. He always imagined that his mother sounded like an angel, but as time went by, he passed it off as wishful thinking and overly fond memories; he knew now that no heavenly host could sound better.
" Hushabye, don't you fret, things may be better yet. Hush, sweet child, goodnight."
This was his song. His mom was here, now and she was being just that; his mother. Rafe was everything to him, and he had grown to see the MacCawleys as the best surrogate parents that a boy could wish for, but nothing could ever replace his mom. Nothing could match or replace the warmth or unconditional nature of maternal love and he basked in it now, committing the song to memory and etching this glorious feeling deep into his heart.
"Hush, sweet child, goodnight."
XXXXX
The next dawn brought with it not relief or new hope, but a grim determination to see things through to the end. Rafe supposed that it was the cumulative effect of the gruesome murder of that sweet girl, having his own head on the chopping block and the realisation that if he were to have any chance of saving Daniel from himself, Hasford would first have to be locked up.
As he wore his second pair of borrowed clothes, he unhappily realised that he was adopting the same kind of outlook of the situation as Daniel himself; the all-out, do-or-die outlook that led to the blunting of one's moral acumen.
Daniel, in contrast, was practically a ray of sunshine. He had breakfast ready – yesterday's tuna sandwiches warmed up – and didn't lace his coffee with liquor. He even dressed up a little, choosing to wear a light blue shirt instead of his usual white. The thought of that qualifying as dressing up made him smile a little, since Danny had developed an unbelievable fondness for those silly, multi-coloured Hawaiian shirts, which only came in the shades of too-bright red, too-bright green and too-bright blue.
"Workaholic, much?"
"Huh?"
"I've never seen anyone happier at the thought of going to work."
"And you aren't after yesterday? A complete waste of what could possibly be one of your last days?"
"Point taken."
They went down to the police base in town; if he thought the one in LA was huge, this was gargantuan. There had to be close to a thousand people running around doing work of some sort, all of them sporting the same dead-eyed look that Daniel did. Was there really that much crime going on, especially since a good proportion of the population was off in foreign countries? They walked through the hallway, flanked on either side by offices and down into the basement.
Daniel came to a stop in front of a door, and turned to him. "You can wait out here if you like."
"Is it an authorisation thing?"
"Nope. It's an autopsy. People get queasy, and the doc doesn't like people throwing up on his floor."
"I can handle it."
There was no comeback. Daniel merely opened the door and walked in.
There was no blood this time around; Louisa's body was paper white, and so sterile that it was difficult to imagine that it contained such a vivacious, lively soul just two days ago. He felt sick, not queasy. The coroner was a pudgy, hunched man, but his hands, Rafe noticed, were small and steady.
"Ah, Daniel. Thought this might be one of yours."
"Hmmm…oh, this is Mr. MacCawley. He'll be joining us today."
"I take it your little friend is still on the loose. This is the eighth one I've done for you."
"Just get on with it. What's missing?"
"Missing?"
"I told you that he uses real parts in his work, didn't I? Where do you think he gets them from?" It was amazing how little it took for Daniel to lose his patience.
"Cause of death is exsanguination, resulting from the severance of the carotid and jugular arteries. There are a number of peri-mortem wounds-"
"Look, doc, I asked what was missing."
"Nothing. Everything's there."
This caused some amount of confusion for the detective, from the way his brow immediately furrowed. "You sure?"
"Don't get precious with me, boy. I've been doing this longer than you've lived. When I say that everything's there, it means that everything is there."
He didn't even bother thanking the coroner before walking out. Rafe smiled weakly at him and rushed to catch up with the detective, who was walking away at a furious pace. The people walking along the route he took parted for him like the Red Sea for Moses; except that Daniel wasn't so much Moses as he was Nebuchadnezzar.
"Why are you so worked up about that? Maybe he didn't want to take something this time around?"
"He always does, alright. Something's not right. He's trying to tell me something."
"What?"
"I don't know." He looked agitated.
"Maybe he just wanted to kill her to show you that he could. Or maybe because he didn't want you to bring her to that art exhibition thing?"
"Maybe. I don't know yet…he doesn't think like most people do. He knows I will notice this and he did it to get my attention, but why? That's what I can't get yet."
A young girl, obviously an intern of sorts, bumped into him while carrying a towering stack of files. The collision caused files and papers to go flying, confetti of sorts. His first instinct was to help the poor girl sort the mess out, but Daniel hissed at her and she promptly moved out his way. Rafe picked a few sheets of paper off the floor and handed it to her uselessly before running after the detective, who by now had exited the building.
He was glad to leave the oppressive confines of the base, but had little time to appreciate the fresher air outside. Daniel could really hurry if he wanted to, and his long legs were carrying him across the road faster than it was comfortable to follow. He raced across traffic recklessly and dodged between streets, completely oblivious to Rafe's trouble keeping up.
He finally slowed down and ducked into one of the establishments; it was, without a doubt, bar. He walked in to find the detective already seated at the counter, calling for the bartender. He settled into the seat next to him, wondering how long they would be stuck here. Daniel downed a shot quicker than he could blink and called for another.
"Are you taking today off too?"
"Whaddaya think?" He downed another shot and took the bottle from the bartender.
"I'm pretty sure you aren't allowed to drink on the job."
"I'll do whatever the fuck I like." He drank straight from the bottle this time, grimacing at the punch of alcohol to his system.
"You do know that drinking is not going to solve anything, right? Five minutes of this and you won't even be thinking straight."
"I know what I'm doing."
"No, you don't!" Rafe didn't really know why he was getting so angry, but he wanted to strangle the detective. With his intelligence and resourcefulness, he would have caught Hasford by now if he wasn't so busy drinking himself into oblivion and wallowing in this self-imposed exile. "You have no idea what you're doing."
"And you do? Don't yell at me."
"I'll bloody yell if I want to! The truth is that you're just a scared little boy trying to wear his Daddy's pants and show the world how you're the biggest, baddest wolf of all. You know what; it ain't working! Everyone, and I mean everyone, can see right through you. Why the fuck do you think Louisa put up with all your crap, or the captain just lets you do whatever you like? Because you're that damn good? Wake up, kid, it's cause they feel sorry for you. And this drinking, you think it makes you look like one of those grim, strong men who can take anything? It's just another addiction, another weakness. If you only knew what you could be-"
"So that's what this is about. Darling Danny, who's all good and happy and sweet; he doesn't kill people. He doesn't have moral dilemmas. He helps people because he thinks it's the right thing to do. Oh, and Saint Danny doesn't even drink on the job." He took a long swig of whiskey. "Well, sucks to you, but not all of us want to be happy little fairies like your friend."
"And there it is again. You just can't admit that you're just as scared as the rest of us, that this drinking is the only way you can deal with it. You know what, I'm beginning to think you don't want to get this guy, because then you wouldn't be this dark, troubled hero you seem to think you are, you'd just be a miserable, lonely, pathetic kid."
Daniel's eyes darkened, and Rafe realised that he had crossed a line. "Fuck you," he snarled, knuckles white around the bottle he was clutching.
He walked away. It wasn't going to make Daniel realise the sheer stupidity he was inflicting on himself or even bring them closer to solving the case, but it would prevent a full-on fistfight from breaking out. He had a feeling that he wouldn't be walking away from this one quite like he did from the other, seeing how effectively he had pushed the detective's buttons.
Truth was, he didn't enjoy doing that. He didn't even have this sense of satisfaction from knowing that he was right. He just wanted Daniel to break out of this self-destructive rut and have some chance of surviving without him around. He walked over to Central Park and sat on one of the benches to watch the people around him. A bunch of children were playing in one the park's many little ponds and two elderly women were feeding pigeons. The sun peeked over the treetops and the sounds of laughter filled the air. If only Daniel could see that the world was a beautiful place, despite all the darkness that threatened to destroy it; if only he could see what a good person he was before it was too late.
XXXXX
He never thought that a bunch of pre-schoolers could be such a handful, but now he remembered his old teacher, who always looked flustered and tired, and understood why. 12 children had been dropped off at the MacCawley residence close to 3 hours ago, and in that short space of time, there had been 4 fights that needed breaking up, one girl who decided that the punch bowl would make a good swimming pool, a worm-eating contest, tears over a burst balloon, attempts to climb the scarecrow and incessant shrieking.
His mother and father handled the affair with knowing smiles, whilst Evelyn and Rafe ran around tirelessly trying to prevent the little monsters from killing themselves and each other. He helped out where he could, and funny as it sounded, had a great time. The air was crisp and the atmosphere full of youth and vitality; at one point, he found himself standing side by side with Rafe, trying to judge a bubblegum-blowing contest without laughing at the contestants.
When darkness descended outside, and it became impossible to see if any children had wandered off to the edges of the property, Evelyn had herded the whole lot of them into the house and parked them in front of the TV with ice-cream. The effect of the TV was instantaneous and final; the Amazonian hooligans all turned into stone statues, completely spellbound by the black and white magic. They took the opportunity to retreat into the kitchen for a well-deserved dinner break.
Dinner consisted of leftover sandwiches and cake washed down with sherry, but damn if it wasn't the best meal he could remember. They stood around the kitchen table, eating with their fingers and dropping crumbs everywhere, laughing and telling jokes without a care in the world. More often than not they would talk over each other, only half-coherent, every funny story evoking the memory of another.
"- Gawd, then there was the time Rafe jumped off the roof with cardboard wings!" Cole slapped the younger man's shoulder. "One minute I was repairing the water pump and the next I'm running towards the house wondering how I'm gonna tell Jake that his son killed himself."
"I didn't jump, Suzy pushed me! I swear, your daughter tried to kill me. And that wasn't the only time, too."
"Yeah, yeah, blame someone who isn't here to defend herself. Real chivalrous, Rafe." Evelyn had some fun at his expense, winking as she did so.
"Yeah, like that time he blamed Allie for painting spots all over old man Goff's prize racehorse and everyone actually thought she did it, only to find your shirt spotted with paint hidden under the cupboard months later. We couldn't believe you let her take the fall for-" he stopped suddenly, realising that he had said too much. Even if such a thing did happen in this reality, how could he, a stranger to the MacCawleys up to now, have heard of it?
The rest of them just laughed, not even noticing his unfinished sentence. His mother dissolved into tears, half-laughing and half-gasping for breath. Danny was amazed and as he thought about it, a warmth he hadn't felt before spread through him. He was really part of the family. They didn't seem to remember that they'd only met him this week and felt as though he had been there all along. And now Danny realised he felt like he had been there all along too.
XXXXX
He walked back to the bar when the afternoon sun made it too hot to sit in the park any longer, hoping that Daniel would have mulled over his words but realising that he would probably have to drag the very drunk detective back home. And the direction his luck was taking recently, he'd probably have forgotten the combination to the penthouse.
Slipping into the welcome darkness of the now-crowded bar, Rafe was unhappy to note that the detective was nowhere in sight. He contemplated searching the back or the bathroom, but came upon a better idea.
The bartender was quick to take notice of him. "Hey, there was this guy in earlier, drank a lot, dark hair, mopey…you seen him?"
"You just described pretty much all everyone in here," the bartender looked faintly irritated. "Is he the tall detective guy?"
"Yeah."
"He left a while ago. And no, I don't know where he went."
As he frantically searched the area for Daniel, Rafe admonished himself. The man was already unstable, and he probably just triggered some sort of hissy fit that was going to make communicating with him that much harder. Resigned, he decided to head back to the penthouse, or failing that, the base, to wait for the detective.
He went up to the penthouse, but the door was obviously locked. Feeling a little silly, like a man locked out by his wife for whatever reason, he called Daniel; hoping that the detective was not the kind to ignore unwanted visitors. There was no response, and he was about to try calling again when something moved in the corner of his vision.
Looking down, he saw a familiar shape; a huge black cat who was now sitting on the floor and looking at him. Baggy mewed, which of course sounded more like a chainsaw than any cat-like noise, and pawed the door, as if to ask him where Daniel was. Rafe bent down to pick him up and was rewarded with a badly-scratched hand.
More perplexing, however, was the fact that Daniel was missing. At least, that was how he felt; there was nothing to say that he wasn't off drinking at another bar or getting laid or looking for witnesses. It was foolish to say that he was "missing" just because Rafe didn't know where he was. Yet, he couldn't shake the feeling that Daniel was getting into trouble somewhere. And, as he admitted that to himself, Rafe realised where he was and prayed to God that he was wrong.
It was in the upmarket district, the gallery. Nestled somewhere in between some silly corporate building and an opera house, it exuded the air that always lingered around places like this; if you don't think that drinking wine and pretending to enjoy fanciful artwork is worth the time, then you're too much of a commoner to understand. He quickened his pace, unhappy to note that while the place appeared to be constructed entirely of glass, he couldn't see anything inside. Just like the LA house then.
Rafe hurried up the steps, noting that the place was pretty much deserted. The opening date for the exhibition was a few days off, so he supposed that the murderer-artist wanted some solitude to work on whatever monstrosity he was planning to present. The lobby was small, but branched off in two directions marked by signs; one route led to the gallery itself and the other led to the artist's work area.
The choice was obvious. He walked down the darkened hallway and was rewarded when he heard voices. Rafe rounded the corner and came face to face with another room blocked with glass doors. The room was well-lit and he could see two people standing in the corner by a large table, glasses in hand; Daniel and Hasford. They were talking rather amicably, as though they were just two people aboard a bus sharing opinions about the weather. Daniel had removed his trench coat and placed it on the table. Hasford himself was dressed in a well-tailored suit that looked expensive.
He pushed the doors, but they did not budge. Locked out, then. He rapped on the glass but there was no reaction from the people inside, despite the fact that he could hear them speaking. They didn't seem to be able to hear him through the thick glass, so how was it that he could hear them?
Looking around, he noticed an air vent close to the ceiling; their voices must have been carried through that. He stood under it, paying attention to their conversation for the first time.
"Well, one does what one can. I must admit that congratulations are in order. I hear you've been commended for busting that gun-running trade down in Tennessee." Hasford's voice was smooth and slick; he spoke easily, like a gentleman used to verbal repartee.
"Commendation here, commendation there. Doesn't mean much, really. Like winning the Times' best writer of the year when you're after the Pulitzer." Daniel's words were slightly slurred, and it was obvious that he was drunk. Still, he clutched a half-empty glass of wine in his hand.
"It still means something. Anyhow, shall I take this personal visit as an RSVP to my opening this week?"
"You know, I just can't figure that last one out." He reached out and picked a tube of paint of Hasford's table. It was obviously a new one, still wrapped in its packaging. It was some shade of green. "Why buy these colours if you're not going to use them?"
"For the same reason women buy more shoes than they can possibly hope to wear. It's the pleasure of shopping."
"Seems a little off-character for you."
"I must admit that I do not often indulge in frivolity of the manner. However, there is a certain pleasure to be gained in doing something not in the furtherance of some purpose, but merely because one can."
The conversation itself was giving him the creeps. Daniel seemed to be in control of himself, but why was Hasford putting up with his drunken ramblings? He had no idea how long this conversation had gone on, but it should never have begun in the first place. Rafe wanted badly to put an end to it, but he was aware that he couldn't just hammer on the door and demand Daniel to leave. Not only was the detective disinclined to listen to him at the moment, who knew what sort of reaction it would trigger from the mass-murderer in the room?
Daniel still held the tube of paint in his hand. "This is a weird choice, even for you. Green is a colour you find repulsive, no?"
"Ahh…but colour can be changed. Introduce a new element, like red, and it comes to life in ways unexpected." Daniel's lips thinned and the colour drained from his face. Rafe rushed the door again, sensing a confrontation. "A good artist can turn even the most repulsive green into a burning red beauty."
"You sick son of bitch!" Daniel drew his gun and stepped forward. Rafe threw himself against the glass doors. Hasford leapt backwards from his chair.
He hadn't taken two steps forward before his legs gave way. With a yelp of surprise, Daniel fell to his knees and dropped his gun. It went skittering to the side as Rafe thumped the unrelenting glass doors again. Hasford regarded him coldly before turning his attention back to the detective.
"You…you poisoned me," said Daniel, looking at the spilled wine.
"Awww…didn't your mother ever teach you not to take candy from strangers? It was very careless of you, Daniel. I'm surprised."
"HEY!" Rafe kicked the door where the latch was, hoping that that was its weak point. The door barely moved. "Leave him alone!"
"You know, I thought you weren't coming. I mean, you're terribly late…it's been what, two days?" Hasford looked up at Rafe, who smacked the glass impotently. "But I guess your friend here had something to do with it. Look at him go at the door…almost seems like he actually cares whether you live or not."
Daniel remained quiet, almost swaying on the spot. "But you drank it too. I waited 'till you took your first drink…why aren't you poisoned?"
"First of all, I didn't poison you. It's just a sedative. And secondly, you really need to stop drinking so much; it's clouding your judgment. I didn't put anything I the drink, it was in the glass. You were so busy watching me that you failed to notice the fine dust in your glass."
The detective looked again at the wine glass with half-lidded eyes.
"Hey, Hasford, you've had your fun. You're better than he is. Don't you think it's time to let him go?" Rafe tried his luck, knowing full well that unless he found a way in, Daniel was a goner.
That drew a smile from the artist. "Had my fun? Daniel, I don't think your friend knows me very well. But you know, don't you? You know how much fun it is to jump a girl in her own home, strip her naked…you can almost taste her fear of violation as you tie her down to her own table; the table she bought and ate at, the table she where she shared Christmas pudding with her family. Beautiful, really."
Rafe didn't want to hear any more, but that wasn't in his control. Just like everything else. He kicked the door repeatedly and his efforts paid off because he could see the lock give way just a little bit. All he had to do now was to break in before any bloodshed took place.
"Stop."
"But you haven't heard the best part! Now," he rubbed his chin thoughtfully "would that be the part where I cut her open when she was still alive? Or where I painted the house with her blood while she watched?"
Daniel squeezed his eyes shut.
"Still, pleasing as those were, I think I've found the candidate for first place. It's the part where she screamed your name before she died. She called for you with her last breath, believing that you would come to save her. That was precious."
"Monologuing? Bit clichéd, don't you think? You have me…what's your next move?" There was a lazy smile on Daniel's face, like he knew what was coming.
"Such impatience, boy. That's one of your faults, you know…art can't be appreciated with a quick glance and hasty judgment. It needs to be savoured slowly for one to fully understand the extent of the artist's vision."
"And I am your greatest work."
"Yes."
"I am here today because of you. Everything I've done in the past year was because of you."
"Nothing gives me more pride."
"We both know how this is going to end."
Hasford moved closer still and Rafe could see the polished glint of the scalpel he held in one hand. The door's lock was loosened in its place, but showed little sign of giving way. A crack or two had appeared around it, but the glass itself was thick and obviously very strong. He pushed harder, knowing that the price of failing was too high to bear.
"Your greatest work. It's not an unexpected ending, I suppose. The only question here is what you'll take from me."
There was silence from Hasford, and Daniel continued talking in that half-drugged drawl of his. "My eyes? It's a statement, I guess, because of my job…detective's eyes." He giggled at that. "My heart? That's where the darkness is, that darkness you and I both have." He looked up at Hasford. "Did I guess right?"
Hasford looked down at the detective almost gently, the way a lion looks at the gazelle fawn it is about to eat. He raised his hand and Rafe's heart almost stopped beating. However, Hasford made no move to injure the detective; quite the contrary. He ran a hand through his thick hair and gently cupped his face. "Daniel, Daniel," he cooed "why would I want to make you into something? My work here is done…I need a clean canvass to work with. You're tainted, damaged goods. There's nothing more I can do with you."
He breathed a sigh of relief even as he continued his assault on the door, but the look of crushed defeat on the detective's face broke his heart. How broken do you have to be to view a murderer's unwillingness to kill you as rejection?
"Actually, you were beginning to tire me." Hasford stepped closer, and Rafe noted in frustration that his grip on the scalpel had tightened. "I could guess very well whatever your next move was going to be. It got boring. Predictable."
Suddenly, Daniel lunged at Hasford, just as he raised the blade to deliver the fatal blow. The two men went crashing on the floor and the scalpel landed some distance away. Hasford was quick for his age and stature; barely a moment passed before he made for the scalpel. His fingers closed around when Daniel's foot landed on top of his hand. Now Hasford looked up at him, almost as if he was pleading for mercy.
"Predictable? You were so convinced that I would drink that you failed to notice me tipping the glass towards the floor every now and again." Daniel glared at Hasford. "You're the one that's predictable."
Rafe was shocked, but so relieved and grateful that his knees felt weak. Daniel ground his foot into the man's hand. "Let go."
"Alright." He let go of the scalpel; Daniel released his battered hand and kicked the scalpel away in one move. He no longer looked drugged or submissive, towering over the fallen artist with his head held high and authority well-asserted. This was the same person that Rafe had encountered in the alley and later in the warehouse, and, despite his earlier words, it was easy to see why he had the awe and respect of his colleagues.
Just as he let his guard down, Hasford lunged in the opposite direction, grabbed the gun and fired. Daniel ducked instantly. Rafe pressed himself against the door, trying to see whether he had been shot when a bullet embedded itself in the glass between his eyes. The glass splintered and tiny cracks spread around the bullet like a spiderweb, but did not break.
Hasford fired again, adjusting his aim. Rafe closed his eyes instinctively, but heard the 'ping' sound of it hitting the glass again, this time closer to the ground. He opened his eyes to see Daniel tackle Hasford. The two of them wrestled for the gun, and Daniel finally managed to force the gun upward; he pulled the trigger repeatedly, even though Hasford still had a good grip on it. The ceiling above them crumbled, dusting both men with plaster and paint.
Then, just as suddenly as he went for the gun, Hasford let it go. The momentum of his assault caused Daniel to stagger backwards, and the artist took this opportunity to catch him in the jaw with a well-aimed punch. The detective crumpled to the floor, stunned but not incapacitated. Hasford the bolted towards the opposite end of the room, towards a small door that Rafe had not noticed until now. Where it led, Rafe knew not, but Hasford opened it and disappeared. As much as it was disappointing to see the man escape, he was more than thankful that Daniel was relatively unscathed.
"Hey, let me in!" he called as the detective picked himself off the floor. Finally, he could put an end to this madness.
Daniel merely regarded him with cold eyes. It was surprising, but not unexpected. He probably wasn't the detective's favourite person right now. "Look, I shouldn't have said the things I did, and I'm sorry, alright? Just let me in."
Daniel stood still for a fraction of a second longer, and then turned his back on Rafe and disappeared behind the little door, armed only with the tiny scalpel.
Rafe violently kicked the door again, frustrated and angry. He was so close. "Hey! HEY! Come back!" His voice echoed in the lonely corridor. "COME BACK!"
XXXXX
"I'm telling you, she was crazy…"
"Oh, come on, that's nothing. I'll show you crazy." Evelyn put her glass down on the table. "I was out at the drugstore the other day, and there was this kid in there, about ten years old. One moment he was looking at the ice-cream like any normal kid. I got what I wanted, paid and was walking out when he just grabbed my leg and started saying stuff like 'Mommy, mommy, why are you leaving me?' and 'Don't you love me anymore?'. Everyone was looking at me like I was this awful person. I managed to disentangle myself from him and ran out. Then I realised that I didn't have my purse. When I went back, the kid was gone."
"That's not crazy, that's genius. How much did you lose?"
"Not much."
"Well, you ain't seen crazy 'till you meet a fortune-teller, I can tell you that." That was his mother. He never imagined that she would have a slight Southern twang to her accent, but it was there and it sounded right.
"Oh, this is a good one." Cole leant back against the cabinet, relaxed and completely sober despite the two glasses he had had. He reminded Danny of the person he used to see on rare occasions; his dad's rare moments of sobriety were sometimes more painful than his usual state because he was everything that a kid would want in a father. Somehow, seeing how this reality's version of him was good-natured, cheerful and gentlemanly, he doubted that his sister ever saw the end of the man's belt.
"This happened so many years ago, before any of you lot were born. We just got married." She looked at Cole with a warm smile and he stood a little straighter. "We had dinner in some uptown restaurant, you know; candlelight dinner, roses and everything romantic. We couldn't wait to get home-"
"Oh, God," Rafe groaned, placing a hand over his eyes. "You guys are like my folks. You know how weird this is?"
"How do you think you got here, son? A stork delivered you from Heaven?"
"Yes. Storks. At least I can sleep at night without thinking of-" Danny shuddered. This was a very uncomfortable topic indeed. Everyone laughed and for a moment they were noisier than the children were earlier. As they laughed, he watched them; his family. His mother, alive and wittier than he ever imagined. His father, proud and friendly. Evelyn, content and untroubled. Rafe, just plain happy. If Heaven was real, this was what it would feel like.
"Anyway, I was saying that we were leaving the restaurant before the whole topic went off-tangent. He went to get the car and I waited out front. It's late at night and there's practically no one outside and this bent little lady comes from around the corner. I mean, she was wearing this load of rags and had mismatched eyes. I thought she was lost or something when she stopped and just looked at me for the longest time."
"Yeah, that's gotta be creepy." Evelyn apparently didn't like being stared at.
"I was going to ask her whether she needed help when she just grabbed my arm and said that I have a cloud of evil hanging over me. Just like that. Said I was cursed and that I would be dead four years to the day."
"Oh, my God. Why didn't you walk away?"
She shrugged. "Where to? Besides, she had such a grip on my arm. She went on and on how love was my bane and horribly arcane stuff like that. I mean, what was I supposed to do; stop loving? Then she said that it was the equinox moon that day and if any child was conceived under that moon, it would be evil."
"Wow, a satanist nutter. I don't envy ya," Rafe said.
"That's not the crazy part. Cole finally came with the car and when I told him what happened on the way home, he refused to-"
"We get the picture, thanks."
"Why take chances? Did it really hurt to wait for awhile?" Cole evidently thought he was being reasonable.
"I sometimes think about what might have happened, ya know? I've always felt like I lost a child because of that. If we had really had, you know, then, would I have had another child? A son? He'd be a February baby, if you count back from the date of that day. He'd be 23 this year."
Danny's heaven burned away, consumed by the flames of realisation.
XXXXX
When the glass finally shattered, it did so with sound and fury. Hundreds of pounds of bullet-proof glass, weakened by the bullets embedded in them, fell to the ground like a rain of diamonds. Not that Rafe cared; it had been almost half an hour since the two of them disappeared behind the door and there hadn't been a sign of life since then. Crushing the glass underfoot, he ran across the artist's workspace, hoping against hope that he would not be horrified by what lay beyond the door. Spotting the gun on the floor, he picked it up; maybe it was still loaded and even if it wasn't, it could still be a weapon. Steeling himself, he pushed the door open to reveal-
-pitch darkness. He let the door swing open as wide as it would go, allowing the light from outside to illuminate the recesses of the room. He could see tall shelves stacked with boxes of odds and ends, so he guessed it was a store room of sorts. Rafe didn't know whether to call out or to explore the place silently. The former would alert Hasford to his presence, but it would also let Daniel know that he had backup.
Then, a glimmer of movement caught his eye. Something had moved on his left. Heart pounding, he approached; wary of the fact that it was further back and the light from outside only penetrated so far. As he walked closer, a rancid stench hit him. It was oily smell of fresh blood and death.
"Daniel?"
There was no response, but he could hear something moving again. He stepped forward although every fibre of his being was screaming at him to turn, run and never look back. His foot connected with something in the darkness. He nearly stopped breathing for a moment before realising that it was not soft, squishy or wet but hard. It was probably junk of some sort. Still, he couldn't resist bending down to touch it and make sure, just in case.
It was cylindrical in shape and, in the dim light, Rafe saw that it was a torchlight. Thanking providence for the small relief, he flicked it on. The bright orange beam cut through the darkness like a knife and let him see in glorious clarity what had remained fuzzy shapes and shadows merely moments before.
And Daniel. Rafe gasped and very nearly dropped his torch at the sight of the detective; his heart stopped for a moment before the dark-haired man raised his head to look him in the eye. Daniel was shirtless and his bare torso was smeared with thick, dark streaks of blood. His hair was wet and the bangs that hung so beautifully in his face now clung to his forehead, all tainted with blood. It was everywhere; on his face, the knees of his pants and almost black against the pale skin of his hands. Apart from lifting his head to look at Rafe, he sat still on the floor, leaning haplessly against the wall.
"Are you hurt?" Rafe crouched by his side, hesitantly reaching out to examine the extent of his injuries. It could not be slight, not with the amount of blood that had been split.
He shook his head slightly and extended a hand, palm open. Rafe had no idea what he was asking for until he remembered the gun he had picked up and how Daniel always kept it with him. He placed it in the detective's open palm slowly, still unsure of his condition. And where was Hasford?
"What happened? Where is Hasford?" he kept his voice low, partly because he didn't know where the maniac artist was, but also because Daniel looked so fragile that a loud word might have broken him.
"There." He looked over to the right side, into a spot completely obscured by darkness. This time he was less hesitant to shine the torch into the dark patch, knowing as he did that Daniel was relatively alright. What Rafe saw made him shuffle backwards and gag in horror, wishing impossibly to wipe his mind of the sight.
It was Hasford. His eyes stared sightlessly at Rafe from a face frozen in a grimace of terror. His body lay in a pool of congealing blood, reminiscent of his latest kill. The resemblance did not end there; the artist's torso had been carved brutally, so much so that the ivory structure of his ribcage was laid bare and the organs within in plain sight. The sides of his mouth had been cut, so he wore a ludicrous smile even in death.
Rafe turned back to Daniel, coming to the realisation as he looked at the unmoving detective that he was the one who committed the atrocious murder. Daniel looked at him impassively, hand curled possessively around the gun.
"Are you alright?"
Daniel allowed himself a hint of a smile, which looked so wrong because it only made obvious the coldness of his eyes. "Alright? Is anybody alright these days?"
Rafe moved closer to him, shining the light all up and down in huddled form. There was no apparent wound on him, but it was difficult to tell underneath all that blood. "Are you hurt?" he asked again, wanting to make sure that Daniel wasn't bleeding put while he sat here and gawped at dead bodies.
"No." A shiver shook his frame.
"Where's your shirt?" Rafe quickly shrugged out of his borrowed jacket and attempted to drape it around Daniel, but the latter shied away from him.
"Got wet. Too much blood." He pushed the jacket away and backed further against the wall, knees against his chest.
"Okay, okay. Whaddaya say we get outta here, huh?" Rafe spoke in a placating, low tone; the one that was reserved for nightmares, broken arms and broken hearts.
"Yeah." There was a definite nod from Daniel, but he kept his gaze downward. "Yeah, you should go now."
"We should go."
"There is no we," Daniel said softly, as though he was speaking to someone without the capability to comprehend what he was saying. "You should go."
"You're crazy if you think I'm leaving you here."
"You're not leaving me. There isn't a me anymore." His voice was harder now, and his fingers tightened around the gun. "Just go."
"What the hell are you talking about? You killed Hasford, you…you won. He's finished!"
Daniel exploded. "YOU JUST DON'T GET IT!" He was on his feet now, the gun aimed somewhere between Rafe and thin air. Rafe nearly backed away, but dimly realised that his proximity was what was causing this outburst; if it facilitated this venting and eventual preservation of Daniel's sanity, he would risk being shot.
"You just don't fucking get it, do you? He won!" Daniel paced in the cramped corner, bloody hands shaking.
"Then explain it to me, man. I want to understand. I really do."
He stopped pacing and stood still for a moment, and Rafe actually believed that he had gotten through to the fast unravelling detective. Then, he started shaking. "He won, because he's in me." He tapped the gun against his head. "He's in here."
Rafe felt a tremble run through his own body. "Danny, please-"
Daniel cut him off. "I can hear him. I can still hear him."
"Yes, because this is all still new." It was difficult to keep the exasperation from his voice. "His body's still warm, for Heaven's sake. But after you go report this and go home and get the rest you need, this will all go away."
"No, it won't. You know how I knew what he was going to do? Or what it meant when he killed Louisa? Or which gun-running business was his?"
Rafe didn't know. He didn't want to know, but Daniel wasn't actually asking him a question.
"Because I knew what he was thinking. Because I know how he thinks. I learnt to think like him, see the world the way he does. And now," his voice broke and along with it, Rafe's heart, "now I can't go back. I…I can't stop thinking like him. I don't know how else to think."
"Look, Danny, I know you're confused and hurting and angry but it's gonna get better. The worst is over. And you'll learn how to be yourself again; I can help you."
There was a sneer now on Daniel's face; in the half-light he looked far more frightening than Hasford ever did. "Help me? You know what I thought when I saw Louisa like that? That it was a fucking pity I didn't have a camera with me to document the absolute beauty of it. I hoped that she died scared, because it would have been imperfect otherwise."
Rafe swallowed thickly.
Daniel stepped closer. "You know what I see when I look at you? I see a paradox, a human angel. And I just want to taste you," Rafe shivered involuntarily as Daniel's dark eyes raked over him "to know what kindness and right taste like. I want to cut your heart out, because it sure as hell ain't gonna look like the rest of us. You still wanna help me, huh? I don't fucking see people anymore, I see victims and accomplices! There's no unlearning that sort of thing."
"Y-"
"No. No, these aren't things you can unlearn…you've killed before; can you ever go back to the person you were before that? Can you forget what it's like to take a life?"
"No, but that doesn't make you a bad person. You don't have to let it control you."
He laughed; a short, cynical bark devoid of any real emotion. "Oh, no…let's just forget that you killed someone. Let's forget how damn good it felt. Things like that only happen in fuckin' fairytales."
"No. I've seen it." Rafe couldn't keep the emotion from bleeding into his words. "I see it all the time with Danny. Yeah, he's killed a couple of Japs, but it hasn't changed who he is. If he can do it-"
"Danny can do it because no one fucking used him as punching bag when he was just twelve! He didn't lie in bed every night and stare at the ceiling for hours because he was too damn starved to sleep! He doesn't have his father's hatred of him carved permanently into his skin, or the memory of growing up knowing that if he were to drop dead, not one single person would remember him with any amount of affection!" Daniel seethed and took another step forward, gun half-aimed at Rafe.
"If he's remotely alright, it's because he's never had to learn the difference between right and wrong all by himself. It's not like he had nowhere to turn, no one to care whether he got out trouble the right or wrong way, or if he cheated or even if he-" Daniel stopped abruptly. "Everything I did, I did it on my own. I learnt a long time ago that the only person looking out for me was me, and I learnt to survive. And sometimes, surviving like that, you get to the point where you become no different from the things you used to be scared of."
"That's where you're wrong. You're not like them. Would Hasford have considered locking himself away in a dark room because he had a compulsion to hurt someone else?" Rafe wished he could let Daniel see what he saw in him; someone who was too pure to be caught up in this mess, someone worth saving. "You're a good person."
Daniel looked at him and finally allowed him to look into the depths of those dark eyes that he knew so well. But, he realised painfully, there was nothing remotely familiar about them; there was nothing in Daniel's eyes but an emptiness that stole the very breath from him. Slowly, the detective, the boy whom he had practically raised but not quite, the person he would give his life for in the blink of an eye, shook his head. "I am a monster."
And he put the gun to his head and pulled the trigger.