Sorry, it's been more than a week since I updated. Majoring in graphic design is pretty hard when I have to put together my portfolio. But I'm already writing the next chapter! ;)
I want to say THANK YOU so much again. I've said this so many times, but lately I've been getting so many alerts, favorites, and good responses! :)
To my reviewers:
bionicleliz: Thank you so much! I'm so glad you're enjoying it. I'm not sure if you have caught up to this chapter, but I hope you see this message! :) and HAHA likin' the ship name ;) Shemra? Shira? Irem? Who knows.
silverking77: I find it very delightful and satisfying that you say that my story is pretty "badass." Thank you! ;)
DeadRedghost7: Thank you so much for your kind words! :) And when I read that last review about Shem having limits, I remembered chuckling to myself *darkly* and saying: "Ohhh yess... ;) " It's exciting for me as a writer but it's going to be quiet dreadful in the future for Shem.
I now present to you this chapter *takes a bow*
Review and Good luck!
-Olo Eopia03
- Chapter 25 ~ Swallowed By Lies -
Jealousy is just a lack of self-confidence.
"On the behalf of the FBI, we've come to extract costly information from Mr. Shem Baker."
What the hell have you done, Shem? Ira thought as she swallowed slowly.
A middle-aged man and a younger woman walked in and stood at the edge of the room. The man had a brown leather briefcase in hand and was wearing a dark gray coat, with a white polo underneath. His hair was thinning and graying, cropped short so that Ira could easily see the dull green eyes. They were the dull eyes of a professional, one who had gotten almost bored of his occupation - eyes that looked like they would never gleam.
Ira backed away towards the bedroom door, but before she could go ahead and open it, Shem had walked out, already dressed in a new pair of jeans, but without a shirt to cover his torso.
Ira gaped at him.
Holy fu-
He was in the process of putting on a white sleeveless top. The bruises had slightly faded, so Shem must've had a square of ambrosia back in the bedroom. The scar across his chest vanished under the white fabric as the shirt went over his head. Ira blushed furiously as she averted her eyes, but not before noticing the fine toned body that Shem had as the shirt settled onto his skin.
He had a look of indifference on his face, not realizing that there were two other people standing in the room.
Geez, Ira. You're expected to be living with him and you can't -
Shem stopped, his eyes gleaming as he turned to stare at the man.
"Ira, why are there two stupid-looking people standing in the room," Shem sighed, although his voice was filled with a sort of rigidness and . . . Recognition? Ira looked up quickly, trying desperately to recover from her flushed skin. Shem already knew the two of them? "It hurts to look at them."
"So it's the famous amateur detective of his age," The man said, his voice gruff. Ira looked at the two of them. "Mr. Holmes."
"If you consider me an amateur, then what are you in comparison to me?" Shem said coolly as he passed the man and the woman to open the fridge. "Alistor."
"It's Inspector Mills."
"Obviously."
"What a freak," Ira heard the voice come from behind the man. The woman had spoken for the first time, and those were her first words? Ira couldn't help but glare at her. She was young, a skinny woman who was taller than both Shem and Ira, dark gray jeans and a white blouse. She had mousy brown hair, a small face, and a sharp nose. Ira immediately decided that she might have a slight dislike for the woman.
"Hold your temper, Christina," Inspector Mills growled.
"Oh, little Ms. Kitts," Shem said, although Ira saw that the woman was clearly taller than him. Shem turned to the man. "Alistor, I dare say that I'm shocked to see that you've kept your business alive by raising the same narrow-minded apprentice."
Shem had finished preparing another bowl of ice cream. Ira didn't really know what was going on, but it looked like Shem had a bitter history with the both of them. She didn't understand why Shem was acting so rudely. The woman stepped forward, looking as though she was going to snap at Shem, but Ira stopped her.
"Shem, who are they?" Ira asked. The man adjusted the collar of his coat.
"And while you answer that question, maybe you can answer why there were two unconscious men, one in the lake inflicted with third degree burns and another with a bullet in his thigh?" Mills said.
"Shem -" Ira gasped.
"Oh, so he didn't die?" Shem said, nodding as he walked over to the couch and took a spoonful of ice cream. "Job well done, Mr. Baker."
"Sir, the freak has -" Kitts began.
"You should be happy," Inspector Mills raised his voice. An annoyed look spread across his face. "That we're calling off all charges."
Ira felt slightly dizzy as her heart skipped a beat. There were charges?
"Boss!" The woman exclaimed. Clearly, she did not see this coming as well.
"What do you want now, Alistor?" Shem sighed. "Is it another pathetic case?"
"Who would want a psycho -" Kitts fired.
"Christina!" Mills barked. The woman shrank away. "That is enough!"
There was an uncomfortable silence, and Ira glanced nervously at the floor.
You know what, maybe I don't really want to know what Shem had been up to. All the charges were called off, so why not we just leave -
"Phosphorous dust," Shem said unexpectedly, breaking the silence. Ira, the inspector, and Ms. Kitts all looked at Shem. He took another spoonful of ice cream, his metal spoon clanging against the bowl.
"How-" Mills said.
"One: place highly flammable phosphorous dust onto two victims - first victim to distract gaze, second victim while senses are momentarily absent. Victims are unaware of the element sprinkled onto clothing." Shem said, yawning. Ira had no idea what was going through Shem's mind. "Step two: Phosphorous dust is commonly known to produce a combustion reaction when chemically fused. Object will most likely ignite. Naturally replace the seventh slot of ammunition with the cap of a sharpie pen. As action and the killing intent of blackmailers ensue, gun carrier fires six shots."
"How did you know that you wanted the sharpie cap in the seventh slot?" Inspector Mills asked, shaking his head.
"Guessing," Shem said, shrugging. "He was on his fifth bullet too, so I decided to use the sixth one when I needed to. And I like the number seven."
"Aw, Shem." Ira sighed.
"Disable one of the victims, and left with one more opponent. Man fires the seventh shot, creating a squib load in the container," Shem continued. "Barrel ruptures, causing the phosphorous to ignite. Man is discombobulated as he bursts into flames and stumbles headlong into the lake."
Shem's spoon continued to clang against the bowl as another silence ensued, this time filled with awe and wonder.
Well, that probably explained a lot for the police, Ira thought. But not for me.
Mills walked over to the center of the room, pacing the floor until he walked over to shut the blinds.
"Shem, you're starting to appear all over the news. Loads of police are hot on your trail right now after what you've done at the mansion in North Carolina and at the Library of Congress," Mills said quietly. "If you help us with this one case, I promise, I will clear your name from all of the records, and no one will be allowed to track you down."
Ira looked up, to see that Shem was looking at her. He had that look on his face, and Ira was secretly glad and slightly surprised that she could read him for once.
Do you want to go with this?
For once, he wanted her input on the situation. For once, he had finally let her in on his plans.
Ira nodded slightly so only Shem would notice it. Of course this was the better choice. If they could travel across the country to Oregon without being arrested at a moment's notice, it would be their best shot.
"What have you got for me today, Inspector Mills," Shem said, finishing up his ice cream. Alistor Mills sighed in relief.
"This is a Class A case." Mills said. Shem shrugged and Ira raised an eyebrow.
Class A? Ira thought. Must be a high-leveled case, then.
"Last night," Mills said as the light ceased to shine into the room. The sun had completely set, and not a single ray of light made it through the blinds. "Seventeen year old Alex Carter was found dead just outside the sewage entrance. It was a dark, rainy night."
Ira looked at Shem; he appeared to have no emotion escape his face. A dead victim that was Shem's age? Ira wondered how many times Shem had solved cases like these before - facing death constantly . . . Having to find out the murder suspect the next day . . .
Well, after what had happened to him ten years ago, Ira thought. Maybe that was the point. He didn't feel anything.
"Find out exactly how he died," Mills said. "His school is not far from here, and we have a few people already coming in for investigation."
"Did you check the sewer?" Shem asked, putting his hands together. Ira heard a snicker from Christina Kitts.
"Of course not," Christina said, rolling her eyes. "The rain from that night says it all. From the amount of water that might've entered Carter's body, it looked like he fell into the sewer and was left to drown. The strength of the currents kept him from surviving."
Shem perked up, then shook his head as he looked at the woman with disappointment.
"You're being narrow minded." Shem said. "You have not bothered to inspect the body before coming here. Why, because you need my help so badly?"
"How dare -" Kitts hissed at Shem.
"There is a difference between trying and not trying, Ms. Kitts," Shem said, almost harshly. Ira could imagine how annoyed Shem must be feeling. Was this case perhaps . . . Like child's play? "Detectives these days do not consider even the most improbable assumptions, while among those predictions could be the answer."
"You wanna bet-" Christina tried again.
"Sure," Shem told her. "The two of us head to the morgue tomorrow morning. I suppose you wouldn't find anything special since you only see and do not observe what is around you."
"Continuing on," Mills said before Christina could even argue back. "Asides from being seventeen, Alex participated in a group that supported the old Nazi Germany. He had a very short temper, and was disliked among many of his classmates."
The inspector took out a few papers from his briefcase and tossed them onto the table. The one on the very top of the pile was a picture of a hand, with two concentric circles tattooed on the wrist. The circle in the middle was colored black.
"That was on his hand when we found him," Christina said. Ira walked over to the couch and sat next to Shem, studying the picture.
"A lot of the students contributed the fact that he was very racist, and was obsessed with the genocide in Libya a few years earlier." Mills said.
Shem perked up at that sentence, and a smirk crossed his face.
"Are people coming in for investigation?" Shem asked. "Students?"
"Nothing yet," Mills said. "None of them were in contact with him the night he died."
Shem put his ice cream bowl on the table.
"Is it not obvious?" Shem said. "How can you believe that his death was an accident, when the word murder is written all over this case?"
"Who's the one making all the assumptions now?" Christina said.
"They're not assumptions if they're all true." Shem countered.
"You really have to-" Christina said.
"Thank you," Alistor said, putting a hand on Christina's shoulder - a gesture to stop her from talking. "For helping us on this case. I only came here today for a debriefing. I expect that we will meet tomorrow."
"Yeah, fine," Shem waved his hand. "Stop talking and just leave, before you lower the IQ of everyone living in this hotel with your annoying voices."
Ouch, Ira thought as she looked at Shem.
Even with that last comment, the two officers left, and Shem and Ira got ready for bed.
By the time she was in her room, sitting on the covers, Shem came by to sit next to her. The two of them were comfortable with the silence between them. Hopefully Ira had gotten used to Shem now without blushing furiously.
Probably not.
"Normally, if a case was exciting or intriguing enough, I would've said yes right away." Shem said as he took out two books from the bag next to him and sat on his side of the bed. They were the field notes from his father and the Aristotle book. Lately, she'd been seeing him read a bit of each book every day, perhaps hoping to decipher every word in the text.
"But you wanted me to have a say." Ira said. Or he just thinks it's an extremely boring case, and would like to bide his time and relax for a day or two.
"That too. You got our names cleared."
"Why were you so mean to the both of them?" Ira asked. Shem looked away.
"They love credit," Shem said with a shrug. "Especially credit that's not theirs."
I don't really like the sound of that, Ira thought. Shem looked at her, a half-smile escaping his lips.
"Don't worry, I've already solved more than half the puzzle."
"What?" Ira gasped, shocked that he had kept it in for so long. "Why didn't you-"
"Think how Kitts and Mills would react," Shem said as he left her bed to sit on his own that was located a space away. Ira felt a slight twinge of disappointment. "They wouldn't believe me."
"But when you tell them, won't they soon find out that you're right?" Ira asked. "It sounds more efficient that way."
From a few feet away, a dark look passed over Shem's face. However, before Ira could fully take in his expression, Shem had turned away to lie on his side.
"When you're the underdog in a profession like this, one needs a high rate of success," Shem said. "And unlike what some people think, success comes when one has the energy to gather data."
Is he referring that to something I don't know? Ira thought, bewildered.
Ira pulled the covers over her body. His silence told her that he was probably done for the day.
Nothing was said after that, as the lights flickered off to give way to a night full of sleep.
[xxx]
When you're the underdog in a profession like this, one needs a high rate of success . . .
Shem felt the soft sheets under his back, the gentle and steady breathing of Ira as she slept soundly. He stared at the window opposite his bedside, covered by the curtain except for one crack that revealed the city skyline ahead. The lights weren't as blinding as those in New York, but it was still beautiful to look at.
And unlike what some people think, success comes when one has the energy to gather data.
Miro, Shem thought, now listening to the sound of his own breathing. They were quiet and quick - almost inaudible. Why did you have to be that way?
"Promise me . . ."
Oh, Shem eyes flickered, and for a moment, the gleam escaped his eyes. Now we're thinking of that day, are we?
"You're to tell no one . . . Not even father . . ."
The voice was like a parasite that was taking over his mind. He couldn't get it out.
It was the voice of his brother.
Pale fingers reached out . . . Reached out to touch the head of -
Shem threw off the covers. He fought the sudden urge to leave the room as he sat up. He looked across the room. It was good that no matter how much ruckus he made, it would take a while before Ira would actually wake up. It was the same in the Athena cabin, except there were a few demigods who had their own problems to think about as well.
Shem remembered one of the last few times he had actually touched the piano they had all brought into the house. It was about a week before his family had been murdered, a day after that incident between Austin and Miro . . .
Dad was in his room again.
Shem shrugged the thought away, his camera slung around his neck as he sat in front of the keys of the piano. He had wanted to enter his dad's study, maybe take a picture of him at his desk, but lately his dad had been more secretive than usual - the young man had begun to act jittery and anxious, pushing Miro, Austin, and Shem farther away from him away each day.
Miro and Austin.
The two new and identical brothers. Shem didn't understand how two unrelated people could look so alike - and he had been the odd one out.
It had been a day since Shem had stumbled into the dark alley and discovered the heated altercation between Miro and Austin. Shem had bolted home, fear engulfing him. Listening to a key as Shem pushed it down on the piano, Shem shuddered. He remembered . . .
Running.
Running for his life.
Gasping.
Shem had remembered when he had been grabbed by the arm, just a few yards short from reaching the house. Shem had cried out. For the first time, he had cried out for his dad.
"Shem!" Shem froze when he felt Miro pull him closer. "Please, don't!"
"M-Miro -" Shem stammered, the tears in his eyes. "You - Austin did - he -"
"It's okay, ol' Chap," Miro said gently, putting both hands on Shem's shoulder. He brought Shem into a tight hug. "It was nothing."
"Then what just happened?!"
Miro hesitated.
"He . . . He just made me see things that I wasn't seeing."
Now it was Shem's turn to blink.
"But . . . You see everything . . ." Shem had said quietly on that day.
Back at the piano, Shem placed multiple fingers this time down onto the keys as he attempted to produce one massive chord. His fingers trembled.
"Promise me . . ."
Miro's voice had echoed through the sound of the notes that were playing through the piano.
"You're to tell no one . . . Not even father . . ."
On that night, Shem had agreed. He had listened.
He trusted Miro more than anyone in the world. He loved him more than his father - who knew what his mom had been up to?
When he saw that Miro was just fine, Shem was so relieved that he willingly obeyed not to say a word. Austin was . . . still creepy, but Shem gradually got over it. As long as Miro was there.
Shem listened to the notes in the air.
"Don't worry, Chap. Austin did nothing wrong . . ."
Shem's fingers stopped as the sound of the keys were suddenly severed off. His fingers had reached the mysterious D-flat key.
"The D-flat key," Miro had said on their first day with the piano. "Black key, two octaves above the middle C. I really like that key."
It was the key Miro had spotted at first sight.
Shem pushed down on the key once. Twice. There was no sound.
He poked at it one last time, and suddenly the key wiggled the slightest millimeter. Shem tilted his head. Was it a loose key?
"Be careful there. You don't want that key to be lost, don't you Ol' Chap?" Shem's fingers froze and his hands immediately fell to his sides as Miro came by to sit next to him. The key that had been in his reach just a few seconds ago laid untouched and forgotten.
Or - at least - maybe not completely . . . Shem noticed the glance Miro took towards the key.
"Hi Miro." Shem said quietly, but a warm smile spread across his face. Miro smiled brightly back, holding a stack of papers in his hand. Shem eyed the papers curiously.
"You wanna see?" Miro asked, catching Shem's gaze. "It's our report."
"Yours and Austin's?" Shem asked, and Miro nodded.
"It's a report that we constructed after hearing about one of the most high leveled cases in the city."
Miro took the one and a half inch packet and placed it on the stand of the piano. It was neat and clear. Shem did not need to read it to know that the caliber of writing that was put into that essay would floor the members of the council.
"You made that?" Shem asked, full of awe. "You wrote all of that?"
Miro laughed and nodded in response.
"It's quite detailed," Miro said as his head turned to the doorway. Shem looked in that direction as well, to see Austin standing quietly in the hallway, leaning casually against the wall. Shem waved shyly at the older boy, and a smile appeared underneath the black cap. Shem turned back to the report. "We only heard about the story of the case. We didn't do any investigating or anything."
"Then how did you even solve that case?" Shem marveled. This was pretty amazing. To solve a case all the way through with only the mind.
"You could do it too if you concentrate," Miro said. "Only you and I can do these things, Shem. We can see. Austin helped a lot as well, since he knows a lot of things."
"But . . . What will they say to you when you didn't provide proof?" Shem asked, the innocence clear in his eyes. Whenever he told his classmates these things, they would always challenge him to prove it.
And Shem couldn't.
"You don't need data to result in a success, Shem," Miro said. He took the stack of papers in his hands once more. Miro stood up to leave, ruffling Shem's hair in the process. "You just need respect."
Austin had motioned for Miro to leave, and Miro had obliged. Shem waved Miro goodbye as he watched the two boys walk out the door.
You don't need data to result in a success, Shem thought to himself. If Miro could do it, so could I.
Shem drew the curtains of the hotel room, sitting at the edge of his bed, to reveal the city skyline. Most of the lights were already out, except for a few cars driving across the road, a few buildings still in business.
Lies.
Shem stared at the two books next to him, then at his hands.
Everything he said were lies.
Shem wanted to shrug the thought away, but it was like a knife to the throat.
LIES.
Fives years later, Shem had begun detective consultancy at the age of 12. He solved cases on a whim - tons of cases left and right - within a blink of an eye. He would take each report to the police headquarters the next hour.
And no one would believe him.
No one would care - not until he actually took the effort to give him the data. Many people questioned him - almost put him in a mental institution when he tried countless of times to explain what had gone through his mind.
He was almost suspected of conspiring with the suspects of the crime - a theory to how he was able to provide with so much information.
It was weird: although Shem did the same things Miro did at the age of twelve, he would never turn out as successful.
Maybe it was just Shem. Maybe it was just Miro. Shem could see the difference, and he didn't really mind that Miro was the perfect gentleman, the natural leader who was born to be followed.
But Shem - he was the shadow.
Not that he blamed Miro. In truth, he did tell half a lie.
If one could just look at Miro - and now Shem figured that it was not just being his little brother that made Shem look up to him - one could have been easily charmed. All of Miro's intentions were good and pure, and many people respected that.
It was something that - when questioned - eventually led to murder.
For one thing, Shem didn't have that respect.
For another, if a broken respect led to murder, he did not want it anyway.