Dear Readers, I am sorry for the 'false' update in the last days. I was editing my story, merging shorter chapters into the longer once. Unfortunately, the removal of the chapter is treated in the same way as the publication of the new one and the story is marked as an updated one.
Anyway, here it is - the real update and the new chapter.
Two more chapters to the end.
When Chloe and Lucifer on the evening sneaked to Mitchell's shop – very carefully, through the cellars of the adjacent building – the detective took some time to investigate the premises.
The forensics left Mitchell's shop in relative order. The destroyed wares were cleaned, the crushed glass removed. The detective knew, that all potentially dangerous substance were secured. As the result, a few shelves were empty, but apart from that, the shop looked absolutely normal - jars and paper bags with herbs, some cosmetics and small workshop where Jeremy prepared ointments, with a few burners, jars with some reagents and, of course, herbal knives. Chloe at their few flinched, recalling both the Jeremy Mitchell's body and the gore massacre in the pub.
The detective couldn't help but look around, in search of something that could be similar to the drugs, but she wasn't surprised when she found nothing. If it was laying somewhere in the open, the forensics would certainly have noticed it. Chloe didn't dare to risk more thorough search, as they needed to stay low and quiet so that their presence would not be noticed from the outside. Instead, she tried to choose the best place for her and Lucifer to wait in the ambush. After the round in the promises, she decided that the most suitable would be the small room at the back, where Jeremy used to sleep when he stayed at the shop for the night. The detective carefully arranged some furniture to provide them with suitable hiding.
Of course, Lucifer didn't even pretend to be interested in her preparations. When they entered the shop, he started to rummage through the jars, complaining that forensics took everything interested away. And when she returned from the backroom, sweaty after the struggle with the furniture, she found him playing with burners in Jeremy's lab, watching how the flames were getting higher and bursting in sparks, or diminishing to the smallest flicker.
The detective forced herself to ignore the fact that he was apparently doing it without using the knobs and concentrated on the risk that the light would be noticed through the shutters.
"We cannot be noticed from the outside," she said warningly. "Do not play with fire."
"Ah, but Detective," Lucifer objected softly, with a chuckle that immediately added to the conversation ambiguous shadow, "that's what I do the best." He raised his hand over the burner, the flames following it, braiding with his fingers – and quickly withdrew it with a hiss. "Only now I have to take burns into account," he snorted, nursing his hand.
Concerned, Chloe quickly examined his palm – the skin was barely reddened. No reason to make a fuss about it. "Don't be a baby," she muttered and extinguished the burners.
The room became completely dark.
The detective for a moment felt unsure because darkness with Lucifer standing just by her side was filled with so many unnamed things, that it almost made her dizzy.
"Let's go to the backroom," she said. "We would wait there."
"That one with the bed?" purred suggestively Lucifer and somehow it eased her tension because it was as if their relations were still on that stage, where he showered her with bad jokes and impudent innuendos she so lightly dismissed.
"Yes. I have even already made use of it," the detective retorted merrily.
Jeremy's bed was low and narrow. The detective turned it over the side so that it would provide them with some shelter when they sat behind it. Whoever entered the shop, wouldn't notice them, even after switching on the lights, not before entering the back room.
"Oh? And we are to sit behind it, just like this, on the floor?" observed Lucifer with discontent. "Not very classy."
"And you would like what? Let me guess, wait in the armchair, sipping your brandy?" snorted Chloe. "Not in this service," she sighed positioning herself behind the bad. She made sure to have a good view at the inside of the shop through the open door and even took the gun out and checked the firing line.
"You are terribly tense, Detective," stated Lucifer, sitting by her side, concerned mostly with making himself as comfortable as possible, considering the circumstances. The darkness immediately enveloped him, like a soft blanket hiding his features. The detective more heard than saw him retrieving his famous flask and taking a sip whatever was inside.
She wanted to reproach him, but then she waved her hand.
"I am just worried it is just another dead end," she admitted. "That we are only losing our time here, and in the meantime, someone is selling this drug again."
"You should have more faith in your intuition, Detective," stated earnestly Lucifer and quickly added jokingly: "With exception of your emotional life, of course, because you are making terrible choices in this area."
Chloe ignored the taunt and sighed. "I do not want another kid to end in the hospital."
Lucifer didn't reply at once and for a while, they sat in silence.
"And what about those, who already ended there?" he asked suddenly.
The detective needed to think for a while to understand, that he meant the kids who were in a coma because of the Death's Door. "The doctors are doing their best to help them," she stated slowly.
"One is dead," reminded Lucifer. "They won't help him."
"No," agreed Chloe softly. "Nothing can be done for this one. We can only try to protect others."
That's what she was taught during obligatory psychological sessions: that sometimes you need to accept the failure and think about you can do and not about what you cannot.
She couldn't see Lucifer's face in the darkness, but still, she felt it didn't convince him at all.
"For the ones who were wronged, the one who harmed them should be punished," he stated.
He didn't speak with the usual vehemence, that appeared in his voice when he fixated on delivering the punishment, but still in his words was some edge the detective didn't like. Then, however, she wondered, whether – all the psychological crap about positive thinking aside – her approach was really that different.
Even if I was absolutely sure, that there is no one pill of this drug left, I would still need to get this guy, she thought with grim determination. And even if we were the two last people on the Earth, and I could be certain, he won't hurt anyone else, I would still need to see him brought to justice.
And so would Lucifer. The only difference was that he was speaking about punishment, not justice as if the judgement was already made.
"That's how you see it, right?" she asked and, realizing that she didn't voice most of her line of thinking, hurried to explain: "You think that people are judged at the moment they commit the crime, right? Once the deed is done, the culprits bring the verdict upon them and all that's left is delivering the punishment?"
"Yes," replied Lucifer immediately. "Exactly."
"It is never that easy," the detective shook her head. "The guilt and punishment are for the court to decide. The people are just… too fallible to take such decisions too easily."
"Oh, yes, you are," agreed her partner, now with mocking dismay.
The detective grimaced and forced herself to leave his words without the answer. Otherwise, if she addressed that 'you', that sounded almost scornfully, they would certainly start to quarrel. Lucifer was always moody, but this evening he was shifting in mere seconds between his usual playfulness and snappy remarks as if he was balancing on edge of an outburst.
The detective tried to pierce the darkness and look at him, but she saw no more than a shape of his silhouette. Still, she noticed that he was barely moving, apart from draining the content of his pocket flask. Even for him, he used it a bit too often.
He might have been tired. After all, he spent the last night sleepless, prowling with her through the city. Herself, she managed to sleep a few hours more today, before Trixie returned from school. However, she wondered, whether Lucifer was provident enough to rest during the day.
"What have you been doing today?" she asked cautiously.
Her partner snorted in reply. "I am afraid that nothing you would approve of."
Well then, at best he had been drinking. Definitely not trying to catch up some sleep. The detective could only hope, that, just as he said, two nights without sleep would make no difference for him.
Everything's fine, he said, thought gloomily Chloe. Nothing is fine. He is trying to keep it 'fine', but it is not going to work.
Was he still angry at her, for stopping his… speech?... confession?... No, she didn't like to think about his almost said words, not now, not here in this darkness.
The detective resigned from the further conversation, feeling that whatever she said could only worsen the situation. She would better wait for his mood to improve. In the meantime, as the minutes passed in the darkness, she started to think about her life, all these small little things that kept her anchored in her safe, daily routine.
Trixie was ecstatic today when they were able to spend a few more hours than usual. It made Chloe feel happy, but also a bit guilty, that perhaps she was too absent in her daughter's life. Maybe they should make some fine excursion during the weekend? Some special time, only for two of them. Ah, but was she now becoming a weekend parent? Didn't the stereotypes say that mothers should provide constant, daily support for the child, give them safe and constant base? Weekends were for the estranged fathers. Chloe smirked ironically – she never was the one to care for the stereotypes – but then frowned at the new, unpleasant thought.
Dan was now extremely engaged in the care over Trixie, more than ever, even when they were still married and lived together. What if he did it keeping in mind the finalization of their divorce? They agreed on joint custody, because it seemed to be the fairest option, what if he intended to question it?
So far, Chloe thought that Dan was trying so hard because he was afraid to lose the place in Trixie's life. That he searched to connect with his child, to make up from the lost relations with his wife. She understood it, and she would gladly try to help him to overcome his insecurities.
What if she was mistaken? What if she was falling into a trap of some kind?
Chloe's insides clenched, fear and bitterness turning into something very primal and hostile. If Dan tried to take Trixie from her, she would fight. She could make it ugly, if necessary. Perhaps she should note the time we spent with her child? Record Dan's failures and mistakes? That wasn't her style, but what if Dan was doing the same, to use it at court?
"What are you thinking about, Detective?" asked curiously Lucifer. "I almost hear all these little gears in your head moving."
Chloe smirked, hearing with relief, that he returned to his usual friendly tone and replied honestly: "I was wondering whether Dan is not going to question our joint custody over Trixie."
"What for? To limit his presence in her life, or yours?"
Chloe sighed with indulgence. Well, that was Lucifer. If he had any children of his own, he most certainly considered the matter done by sending the cheque. "Mine, of course," she replied.
"Your ex is dull, not suicidal," Lucifer shrugged his shoulders, "but if it worries you, the simplest solution would be to ask him. I can ask him," he specified and Chloe could almost hear his knowing smile in the darkness.
"No," she replied and immediately regretted, that she didn't say it slower or gentler.
"Ah, so now you are afraid to use my help, Detective?..." muttered Lucifer and shifted, trying to make use of her flask again, but evidently it was empty. His irritation was obvious, even if she barely saw him.
So much for a friendly mood. Lucifer was now hurt, angry and probably tired and a little drunk, even if he didn't show it. A perfect combination for a stakeout companion.
And she has had enough of his moods.
"That's not what I meant," snapped Chloe losing her patience. "And stop… acting like this. You are picking on my every word. Just… do not say that everything is fine when it is not. And…"
"Shhh…" Lucifer quieted her and luckily the detective's instinct made her stop talking at once because the second later they heard someone fiddling with the lock in the door.
Excited, Chloe squeezed Lucifer's hand, thanking him for a warning and he squeezed her back. For a moment, their partnership was restored to the perfect harmony, when they waited, holding their breaths.
And then, the unknown visitor opened the door and switched the little torch on, and they saw Ben Mitchell quickly crossing the small space of the shop, heading for Jeremy's workshop.
Ben Mitchell.
The detective heard Lucifer taking a deep breath.
Somehow, she wasn't that surprised, she suspected that it might have been Ben. Her experience and analysis of the evidence indicated that it should rather be someone they already interrogated, not a new player. It was either Ben, or Dorothy, and her money was on Ben.
But Lucifer apparently didn't expect it, judging from the fact how he froze in surprise. The detective recalled how irritated he was on the morning, after learning, that Ben Mitchell was set free on bail. She could only imagine, how his anger grew now, seeing Ben sneaking into the shop.
Chloe felt she must act quickly.
She waited, her hand squeezing Lucifer's arm, this time to keep him in place, observing how Ben Mitchel reached for some jar and cautiously emptied its content on the desk, revealing the double bottom he slowly removed to retrieve something hidden behind it.
The detective took her gun and jumped out of the back room.
"Don't move, Ben," she warned, aiming at the man in front of her. "What are you doing here?"
The man froze, staring at her, shock written all over his features. Luckily, he didn't drop the torch, otherwise, the room would again be flooded in darkness.
"Switch on the lights," the detective ordered to Lucifer, not letting her aim from Ben Mitchell.
"And check what is in this jar."
"That's my brother's shop," stuttered Mitchell. "I didn't… I just…"
Lucifer disregarded Chloe's request about the lights and went straight to the desk, to examine the content of the jar with double bottom.
"Pills," he stated almost obliviously and sighed: "Oh, Benny. Why didn't you stay in jail?" He spoke it so softly, that Chloe felt goosebumps crawling on her neck.
"Switch on the lights," she repeated, feeling more and more uncomfortable in the semidarkness, with no more than a small torch that cast more shadows than light.
Both Lucifer and Ben Mitchell ignored her.
"It is nothing illegal," defended Mitchell. "It's just… just a medicine. My medicine My brother kept it here… for me."
"Tsk, tsk, Benny," Lucifer shook his head. "I have seen enough drugs to recognize one. Lying is bad. I do not like liars."
When Lucifer started to speak to the suspect about himself, it wasn't a good sign. It meant that he was taking personally, that he switched from the role of 'the consultant' to the… what was he exactly? Chloe wasn't sure but she realized they were at a hairbreadth from the moment when the situation would slip from the control.
And, oh, didn't Lucifer just say that he did not like liars? She felt in his voice a shadow of frustration caused by her… evasion in the morning. The transmission was one of his favourites coping mechanism. Whatever anger he had to hold back while talking with her – because it was her – he would now doubly gladly unleash over Mitchell.
"We would examine these pills in the LAPD laboratory," she said firmly, trying to remind Lucifer that he was here in the professional assignment. "If these are drugs, they would know it. And what have you been doing yesterday at night?"
Ben Michell looked around with wild expression in his eyes. He started to remind the animal caught in the spotlights. "Nothing," he replied, his throat evidently dry.
"We will confront you with the personnel of the pub Pekin," Chloe stated calmly. "If they recognize you…" the detective deliberately didn't finish the sentence. Ben's reaction showed her, he knew what she was referring to. He gasped, shook his head, making a small step back.
"No. No, I didn't."
He did. He was there, he was trying to sell the drugs. The substance. The Death's Door. Chloe was now certain she was looking at the guilty man.
And Lucifer also knew it.
"Oh, I think that you did, Benny," he purred and something in his voice reminded Chloe of the cat of prey, trying its claws before the attack.
"Lucifer, switch on the lights," demanded Chloe sharply, for the third time. "And you, turn around, hands behind you," she ordered to Mitchell, reaching for her handcuffs.
When she recalled this situation later, replaying it over and over again in her mind, as it was the moment the whole catastrophe started, she thought that everything could be different, if Ben had simply given up and let her arrest him.
He should have done it. He was a middle-aged slug, who made his life preying on the people who were wiser, like his brother, or bolder, like the drug gang.
Or, perhaps, the catastrophe could be avoided, if she didn't ask Lucifer to go and switch on the lights. Here she was the only one to blame. However, she wanted to keep him away from Ben Mitchell, just to avoid what finally happened anyway.
Lucifer shrugged his shoulders and finally turned back, heading for a switch.
And Ben Mitchell - raised one of his hands, as if indicating surrender, whereas with the second one swept the original content of the jar from the desk, the small nodules of some substance crashing over the floor.
A flash, a bang and smoke.
Chloe, blinded by the sudden outburst, instinctively covered her eyes and made a step back toppling over something.
The smoke smelled familiar. She saw something like this on the chemical workshop she went to with Trixie. The kids were shouting with delight during the experiment with - what was it? Magnesia? Metallic oxide? Nevermind. The trick consisted of throwing the substance, that burst out, making a lot of noise. Nothing dangerous. Only that now her eyes, unused to the light, were practically blinded by the sudden flash.
Something heavy hit her arm, falling with a loud clatter on the floor. A fucking herbal knife, she realized, squinting her eyes. Ben threw at her a herbal knife. Luckily, he was too weak and the blade didn't cut anything more than the sleeve of her jacket.
She saw no movement in the darkness, only heard a short struggle, Mitchell's cry and loud rumble, when he landed on the other side of the shop, crashing with his weight the shelves.
"Lucifer, stop!" she called, blinking desperately, the after-images of the little outburst was still dancing in front of her eyes. If she didn't ask him to switch on the lights, he would probably be now as blind as her. Somehow, they would manage to tackle Ben Mitchell down together. Instead, she was now almost helpless and Lucifer could take over the situation.
"You should have gone with the detective, Benny-boy," she heard him saying. "I would have let her take you. It would be so much better choice, you know. But now your chance is gone."
"Lucifer, don't," she said quickly, standing up. "I am fine. He is under arrest. We are taking him to the precinct."
The little torch got lost somewhere, the room was completely dark again. She heard Ben's moans and ragged breath, as he was scrambling from the floor and headed in his direction, but the glass and the remains from the broken shelves crunched under her feet, so, changing her mind, she reached for the switch herself, groping for it in the darkness, to finally turn on the lights.
The switch clicked, but the only result was a screeching sound and a few sparks that faded quickly. Damn, a great moment for a short circuit, silently swore Chloe.
"Let's not spoil the mood. Benny would now tell us all about these little pills of his, the pills that send stupid kids to the premature end," stated Lucifer with a calm that chilled the blood in Chloe's veins. "The kids that should have their life, before they pass the threshold of beyond. Why did you take it from them, Benny?"
"Don't do it," whispered Chloe, not sure, whether she was speaking to Lucifer or to Mitchell.
"Speak, Benny," Lucifer's voice was cold and smooth. "What hides inside this rotten heart of yours? What sick desires led you here, to your dead brother's shop, in search of pills that kill people?"
Something red flickered in the shattered glass on the floor.
Chloe blinked. It must have been still the after-image of the sudden flash, blurring her vision. She rubbed her eyes, trying to get rid of it.
Ben Mitchell sobbed, in that pitifull, forlorn way of a man who lost everything but fear. The detective hadn't ever heard anyone cry in such way until she met Lucifer.
"It is just a prototype," he stuttered. "They gave me…"
"They?..." demanded Lucifer, quietly, but with an undertone of threat evident in his voice.
Perhaps some car was passing the shop, the red lights somehow getting through the shutters, casting reflections inside the room. The detective turned to the windows as if searching for the slit between the shutters.
"The dealers. They gave me some of the first parts. As my share," Ben hiccupped, swallowing the sobs, and yet tried to speak as quickly as possible. "But then it turned out that the first part was… failed. So I just kept it here."
"Failed?..."
Chloe felt the pressure drumming in her ears. The air in the room got stiff and warm as if the temperature rose a few degrees.
"Toxic," whispered Ben Mitchell. "Deadly," he added after a while, reluctantly, as if struggling with himself. "I didn't want to sell it. But I had to. All my money went for bail. I needed cash. I took just a few pills," he took a few deep breaths and concluded with a painful gasp: "I sold them."
The shattered glass on the floor rattled. Chloe found it difficult to breath as if the level of the oxygen fell down. Or was it too warm? Something screeched again, a few more sparks danced around the damaged installation. The air was so full of electricity that Chloe's hair started to rise.
"That's enough," she forced herself to speak, her throat as dry as Ben's. "He said it. He confessed. We are done here. Let's take him to the precinct." And please, let's finally get out of this darkness.
"But Ben still needs to tell us, why he returned here tonight," replied Lucifer. "Why, Benny? Why did you desire…more?..."
He made a few steps toward Ben, the glass crunching under his feet. The detective swallowed to ease the pressure in her ears and tried not to listen to the remains of glass rattling on the floor, even if there was no slightest draft of wind to shift them.
"The police was going to check the shop again tomorrow. I feared they would find it. I wanted to take it and sell it," replied Ben numbly. "They are worth a few grands."
For a second, everything in the room stood still, the tidbits of glass hung in the air, just millimetres over the surface.
"Greed," sighed Lucifer with some final undertone in his voice. "It is my least favourite of the Seven."
For a moment, inexplicable tension in a room eased a bit, the shards falling down with a quiet rustle. Chloe understood, that this hearing was over.
"Can we finish it now?" she asked, bridling internally because it sounded almost beggingly. "We need to take him to the precinct."
"You already took him… to the precinct… once," reminded Lucifer. His voice shivered with hardly contained anger. "This time… I am going first to make sure that… that he won't hurt anyone else."
The hearing was over, but Lucifer wasn't done with Ben. He established his guilt and now it was time for a punishment. The sparks danced once again around the installation and over the remains of the explosives on the floor, filling the room with a specific, sharp smell.
"No, you won't!" Chloe reached for his hand to stop him, but her fingers slipped over his arm when he made a few steps toward Mitchell. He probably didn't even notice her attempt, focused on the man cowering under the wall.
Chloe felt panic clutching her throat, heart thudding in her chest as if she had run a few miles. That was what she always feared - that one day she won't be able to stop him, that her presence and her plea finally wouldn't be enough and the meagre control she had over him would turn out to be no more than the illusion, given her on his whim and so easily retrieved.
"Don't do it," she said, not hiding the pleading tone in her voice.
"Detective, you will need to make an arrest. Why don't you call for a squad car?" Lucifer said and for a second the detective felt a wave of relief that he sounded so reasonably until she recalled that her phone was in the small backroom. He was simply giving her a pretext to leave the scene.
Something in her wanted to do just that. Leave to the backroom and wait there, pressing the hands over her ears. Ben Mitchell was a bad man, an unscrupulous, greedy scoundrel. He deserved it.
"You are a chemist, Ben. You knew it would kill them," spoke Lucifer, his voice changed like on that recording from the warehouse, where he told the dealers their worst nightmares. "You understood the consequences, acting in the full knowledge and of your free will. I rarely meet the man who so… univocally deserves punishment."
Ben Mitchell crouched even lower. "I am sorry, I am so sorry."
Lucifer laughed.
Chloe flinched, hearing this bitter, mocking laughter of someone who knew all and saw all except mercy and compassion.
The glass on the floor reflected red once more and Chloe suddenly founding herself again in this locked factory, with Lindsay cowering and sobbing on the floor and some unnamed, inexplicable terror reflected in the glass… No. This couldn't have been happening again. She explained it. She forgot about it. She didn't want to return there.
She turned her head aside, each fibre in her body urging her to run, to leave. She could leave, wait outside, or in a backroom, let him deal with this despicable man and then act as if nothing happened. That would be the wisest thing to do, Lucifer didn't seem inclined to listen to her anyway.
After all, who was she to stand up to the devil?
And if she stayed, she would have to see it, see him – and her whole world would crumble.
However, Ben Mitchell, the bad, greedy man, was crying and sobbing and begging for mercy and she was the only one who could help him.
Mercy and compassion.
Lucifer made a few unhurried, but steady steps in Mitchell's direction and Chloe with sudden desperation moved between them. Lowering her head, closing her eyes, so that she wouldn't see Lucifer's face, she tried to stop him, holding onto his chest.
"Don't do it," she repeated. "Please."
Lucifer froze, taken by the surprise.
Chloe, not opening her eyes, slowly touched his arms and pressed the cheek to his jacket, listening to his heartbeat. For a moment he just stood, motionless and tense, and then she felt his fingers wrapping around her shoulders, like in this dream she had a few days ago, but this time there was no warm, white light around them, only darkness and the unknown nightmare that was threatening her in the dream was just happening.
"Don't," she said once again, pressing. "He deserves it, but there is still mercy."
His touch over her shoulder strengthened and for a moment she feared he would shovel her aside. Instead, he turned her around and slightly pushed her toward Mitchell.
"All yours," he said only, leaving the room.
Once Lucifer left, the detective would very much like to give in to the small breakdown, or leave the shop as well and never come back, but she couldn't. She had to take care of Ben Mitchell, half-conscious from fear, and call for the squad car because she was not going to drive him to the precinct in her car alone. And she had to secure the pills to be taken to the laboratory.
It took a good hour and when everything was finally done, she felt deadly tired. She stumbled a few times, walking to her car and only in the last moment did she notice Lucifer waiting there, keeping eye on everything from the distance.
Chloe stopped in front of him, finally looking straight at him. She had to raise the head to look at his face. He was half-hidden in the shadows, but still, she saw how handsome he was. And how very angry.
"Why did you speak about mercy?" he demanded.
The detective obliviously shrugged her shoulders. She had no idea, why. It wasn't even the word from her dictionary, she hardly ever used it. Instead of dwelling on it, she realized that it had been no more than twenty-four hours since they had been quarrelling in the night club when she had to ask Lucifer to let Frank Bowels go. And then there was this clash with Dan. And now this.
Oh, how tired she felt.
"I cannot… keep it like that," she said helplessly, feeling the tears stinging in her eyes. "It is not going to work."
Lucifer for a moment measured her with an angry glance and finally shook his head. "No, it is certainly not going to work, if you are going to close your eyes," he snorted and turned back, going away, disappearing into darkness in a few seconds.