Chapter 6: Unveiling
Jake felt like he had been slapped, no, more than that, hit by a brick wall. He wasn't enough. He was willing to give Sara everything, well, almost everything, but he wasn't enough. After a long silence Jake reached out and took Sara's arms, gently pulling her up to a standing position.
"You need to eat," he said, hoping that she was too far gone to realize how much she had just hurt him. "You've been run ragged, you'll feel better after a good meal and a shower."
Whether or not she felt better after a good meal and a shower, Jake didn't know. She certainly looked better. Yet, somehow, she still didn't have the vibrancy, the energy, the unbridled force of life, that Jake loved. "Feel better?" Jake asked, it was almost a perfunctory gesture.
"Yeah," she said, her answer was equally mechanical. "Thanks."
"You want another cup of coffee?" Jake asked after a moment of awkward silence.
"Ah, no actually," Sara said, she was starting to emerge from her daze, apparently the shower had done her good. "Ah, Jake shouldn't you be at work?"
"It's my day off," Jake said, right before he took a sip of coffee.
"Day off?"
"Wednesday."
"Oh," Sara said, blinking. "Shouldn't you be, ah, be relaxing?"
"No," Jake said emphatically. "You're friend Gabriel is in trouble and we've gotta find him."
"You've been working on it?" Sara asked, her eyes wide with gratitude as he handed her the coffee.
"Of course," he said passionately. He couldn't have done anything else, the young man was in this noxious position because of Jake. Guilt was a mighty inspiration.
"Have you made any progress?" Sara asked eagerly.
Jake sighed almost ashamed, "Some."
"That's better than none," Sara said, Jake thought he could hear an edge of hope in her voice. "Let's see it."
"Alright he said, leading her into his living room and standing in front of the tv. She stood next to him, he could sense her mussels tense as the image of Gabriel, bruised and beaten, emerged on the screen.
"Gabriel," Sara muttered. Jake waited for to say more, but when he realized she wasn't going to he started explaining.
"I figure wherever he is it's cold," Jake said. "He's got goose bumps all up and down his arms. Which isn't too much help, considering this is New York in May."
"Or he could just be terrified of whoever's behind the camera," Sara said in her training-officer voice.
"Yeah," Jake said uncertainly, "I guess that's a possibility to."
"Anything else?"
"Two things, well, really three."
"Kay?"
"First, Gabriel coughed twice."
Sara nodded, but her face made it clear she had no idea what he was talking about.
"He was telling us something, signaling for us to pay attention. Jake said, fast forwarding to the first incident, and then to the second. Sara watched, trying to see what Jake had seen, and failing. "So?" she asked, after he had shown her the two parts in question three times.
"He looked at the screen, said Toph and Nat, coughed, then corrected himself."
"Tough and not aren't really clues, unless he meant not tough, which really isn't a clue either."
"Come on Sara," Jake sighed, "There's got to be more than that, look at the way he's looking at the screen."
Sara glanced at the TV and she instantly glanced away, Jake knew she hadn't been able to absorb his expression, the mischief and meaning in his eyes; she was probably too hurt by the sight of the blood trickling down his forehead to be able to catch the more subtle aspects. His suspicions were confirmed when Sara choked out, "All I see is blood."
"Right," Jake sighed. "Well, why don't you close your eyes and listen."
Sara stared at him as he rewound the tape. "Trust me Jake, I've heard everything Gabriel said."
"I'm not talking about Gabriel."
"There's no one else on the tape."
"That's not, strictly speaking, true." Jake said. "Just close your eyes and listen really hard."
Sara did as she was told and for a split second, right as Jake hit play she heard two voices, one was the voice of a man, "Are we ready?" then a younger girl, "I'm already taping," then the man again, "Fine." There was a jump in the tape and then Gabe's voice saying "Hey chief," but before he could get the whole hey out, Jake stopped the tape and turned off the TV.
Sara opened her eyes and looked right at Jake, "The kidnapers."
"Yeah,"
"We have their voices," Sara said. "Which would mean something if we could recognize the voice."
Jake's heart sank, "Yeah, I guess so."
"So all we know is that somebody, presumably a man between the ages of 20 and 50 and girl between the ages of 15 and 30, is somehow involved in the kidnaping. That really narrows it down."
Jake was dying to tell Sara he knew more, he could describe the girl, they could find her. They had proof now, beyond his testimony, that she was involved, proof that was unquestionable. But it didn't mean anything to Sara, because she didn't know. The more Jake looked at her the more he was sure he had to tell her the truth. He believed whole heartedly that the reason she was hopeless was because she felt alone, and the reason she felt alone was because she couldn't trust him. Jake was in the precarious position of either continuing to lie to her and maintaining the facade of a good loyal friend, or telling her the dirty truth and hoping she saw it for what it was, an earnest attempt to fix things. Because Jake was, in his heart, an honest man. Because lies tasted bitter on his tongue and because Sara needed something a little stronger than a facade, Jake decided it was time for the truth.
"Sara, sit down," he said soberly.
"Why?" the caution in her voice made it clear that she knew she didn't want to hear whatever it was he was going to say next.
"Please," Jake said, taking her shoulders and placing her on his soft leather couch. "Wait until you hear everything before you decide whether or not to kill me."
"This isn't sounding good, Jake," Sara said. It was the most Sara-like thing she had said to him all day, sharp with anger and warning.
"I recognize the girl's voice."
"Really!?" her eyes lit up like a Christmas tree. "Jake that's great, if you know who she is we can . . ."
"I recognize it because I hired her, Sara, not Dante."
The Christmas tree turned into a torch held by a lynch mob, "What?" she demanded, flatly and coldly.
Jake knew it would be his only chance to explain himself so he started talking very quickly, "Dante didn't hire them, Sara. I did, under his orders. He said that it would be a good sting operation, flush the both of you out."
"And kill both of us?" Sara demanded furiously. "God Jake, you were my partner, I trusted you!"
"He didn't say anything about killing, Sara, I'm so sorry," Jake said, as quickly as he possibly could. "I didn't argue because I knew you. You could take care of yourself. I was sure they'd come after you and you'd take them out without any trouble. I swear I didn't know they'd go after your friend Gabriel. If I had known, Sara . . . I am so sorry."
"It's easy telling me you're sorry, try telling that to Gabriel," Sara said, her voice still flat with fury but the torches in her eyes had burned themselves out. Jake couldn't help but think she looked heartbroken, indescribably hurt. He wished he could just melt into the floor and stop existing.
"We can, we will find him. And we'll get those bastards and . . ."
"You're the bastard, McCartey," Sara said. "This whole thing was you."
"I'll fix it."
"I've gotta go," Sara said. Her voice was strained, her eyes slightly wild. "I can't stay here."
"Sara, I'm sorry," Jake said again, passionately.
"Then fix it," Sara said as she flung her backpack over her shoulder. She didn't say anything as she walked through the apartment, opened the door, and slammed it behind her.
If Jake had lied she would still be there, with him. But she would still have been crippled with helplessness, unable to do what she knew she had to because she didn't have the tools. As it was her spirit had been ignited again, but this time with anger. He knew that that would probably be the last he would ever see her, unless, of course, she showed up in his bedroom one night, pistol drawn, White Bulls bullet under her hammer and a righteous smile on her face.
* * *
Gabriel couldn't sleep. He wanted nothing more than to dissolve into a heavy darkness and escape from his cage, his broken foot, his newly broken ribs, his swollen eyes, and his persistent hunger and thirst even if it was only for an hour. He didn't care if he would wake up stiff, with a plethora of aches and pains. He didn't care if he would be heartbroken when he awoke, realizing that escape had only been an illusion. All he wanted to do was fall asleep. But he couldn't. So he sat, in a sort of quasi-meditative state for twelve hours, watching the shadows created by the streetlights outside flicker and listening to nothing. His throat was too dry for him to talk to himself, so instead he thought. And as the hours passed his thoughts became less and less lucid so that by morning his thoughts were as incoherent as those of J. Alfred Prufrok.
As he gazed out of his cage, he saw movement coming towards him. Nat was walking towards him with a small brown bag that smelled like a fast food breakfast. Gabriel's stomach growled audibly as soon as he could smell the fat soaked sausages and fried potatoes. He crossed his arms across his stomach and tensed his muscles, physically holding himself back. He was slightly crazy with hunger and thirst, he knew that. But he didn't want to give them any ground, he didn't want them to think he was suffering.
"You hungry?" Nat said as she came up to the cage, shaking the bag and, eventually, setting it on top of his cage.
Gabriel, with more self control than he ever knew he had, simply shrugged, "I could eat."
Nat smiled at him, almost coyly. "Could you not?"
Gabriel shrugged again.
"If I opened this cage, would you attack me?"
"What do you think?"
"You look just a little crazy, maybe a little dangerous."
Gabriel just stared at her, he felt a little crazy, but certainly not a little dangerous. He doubted he'd be able to overpower her, he was sure he wouldn't be able to run away, but he wasn't going to admit that.
"You know," Nat said, slowly walking around the cage. "You're a hard ass kinda guy."
"Whatever," Gabriel said. He was focusing his eyes on a huge spindle of telephone wire about twenty yards away, he didn't want to look at the food and he didn't want to look at the girl.
Eventually, Nat wandered to the point where her shapely legs were directly blocking his field of vision. Gabe glanced away, more out of disgust then out of modesty. But his lustful eyes were drawn to the bag, which just smelled more and more attractive by the second. He quickly glanced away again finally focusing on his hands.
"Hey," Nat said abrasively, Gabriel glanced at her direction, she was leaning down so they were at eye level and her breasts were clearly visible. Gabriel felt horribly uncomfortable. "What do you want more," she asked. "Me or the food?"
"The food," he said, with no hesitation.
Nat looked insulted, almost furious. "Fine," she said, standing up and storming off.
Gabriel watched her retreat, relieved and bewildered. When he was sure she was gone, he allowed himself to lean forward and position himself directly under the brown paper bag. He was too hungry to consider the state of his human dignity as he clawed at the bag, ripping a hole in the bottom and pulling the standard McDonald's Egg McMuffin and hashbrown down through the gaps in the bars. By bending the cardboard out of shape he was even able to pull the small carton of milk through. He ate the meal slowly, his hands were trembling slightly as he practiced more self control than he had ever had to before in his life. He didn't want to waist a crumb or a drop, he didn't know when he'd eat next. "Oh Sara," he muttered once he was done with the most delicious meal he had ever eaten and pushed the trash once again through the bars. "Come quick." Suddenly, it occurred to him that Sara couldn't hear him, and besides, she would be working as hard as she could to save him, she didn't need to be begged on top of it. "As if asking you will make you work harder," he sighed. Then it, again, occurred to him that she hadn't heard what he had said, and he started to laugh. The realization that he couldn't keep one thought in his head for two seconds struck him as very funny. He fell on his side, he was laughing so hard, tears started streaming down his eyes and he gasped for breath as the sheer hilarity of his state struck him. Finally he calmed down, his unabashed laughter transformed into short, soft bursts of giggles. He rolled over to his back and closed his eyes and, despite the cold and the pain, drifted off into a very pleasant, oblivious, sleep.
* * *
"Danny!" Sara screamed into the air as she walked through Central park at a breakneck pace. "Danny, come down from heaven or I swear to god I'll . . ." she hesitated, what could she threaten a dead man with. "I'll do something." she finally decided on, for lack of anything else.
The other people in the park watched her, keeping their distance and shushing their children's rude questions. In most any other city Sara's behavior would be considered disturbing the peace and she would receive, at least, a citation. In New York, as long as it wasn't hurting them, most people didn't care, and therefor, didn't bother with the cops. So Sara was free to yell for her dead partner in peace. "Danny, Get down here right now!" she screamed.
"You get more flies with honey Sara," his voice said from right behind her. Sara pivoted, violently, and drew in a shocked breath when she saw him standing only inches away. Her surprise quickly turned to anger. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" she demanded, before storming off towards the wooded area.
Danny followed, a little confused.
"Gee Sara," Danny said, following her. "All I know is that you were down here screaming your head off. I thought I'd stop you before you embarrassed yourself."
"You know what?" Sara said, "You told me that this was all about Jake, all about trusting Jake."
"And it is."
"Jake is the cause," Sara practically yelled. "Jake hired the kidnapers, he talked to one on the phone . . ."
"And he told you about it."
"And that makes it better."
Danny didn't answer.
"Trusting him was the biggest mistake of my life."
"On the contrary, Sara, you're closer now to solving this than ever."
"Oh," Sara said harshly. "That brings me to another complaint. What the hell is going on with this?" she demanded as she shoved her right wrist to eye level so that Danny had a clear view of the Witchblade.
"I don't know Sara," Danny said honestly.
"You don't know."
"No I don't," he admitted. "But it's connected to you, Sara, what do you think?"
"Irons said that it didn't want me to look into the White Bulls, that it had, ah, bigger plans for my life."
"So now we know what Irons thinks, what's important is what you think."
"Danny, I don't know."
"Fine, so you don't know. You were a detective long before you were a wielder, figure it out."
Sara took a deep breath and examined the bracelet which was fused into her wrist. "I don't know," she said softly. "Maybe . . ." her voice trailed off and she looked up at Danny, "What did you say?"
"You don't know . . ."
"Was that a question or an answer?"
"Answer," Danny said. "You need to learn to remember."
"Remember," She laughed. "I remember being a detective."
"Remember," Danny said, surprised. "Interesting choice of words."
"Your word, not mine."
"Then I must have had a reason for using it."
"You're right Danny," Sara said honestly. But it wasn't a sad honesty that she usually had, it was much more clear and focuses. She had had an epiphany, and for once, it made her feel better. "I was a detective, and I stopped."
"Really?" Danny said, obviously leading her on. She didn't mind one bit, she just kept talking.
"Ever since this . . . thing came into my life, it's been amazing. I've had visions, instincts, flashes of understanding. It's done what only gets done after hours of interviews and a lot of luck."
"Yeah?"
"I got lazy," she said, turning and looking her dead partner right in the eyes. "Perishable skills."
"I guess it's time you took them off the shelf."
"Thanks Danny," Sara said as she started with a determined pace towards the edge of the park where she could pick up a bus. "I will."
To be continued . . .
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