CHAPTER ELEVEN
RAPHAEL
The surroundings were eerily familiar. He remembered his way around these sewers, as if he'd just been here yesterday. It was strange to think that it had been fifteen years since he'd been underground like this.
He paused as he neared the entrance to the lair, suddenly hit with a thousand memories. Sharon was a few steps behind him, but she caught up quickly. "You okay?" He swallowed hard and nodded. "You want me to go first?" she smiled, teasingly.
He turned and glared at her, then took a few more steps toward the door, his feet sloshing loudly in the runoff water from the last rain. Actually, it was probably melted snow at this time of year. It was freezing. He reached the door and pushed it open, not allowing himself a moment of hesitation.
Instantly, he was attacked. He jumped back, shielding himself instinctively. "Jesus, Leo!"
The words came out of his mouth before he realized what he was saying. Sharon ran up and stepped between the two of them. "Sensei, stop!" she cried. "It's okay!"
It took a few seconds for Ryan to realize what he'd said. His eyes opened wide and he looked up, past Sharon. "Leonardo?"
Leo lowered his weapons slightly and Sharon stepped aside. For a moment, he studied the intruder. Dark hair, green eyes, tall. Unfamiliar. Ryan stared back, dumbfounded. "Sharon told me you were dead," he finally managed.
"I never said that," the girl protested.
"What do you mean you never said that!" Ryan cried.
"I never said Leo-sama was my father."
Ryan stared at her. If she wasn't Leo's daughter, and her father was dead... "Michaelangelo..." he whispered, the realization hitting him like a ton of bricks. How was that possible? They had done an ultrasound on her; they would've known. Unless she had just gotten pregnant. Raphael's eyes closed as he realized what a part of him had been screaming from the beginning.
For Leo, the name of his brother brought painful recognition. Instantly, he knew who he was facing. Anger flooded him, a tsunami that he couldn't control or even prepare himself for. Ryan spun to Sharon. "You did say he was your father," he snapped. "I remember it."
"The daughter he didn't know he had," she corrected. That sentence itself wasn't a lie. Her entire life, she'd been hearing that phrase. It was as if Leo suddenly had a daughter that he didn't realize he'd ever brought into the world. It burned him, she knew. Hurt deep inside of him, even though she knew he'd never admit it.
"You lied," he accused.
"Was Splinter your father?" she challenged.
Ryan opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He wasn't entirely sure what to say to that. Leo was just beginning to think coherent thoughts again. He turned to the girl. "You went to Las Vegas?" he cried, staring in disbelief at his surrogate daughter. "How the hell did you get there?"
She lowered her eyes. "I hitched," she admitted.
"You hitchhiked across the country?" he yelled. She didn't answer. He felt fury building up inside of him. "Go to your room; I'll deal with you later."
She went gladly. She didn't want to get in the way of their discussion anyway. Leonardo turned to the trespasser, his weapons still in hand, and glared at him. "Why are you here?" he demanded.
It took Raphael a minute to make sense of the words. He hadn't spoken Japanese in... three years? And even then, it wasn't in a real discussion. Only with a customer at the bar. "Because you need help," he managed, not sure he was getting all the words right.
"Oh, I need help now?" Leo asked sarcastically. "Funny, that never seemed to bother you before!"
"Donny wasn't being experimented on before!"
"So now all of a sudden you decide it's time to come home, and you come walking in like you live here with a goddamn gun on your belt!"
Ryan's hand fell to his gun instinctively, as if he'd forgotten he was wearing it. "Well, you'll have to excuse me, Leo," he snapped. "I didn't expect anyone to be living here because I thought you were dead."
"Yeah, that would've solved all your problems, wouldn't it?"
Ryan felt familiar anger begin to stir inside of him. "Look, I didn't just drive from one side of the country to the other to take shit from you!" he yelled. "I'm here for Donny."
"And I don't need your help," Leo informed coldly. "So get the hell out of my house."
"Bull fucking shit you don't need my help!" Ryan yelled back, switching to the language he was more comfortable with. "If you wanna have a chance at getting him back alive, you need all the help you can get!"
"Look, I never told Mica to go find you," Leo informed him, not willing to speak in English.
"Mica?" Ryan questioned, confused. It took a minute for him to realize who "Mica" was. "She said her name was Sharon!"
Leo glared at him, unamused. "Well, whatever she told you, just forget it," he warned. "Just go back to Las Vegas, to whatever screwed up life you have over there, and forget this ever happened."
Leonardo spun and began to walk away. Ryan was frozen, his mind running back over his discussion with the girl. Had she said her name was Sharon? Damn, she played mind games!
"Hey, woah, wait a minute!" Ryan cried, realizing that Leo was leaving. "I just spent the past two days in a car comin' all the way out here and there's no way in hell I'm going back until I do whatever the fuck it was I came here to do!"
Leo spun. "And what is that, exactly?"
Raphael gave up the battle. It was too confusing to use both languages in the same conversation. "You know damn well you can't get him out without my help."
In a flash, Leonardo was armed, the tip of his sword not even an inch from Ryan's throat. "And you know damn well that you better get out of my house right now before I'm forced to take drastic measures to remove you."
Ryan stared at him for a moment, then took a step back. "Fine," he growled. "I'll leave. But you know you need me."
He spun and walked out of the lair, slamming the door behind him.
***
The knock on the door was unexpected. Breanne sat up and looked over the back of the couch. "Who the hell is that, at this time of night?"
Her husband sat up, running his fingers through his hair. "One way to find out."
She shoved him back down. "Just stay. I'll get it."
He didn't argue with her. She stood up and gathered her robe around her, then walked across the hardwood floor to the front door. She looked through the peep hole first. This wasn't the safest part of town and it was almost midnight. But it was a police officer. Or somebody dressed like one. She opened the door with the chain still in place and looked out at him. "Can I help you?"
"I'm looking for Casey Jones," the man answered. "The phone book listed this address."
She stared at him for a minute. "Yes, that's my husband. Is he in some kind of trouble?"
The officer smiled wickedly. "Not yet." He stared at her, his gaze steady. "I just need to talk to him. Is he home?"
She was curious as to why he hadn't offered his badge yet. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Casey stand up. "Is this official business?" she pressed.
He shook his head. "No, it's personal. I'm an old friend."
Casey gently pulled his wife out of the way and stood at the cracked open door. "Can I help you?"
Ryan stared at the clean-cut man on the other side of the door, and couldn't keep his mouth closed. "God, you look different."
"Do I know you?"
He swallowed hard. "Uh, yeah," he began hesitantly. "Well, you used to. You and I used to hang out a lot." He looked away. "Last time I saw you, you were walkin' into the hospital. Got yourself shot tryin' to bring down a drug ring. Never should've rushed into that fight."
Casey stared at him, confused. The police didn't know about that. Hell, nobody knew how he'd actually gotten shot that night. The man looked up. "Any of this ringin' a bell?" he asked.
Casey could only stare for a moment. "Who are you?" he finally questioned.
"You wouldn't know my name," Ryan answered, sighing.
"How do you know about that night?"
"I was there. I kind of... left on short notice right after that. Never got a chance to say goodbye."
Casey's eyes widened. Neither of them spoke for a long time. Finally, Casey shut the door, slid the chain over, and pulled it open again. He couldn't believe his eyes. Was he imagining this? This police officer... this human police officer...? "Raphael?" he managed.
Ryan smiled faintly. "Hi Casey. Been a while."
***
Something in the corner of the room caught Ryan's eye. Casey tensed as he followed his gaze, but didn't move. Ryan walked to the shelving unit against the far wall. He recognized the objects immediately, but didn't touch them. He was almost afraid to. But his eyes ran over the metal, noting every scratch and knick along the way. He turned to Casey slowly. "These are mine," he realized, his voice just above a whisper. "Or they were."
Casey sighed deeply. "Yeah."
Ryan stared at him for a minute, then looked back at the sai. "Leo let me have them," Casey explained. "I think he was pretty pissed off at you when you left."
Ryan's eyes slid closed. "So you knew," he mumbled. "You all did. That I wasn't dead."
Casey sighed. "Leo and I don't really talk, Raph," he whispered. "I can't tell you all that he knows."
The silence was deafening as Ryan stared at the weapon, then turned away slowly. He was afraid to touch it, but he wasn't entirely sure why. "We have a spare bedroom," Breanne offered. "And if you want to take a shower, you're welcome to."
Ryan forced a smile. "Thanks."
Casey and his wife went to bed. Ryan liked the idea of a shower, but it didn't help him to relax like he hoped it would. He stared up at the ceiling, unable to sleep, long after he'd lay down. The breeze echoed in his ear as the fan turned to his face, then spun again. The wind moved down his body, pressing against the thin sheet over his legs. Something inside of him felt like it was on fire. Some hidden emotion that he hadn't known he posessed. Images flashed across his mind. His childhood played back like a movie on the screen of the ceiling. So long ago. It was as if he'd totally forgotten his past, and now it was suddenly rushing back to him.
He hadn't forgotten, of course. He always knew what he was and where he'd come from. But it was such a distant life, a foreign memory, that it hadn't affected the way he lived his life at all. Sure, it was hard for the first few months. Maybe even the first few years. How many nights had he woken up in a cold sweat, his brother's cries ringing in his ears?
Michaelangelo. He hadn't said that name in so long. It burned like acid on his lips, and stung the backs of his eyes like a whip snapped across his emotions. He threw the blankets aside and stood up, ignoring the head rush that blacked out his vision as he threw his clothes on, leaving his shirt half-unbuttoned. He wasn't really sure where he was going yet. All he knew was that he couldn't stay here. Even after a cross-country drive, and a fight with his brother, he couldn't sleep.
His eyes were drawn to the sais as he walked into the living room, and he froze. It was as if they were watching him, waiting, knowing his destiny better than he did. No, he knew it. He just didn't want to admit it. He had rejected the idea of karma when he left New York, more than a dozen years ago. But now it was becoming more and more clear that it hadn't rejected him.
A chill ran down his spine. He didn't want this. An ever-increasing part of him wanted to get back in the damn car and drive another 23 hours, straight through, back to Vegas, and forget this ever happened. But he couldn't do that. The fire inside of him wouldn't allow it.
He walked slowly to the shelves and reached up hesitantly to brush his fingers over the sais. He breathed deep, and lifted them carefully. Instantly, he felt power flood through him like electricity, heated pressure flowing from his hands, up his arms, and through the rest of his body. His fingers locked around the handles tightly as muscles tensed on their own, and he felt his eyes burn. The breath had been squeezed from his lungs, and for a moment he felt like he was going to collapse. It was as if they were magical, and they had just cast a powerful spell on him. But he knew they weren't. It was his own emotion that was consuming him; it didn't come from any outside force.
His hands trembled as he took a few quick breaths. A feeling of helplessness consumed him. Fear, pain... the agony of a life that he'd long forgotten about. Tears overflowed and trickled down his cheeks, and he struggled for breath. For a moment, he gripped reality, and he felt as if he were watching himself. He was confused by his own reaction. What was happening to him? And why couldn't he control it? But he couldn't make his fingers unclench from around the handles, as hard as he tried.
As quickly as it had come, the consciousness was whisked away, leaving him caught in a whirlwind of feelings. Memories rushed back to him and he dropped to his knees as fire ripped through his soul. He felt like he could scream, but couldn't manage the breath.
Suddenly, something inside of him snapped. Deep inside of him, buried underneath a million other emotions, anger flickered, then blazed. He wouldn't allow this. This was his body, his emotions, and he would control them! He opened his eyes and glared at the demons dancing around him. "This. Stops. Now!"
Instantly, the pressure weighting down on him lifted. The floodgates opened and anger rushed to every cell in his body. He came down from the emotional high as if he'd just jumped off a cliff. There were no specific memories that came to mind, but a totally different feeling rushed through him as he remembered his childhood. Learning to use these weapons, the first time he'd used them in battle, the first fight he'd won, and the first he'd lost. The memories were a part of him, like they hadn't been in so many years.
He'd forced himself to forget that life. But now, as he accepted it, he felt it rushing back to him. He welcomed it. He welcomed the emotions, even the ones that he knew didn't apply to him anymore. Loneliness, jealousy, determination... anger. He hadn't felt fury like this in so long... but he knew exactly what to do with it. He had to feel this now. If he didn't, there was no way he would find it in himself to come against Leonardo and save his brother from whatever hell he was in right now. So he welcomed it, and let it flood through him, fueling the fire of life inside of him like dried leaves set ablaze.
He felt different.
As he looked down at his hands, he was almost surprised to see human skin. The fury died, settling into the places it belonged. Raphael loosened his grip on the sais, then tightened his fists around them again. They were heavier than he remembered them, and ice cold through the worn padding on the handles. He tried to spin them, and nearly dropped them both. Too many fingers got in the way.
He suddenly realized how exhausted he was. He felt almost ready to collapse. He pulled himself to his feet slowly, not surprised at how unsteady he was. He felt like he'd just walked through an emotional battlefield. He could feel the steady flow of emotion inside of him, reminding him that he was alive. It gave him strength to crawl all the way back to the spare bedroom.
He collapsed on the bed, weapons still in-hand, and felt what little energy he had slowly ebb away. He turned onto his side, holding the weapons close to him as if they were a lover. He felt like a teenager again. He let go of one of the sais, and brought that hand to rest against the cold blade. He pressed the pad of his index finger to the dulled tip of the sai and ran it back and forth slowly. He could feel the cold metal move over the ridges of his fingerprint. He thought about that for a minute. He'd dealt a lot with fingerprints, these past few years. He knew that they identified you, and that they made you different from everyone else. But until his transformation, he hadn't had fingerprints. The thought struck him, and he considered it as he drifted off to sleep.