Gaby, Patrick, Scott, Jimmy Duran, and any others you don't recognize are mine.
Violet is... ?
Rated PG-13 : Harsh language; violence; sexual content.
Reviews are appreciated, please take a moment to leave one.
"God damn it! Why didn't you call me?" Wes jumped to his feet and glared at Eric, angry, probably unreasonably, he knew, but -- how could they have left him out... "Norman Ryder's brother shows up, and you didn't think I would want to talk to him?"
"Jimmy and I both thought it was better if we questioned him first."
"Did you think I can't handle it? What did you think I was going to do, beat him up?"
"I don't know what you'd do anymore, Wes. Frankly, you've been so tense lately, I don't know what to expect." Eric's face was as blank as it usually was, but his eyes were watchful.
"Damn it..."
"And he's not just Norman's brother. They're twins. Identical. I thought it was Norman himself. I came close to attacking him."
"His twin? Shit." Wes paced a few steps, and turned. "Well, what did he say?"
"Wes. Sit down."
"Why? What did he say, damn it?"
"I think you should sit down for this."
"Oh, God." Wes sank into his chair, for the first time really seeing Eric's grim and unhappy expression, sympathy showing through the surface.
"He said..." Eric hesitated, uncharacteristically seeming nervous. "I guess I should just say it. He said Norman had built a transporter, just like you thought. He and Jen used it to get out of that mine. But they didn't survive the trip. According to him, Jen's... gone."
"Gone? Gone?" Wes turned the word over in his mind, for a few seconds unable to grasp its meaning. He whispered it to himself, suddenly feeling a dizziness as the room began to darken, and he could feel himself sliding...
"Wes!" Eric's voice called him back, as strong hands gripped his shoulders, holding him up until the dizziness receded. "Are you all right?" The face that stared at him anxiously was unguarded for once, distress and concern written on it. "I shouldn't have sprung it on you like that."
"Sure, sure, I'm all right." Wes shook his head, after a moment able to think again. "Gone... No, he must be lying."
"I don't trust the guy." Eric returned to his seat. "I can't tell you if it's true or not. Didn't really want to tell you anything at this point, until we know for sure, but you would have found out anyway."
Wes looked up at him, his anger suddenly returning. "You didn't want to tell me. I should have been there! I could have made him tell the truth!"
"Face it, Wes, when it comes to Jen-" He cut himself off.
"When it comes to Jen, I'm irrational. Right? That's what you were going to say?"
"You said it. I didn't. But it's true." He watched as Wes jumped up, his fists clenching. "No one blames you, Wes, least of all me. It's only natural. But we have to be logical about this."
"Logical!" Wes glared. "How can you be so cold-hearted?"
Eric's eyes narrowed for a heartbeat, his face falling into the blank mask Wes had almost gotten used to. "I've been called worse."
"Shit!" Wes turned away, agitated, not knowing if he was more angry or conscience-stricken. You're nothing but trash, your mother was a whore, your father was a cheap crook... The terrible things he had said, the words that had destroyed their friendship. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry!" he said now. "But you'll never forgive me, will you?"
"I told you already. Just forget it. I'm not angry."
"Yeah, right. That's why you're acting like a stranger again."
"Look, Wes, it's not a matter of forgiveness. What happened just made me face facts." Eric's voice was as cool as his face.
"What facts are those?"
"We're as different as night and day. You're a rich kid from a nice family who went to the right schools, had all the right friends, and did all the right things. I'm a poor kid who came straight out of the gutter and had to push people out of my way to get where I am. Our backgrounds, our personalities -- everything, completely different. We can work together, get along with each other. But there's no way for us to be real friends."
"That's bullshit. We were friends."
"We were both only fooling ourselves." Wes saw him drop his eyes to his hands, the fingers curled tightly, the only sign of what he was feeling.
"Like I said, bullshit. Haven't I always tried to help you? To be your friend? Even in the beginning, when you treated me like shit! And now, when I need you, all you can think about is your goddamn wounded pride!" He stopped, took a deep breath, and then continued more quietly. "I guess now I know how far your friendship really goes."
"Just like I found out what you really think about me." There was an edge of anger in Eric's voice.
"That wasn't real! That was the drug Norman gave me, and the way he tried to turn me against you. I didn't mean any of that shit I said!"
"I didn't see Norman around when you said it. Be honest, Wes. It must have come from somewhere inside you." Eric sounded quiet and reasonable again now, as Wes looked up and then away, biting his lip in guilt and frustration. "Look, this isn't getting us anywhere. And it's not what we should be worrying about right now."
"You're right." Wes sighed. There was no point in arguing now. Maybe he was just trying to avoid facing what Eric had told him. "I don't believe it. Jen's alive. I know it." He looked at his partner again, seeing a trace of sympathy behind watchful dark eyes. "Why would Trip have said there's hope, if she's not alive?"
"Are you sure that's what he meant?"
"Well -- he wouldn't say anything definite. But I'm sure. She must be alive. I can feel it."
"Huh." Eric almost smiled.
"You don't believe me?" Wes felt a prickle of anger again.
"I don't know. We have to be realistic. Jen may be -- gone. But I have the feeling there's a lot more going on than what Patrick Ryder told us."
Wes looked at Eric, meeting his steady gaze. "Look, I appreciate everything -- your help..." He stopped, feeling clumsy, dropped into his seat again and took a deep breath. "Okay. Tell me what he told you. Tell me everything."
They drove out together, with Steve Miller in a Guardian SUV, in silence, Wes staring out the window over fields and forest, not really seeing them, occasionally glancing at Eric to see him with eyes locked on the road, hands firmly on the wheel, face calm and unrevealing. It seemed to take forever. He could feel the pressure, the tension. At the end of this drive, would he find the truth? Or only more questions?
They turned off the main highway and started down a long driveway, winding through a field that might have grown crops at one time and now was only a lawn gone wild. As they approached a house, he sat forward, staring at it.
It was big, a rambling farmhouse built for a large family. A barn bulked behind it, a detached garage next to it. The house itself had probably once been very attractive, but like the fields it was now long neglected, its elegant lines and the overgrown rose bushes lining the front hinting at former glory.
"You ready?" They had stopped, parked, and Eric was looking at him, that cautious, guarded expression on his face again.
Not knowing if his annoyance was at the way Eric was watching him as if he might crack at any moment, or because the anxiety had just coiled even tighter inside him, Wes nodded curtly and got out. The three of them stood looking around for a moment before starting for the door.
It opened even before they knocked. A man smiled at them in the doorway. Hair and eyes brown instead of iridescent silver, skin normal, not pale purple, but it was Norman, just as he remembered him from Bio-Lab. No, not Norman, he had to remind himself. Norman's twin, or so he claimed. But he could barely suppress the anger he felt at the sight of that face, the urge to grab him and somehow make him give Jen back.
A touch on his arm steadied him. Eric gave him a warning look before facing the man. "Patrick Ryder, this is Wes Collins, Jen Scott's fiancé, and Steve Miller, our second-in-command."
"Yes. Let me say again how sorry I am for your loss, Mr. Collins. Please, come in." He smiled and motioned them in, but didn't offer to shake hands.
They followed him in, pausing to look around a large living room with big windows facing back over the fields towards the highway. The furniture was expensive, but old, the room clean enough but with something of the same air of neglect he had seen in the outside of the house.
"The police team is still working in the laboratory where -- where it happened," Patrick said. "I suppose you'll want to see it."
"Yes," Wes said. "We want to see it."
It was a laboratory, that much was obvious. Equipment and machinery scattered around, the remains of a large device in the corner. A mess, it had obviously been destroyed by a small explosion. That much of what Patrick Ryder had told them was true. Wes walked around, careful not to disturb anything. The crime scene people had already collected their evidence and taken photographs, but his training kept him cautious.
The other machinery had been damaged, too, hard to tell what it had been for. He spotted a sheet of silvery metallic material, and reached a gloved hand to touch it. It was flexible. Another gleam caught his eye from the floor. When he knelt to take a closer look, he saw the same material, but in pale purple.
"Found something interesting?"
He glanced up to see Patrick standing over him. Instead of answering, he called to Eric, waiting for his partner to join them. "This looks like what Silver and Purple were made of. Their 'skin', I guess you'd call it."
"Yeah. Maybe he built them here."
"Or did research. This doesn't seem like a complete lab," Patrick said.
Wes got to his feet. "Could be. We found a lot more stuff in the silver mine." His eyes automatically avoided the stains he could see on the bare wood floor. Bloodstains. His stomach lurched as his eyes unwillingly returned to that ruined machine. The teleporter that had killed Jen, according to Patrick.
Eric's voice came from behind him. "Where's that videotape your brother left?"
"I handed it over to Detective Duran. I imagine he'd be happy to show it to you."
"Right." Eric started away, then stopped and looked back as Wes followed him. "Wes, I can take care of this," he said.
"I want to see that tape."
"Maybe you shouldn't watch it." Eric's voice was cool, his eyes cautious again.
"I have no choice."
Eric examined him again for a long moment, and then turned away. "Okay. Suit yourself."
She had heard them. Footsteps and voices from downstairs. Voices she didn't know. Violet wanted to hear them, wanted to know what they were saying, more than she could remember wanting anything before in her short life.
As footsteps approached her door, she looked up eagerly, got up from her seat. The door opened, and her face fell when Scott looked in. "Oh, it's you," she said.
"You seem disappointed."
"I want..."
"I know, but you must stay here. We can't let them see you."
"Why? What would they do?"
"They might take you away. You wouldn't want that to happen."
"Why would anyone do that?"
"I -- I can't tell you."
"Why? I don't understand!"
"I know. But I can't tell you everything. Maybe someday."
"Someday. It's always someday." The sharp note in her voice surprised her, and obviously startled him too.
"Violet, just stay here. I'm going downstairs."
"To the basement?"
He paused to look back at her. "I need to make sure everything's in order. Stay here, be quiet. Lock the door."
"All right." She pouted, but he didn't even pay attention. His footsteps faded away down the hall.
She was alone. The voices were gone, but the people might still be in the house. Overcome by curiosity and a longing she didn't quite understand, Violet moved quietly out of the room, into the short corridor that led to the stairs and down to the main house.
For a moment she paused, hand on the banister. It was wrong, they had told her to stay hidden, told her it was for her own protection. But something inside her was stronger than the urge to obey, stronger than her fear at the idea of meeting people she knew nothing about. It whispered at the back of her mind, a shadowy echo insisting that she had to see those people. For an instant, she felt the odd conviction that she didn't belong here, had to escape; silly, since this was the only home she knew. Silently, she started down.
Seeing Norman again on the television screen shook Wes more than he had expected, silver hair, purple skin, those chilling silver eyes holding even less sanity than he remembered. The self-made mutant was bleeding from a cut in his cheek, and another in his shoulder. He looked weakened and in pain. Dying? Impossible to tell. The recorded voice spoke quickly, the camera not moving from his face.
"Patrick, Scott, this is for you. So you know what happened to me. You won't find my body. I don't want to leave anything behind." He stopped to take a breath.
"I've done some things you wouldn't like. But that's all over now. All I have time to tell you is that I tried -- tried to take what I wanted..." A brief pause. "The Rangers and the Silver Guardians were after me. I had to escape, with Silver and Purple, the robots I built, and Jen -- the other Ranger -- I beat all of them, but they got away..."
He blinked, looking confused. "What was I...? Oh, right. Jen was drugged, she didn't know what was going on. I took her with us. I'm sorry for that. I set off the self-destruct in my laboratory, but it went off so fast, we were caught in the explosion. Used the transporter to escape, but it didn't work right, hadn't tested it enough. Brought us here. Just me and Jen. Silver and Purple were gone, it must have disintegrated them."
His words came faster, as if he was rushing to get it over. "Jen and I were injured badly in the explosion and cave-in. Then the transport, it disrupted us on a molecular level, it was too much. Jen died in seconds. I'm dying too, I can tell. Going to take her and go back in the transporter, set it to disintegrate us. It's a quick end, and clean."
There was another pause, as Norman peered at the camera. "I don't have much time. Sorry. I know I let you down. Goodbye."
The picture abruptly cut off. Wes sat woodenly, aware of Eric's gaze on him, grateful when Jimmy Duran began to talk.
"Man of few words, wasn't he?"
"Yes," Patrick said softly, his voice sad. "You can see he was -- dazed, maybe. Not himself."
"Did he leave any other messages?" Steve asked.
"Only the notes on his experiments. I learned the details about the robots and the transporter by reading them."
"We can't let those notes be released," Eric said. Wes knew what he meant. Those things were based on future technology, too advanced for the world to know about yet.
"Don't worry," Patrick said. "When this investigation is finished, I'll turn them over to Bio-Lab."
Jimmy spoke up again. "Who's Scott?"
"My other brother..."
Wes got up, suddenly needing to escape from this room, from the talk about Norman, about evidence and scientific inventions, about everything except the only important thing. The one part of that tape that wouldn't stop replaying in his mind. "Jen died in seconds."
He found himself walking out of the door, and then wandering through the other rooms of the house, hardly paying attention to where he was or where he was going. It can't be true, I know it, I feel it, and Trip said there was hope... He repeated it to himself, to drown out those terrible words.
The tap of footsteps alerted him to another presence. He stopped and listened, unwilling to face talking to anyone right now, wondering which way to go to avoid them. Then he heard another set of steps, walking quickly. And then a voice, sounding angry. Norman. Patrick, he reminded himself.
"Violet! What are you doing down here! You know you weren't supposed to come out!"
The murmur of another voice. A woman. It sent a bolt of shock through Wes, rooting him to the spot as his head spun once, sickeningly. He didn't catch the words. Then the voices were receding, footsteps starting away. All the blood in Wes's body seemed to rush back into his head, bringing a state of almost surreal awareness. He rushed after them.
Her voice was just ahead, its tone angry. "Scott, stop pulling me! I don't want to go back!"
It took only another second for him to catch them, bursting through a doorway into a small hall. The woman was facing away from him, tall and slim, her hair brown and very short, the man glancing back at him, alarm showing on his face. It was Patrick, but she had called him Scott... For a moment he seemed ready to run and take the woman with him, his hand tightening on her arm. Then she stopped, pulled away, and turned. Wes stared, the whole world seeming to zoom in on her face.
"Jen!" he said softly.
TBC...