A/N: Just so you know at the moment we're following a two/two pattern. Two chapters from Fillmore's POV, and two from Ingrid's. This might change, depending on where the plot takes me.

Shattered

By: Abellen

Chapter Three: Fear

Tears were pouring down my face and mingling with the rain. I had to stop running because of the sobs racking through me. I didn't even know what they were about anymore. Everything was such a confused mess, and I despised the emotional wreckage that weighed so heavily on my mind.

I had thrown the umbrella at Fillmore in a fit of unusual tantrum: how typically stupid of me. I caught sight of my dappled reflection in a puddle and watched my face grimace. Ingrid Third, what a mess. My makeup was running. I didn't wear a lot, but none of it was waterproof. If Ariella saw me like this… If the social worker saw me like this…

I shook my head and carried on walking, balling my hands into fists as I strode down the road. I shouldn't have gone back to school. I wasn't ready for it; not for the sympathy and not for the trouble. My painkillers were wearing off, and my bandage was soaking. I needed to get home and sort myself out.

I drew in a ragged breath and bit my lip until the tears retreated and the emotion faded away. I hugged my bag to my chest, trying to use it like a shield against the world. The rose was sticking out of the top and a thorn clawed at my arm.

Mike Harris. He had made my life hell once, and the day he hit me I swore that never again would I just stand there and cry. Now I had a punch that demanded respect, and what some people might call an "attitude problem." He had broken two of my ribs, and what I'd done to deserve his attention I'd never know. It was one of those things that if it didn't kill you made you stronger.

I could understand the others' concern, and it was sweet and wonderful, but annoying. I knew that Harris wouldn't be a problem. I mean, a red rose? He'd never had that kind of style. A rueful smile crossed my lips as I thought of the little jolt I got when Fillmore had mentioned the flower. At first I'd thought, foolishly, that he had got it for me as a gift.

'Wishful thinking, Third,' I mumbled to myself. Still, it had been wonderful to open my eyes and see him standing next to me, a curious expression of worry and relief on his face.

I stepped onto my porch and put the key in the lock, twiddling it back and forth until I was finally allowed into my own home. I dumped my bag on the floor, grabbed some tissues from the box on the table and wiped my face, hardly daring to look at myself in the unforgiving mirror. I licked the tissue, like my mom used to when I was four and had been rolling in mud, and began to scrub at the black streaks of make-up. It took five minutes of hard work but eventually I no longer looked like a panda, just a teenager with issues.

'Ingrid, have you been all right at school?' Ariella rushed down the stairs and I had to smile at her. Art was her life, that much was obvious. She had a paintbrush tucked behind her ear and streaks of ink all over her bare forearms. Her glasses were crooked and the eyes behind them were full of tears, but she smiled to see me never the less. 'Have you been all right? I thought about dropping by, but I didn't want to embarrass you.'

'I was fine. I am fine, I promise.' I smiled at her gently before confronting the mirror again and unwrapping the damp bandage. The dressing slipped, revealing the deep cut across my temple. Neat stitches held the wound closed, but it was still an angry red.
'Dinner's in a few. I'm afraid it's pizza again.'

'Don't worry about it,' I tried to reassure her, knowing that she was anxious over our future. We couldn't be split up, not now. Arial was a big girl at seventeen, but it didn't seem likely that Social Services would let her look after her gothic, genius little sister. Someone was meant to be stopping by at some time this evening. A "preliminary interview". Fillmore would say they were casing us out.

The telephone rang at the same time that the beeper went on the oven to indicate that if we didn't eat now, dinner would be charcoal. Ariella rushed into the kitchen and I grabbed the phone.

'Hello?'
'It's me,' Fillmore's voice said bluntly. 'I wanted to check you made it home all right.'
'Yes, thanks. Fillmore, I'm sorry about losing my temper. It hasn't been a good week.'
'That's a bit of an understatement, and apology accepted. Mind if I walk you to school tomorrow?'
'As a friend or a protector?'
'Both. Always both, Ingrid.'
'All right. I'll see you at seven.'
'How about seven fifteen?'
'No, Fillmore. Seven. I know this rose isn't from Harris, but I still want to know who left it here.'
'Hmmm.' There was a trace of laughter in that little noise and I could almost see him trying not to smile. 'All right then. Take care and good luck with the social worker.'
'Thanks. Hey wait, how did you -?' but it was too late. He was gone.

My sister and I ate pizza at the kitchen table, talking about this and that and never really touching the issues that dwelt on both our minds. We had to pay the bills, close our parents' accounts, talk to the lawyers, and sort out their clothes and things. But not today. The funeral was Friday, which was three days away. It was not something I felt like contemplating. It was not time to say goodbye, and perhaps it never would be.

It was almost time for me to go to bed when the doorbell rang. I had my school books spread out in front of me and was trying to work my way through French. I was clock watching and tapping my pen against my textbook without realizing it, and the piercing chime broke my reverie.

I tried to look like a good little girl doing her homework. I shuffled the complex, extra curricular algebra problem I'd been doing out of sight and instead tried to pay attention to French verbs. My sister led a woman into the room and I gave a hollow smile as she greeted me. She looked about forty, had red hair and smelled of cheap perfume. As I rose to shake her hand I realized how short she was, and how tired she looked.

'I – really, I want to set your mind at rest,' she said in a very soft voice, the kind people use to coax people down from high, narrow ledges. 'I know there are such a lot of horror stories about the work we do, but I wanted to assure you that it is very unlikely that either of you will have to leave your home, or your school, and most importantly each other.'

Ariella and I exchanged a glance and brief smile.

'What we want to do is help you through the legal and financial problems first.' She took out a thick wedge of forms and handed them to Ariella, who looked at them in horror.

It was going to be a long night.

I slammed my palm down on my alarm clock, frustrated by its persistent beeping. I'd successfully ignored it for the past ten minutes, but Fillmore would be here soon and I couldn't bear the thought of him seeing me in my pajamas.

I struggled out of bed and into the bathroom. I flicked on the shower and let the water heat up while I brushed my teeth. Stepping under the spray I gave a soft sigh as bruises and scrapes were both stimulated and soothed. A quick burst of cold water washed away the last shreds of sleep before I turned the temperature to a comfortable medium and shampooed my hair.

It took a matter of minutes to get clean and dry. My black dress had pizza spilled down the front, and the two identical spares needed repairing. Crime was hard on clothes. Fillmore had fallen into fits of laughter when he realized I had three identical dresses. He said I was like one of those cartoons who always wore the same outfit. When I'd looked at his faded jeans and green t-shirt in a pointed way he'd smiled and said; 'I wear other clothes, you just never notice. Except those shorts.'

Yeah, I'd noticed those shorts. I sighed as I opened my wardrobe and pulled out a black t-shirt and pair of jeans. I'd been so surprised to see his legs I hadn't been able to resist comment.

'Ingrid! Fillmore's here!'
'All right!' I pulled a face at myself in the mirror. My hair would have to dry by itself. I snatched up the tube of lipstick and put it on with practiced skill, but left the eyeliner in its pot. I did a quick rush around for books, grabbed my sash and hurried downstairs. Fillmore was holding my bag patiently as he leant against the wall looking tired and hungry.

'Stop!' Ariella rushed out of the kitchen, waving brown papers bags at us. 'Breakfast. Have a good day. Ingrid, your antibiotics and painkillers are in your bag, and Fillmore?' My sister smiled gently. 'Thanks for looking after her.'
'No problem,' Fillmore answered with a warm smile in my direction.

The rain had stopped late last night but puddles dappled the ground and the wind still blew with spite as we made our way towards X.
'All right, Ingrid,' Fillmore muttered after a few moments of silence, 'if it wasn't Harris then who's sent you the rose? I mean it's not a secret admirer, is it?'

I smiled to myself, knowing that Fillmore couldn't possibly jealous. He was my friend, and my partner, but he just didn't think of me that way. There had been a hint of something in his voice, but I decided it had been caution, in case I threw another tantrum like yesterday.
'I don't know Fillmore, but I doubt it. It might be worth keeping an eye on Harris, though. It was three years ago that he picked on me, perhaps he's changed.'
'Folsom seems to think he's nothing but trouble.'
'Folsom thinks that about everyone.'

We walked in silence for a few more minutes, both lost in our own thoughts. 'Is there anything else you haven't told me?' Fillmore asked, and I winced at the hurt in his voice. 'Ingrid, I thought we were best friends. I can't believe you didn't tell me about this.'
'It's three years past, Fillmore. I don't know what happened to you all that time ago and I don't ask. I didn't think it would have relevance.'
'It explains why you are like you.'
'What's that supposed to mean?'
'As in why you're so tough.'

Fillmore seemed to realize he was treading on thin ice when he saw my face. 'What I mean is that – uh –that – you're just not a very girly girl. Not like Tehama.'
'Tehama likes the color pink, but she's not really a girly girl, Fillmore.'
'You know what I mean.'

He seemed almost overwhelmed with relief when we finally reached the school's main entrance. There were a few kids about, catching up on reading or eating a rushed breakfast, but there was still some time before lessons started. Not that it mattered to me: I had all day. Both the doctor and Principal Folsom had made it quite clear that there was to be no formal lessons or fighting crime until Monday at the earliest.

Fillmore unlocked the door to the office and scuffed a piece of paper with his foot. Picking it up he scanned the text and scowled, before handing it wordlessly to me. I barely had to glance at the text before the message was burned into my mind.

"I know everything. The game has begun. Are you ready Ms Third?"

'Mean anything to you?'
'No, but this wasn't cut out of a newspaper or magazine, at least I don't think so. The message was word-processed and then the letters were cut out and stuck down on another bit of paper.' My voice squeaked unnaturally and I cleared my throat, carefully composing my features so that Fillmore wouldn't see the confusion I felt.

'Tehama could probably verify that,' Fillmore decided as he grabbed an evidence bag and slipped the note inside. He stared at it again for a minute. 'Ingrid, I'm worried about you. You've lost your parents, and someone is after you, but you're hardly even reacting.'

I sighed, trying to find the words to explain what I felt. 'I don't believe it's happening. I keep remembering the – the accident, and the memory is right there. It's a graphic image but it just doesn't seem real. It's like my life is carrying on, but I'm not a part of it anymore. I can't relate to myself. Normally Harris would concern me, but now this all feels like it's happening to someone else.'

I slumped into the chair behind my desk, staring unseeingly at the obsessively tidy surface. Pencils all sharpened to the same length, paper clips lined up neatly, eraser clean of all graphite marks. It was a psychologist's dream. If they ever saw how I lived I'd be locked away for being too tidy. Fillmore put the purple mug in front of me. It had three marshmallows in it and they were rapidly soaking up the hot chocolate. 'Ingrid, I know it's hard. I mean, I don't know but – look, I'm here all right?'
'I know, thanks.'

He put a hand over mine. It was a fleeting gesture but it brought a lot of comfort, and an odd, hot feeling that I couldn't identify. For a moment there was just peace and companionship until Vallejo burst in and we both jumped guiltily.

'Oh –ah sorry.' The Junior Commissioner smirked. 'Was I interrupting something?'
'No, Vallejo,' Fillmore replied, his tone terse and slightly angry. I hid a smile behind the mug and gulped down the steaming hot chocolate before picking up a spoon to eat the sticky, chocolaty mess of the marshmallows.

'Are you going to chain me to my chair again?' I asked the Junior Commissioner.
'There's no point. It didn't stop you yesterday. Just promise me you'll take it easy.' The bell rang and Vallejo followed Fillmore out of the door.
'Scouts honor!' I shouted after them, smiling as the two of them laughed and went their separate ways, leaving me alone.

I'd done all the homework I could face last night, and only one subject remained. History. I hated history, not because I found it difficult, simply because it bored me. I had a short essay to write and it would only become more terrible the longer I left it.

I had been typing intermittently for about forty-five minutes when the phone at my desk rang. I considered letting the answering machine get it, but then it was someone calling during class time. It could be my sister.

'Hello?'
'Good to hear your voice, Ms Third.' The words were husky and well disguised. Possibly someone had gum in their mouth, or cloth over the mouthpiece of the phone. It sounded male but that didn't necessarily mean it was.
I hit the record button on the answering machine and tried to keep the voice talking.
'Who is this?'

There was a laugh that would have been pleasant if it wasn't for the chilling carelessness of it. 'Like I would tell you that, Ms Third. I've been watching you. Your life has been somewhat tumultuous lately. I find your distress touching. Did you like the rose?'
'It was a nice thought.'
'I thought you would appreciate it, that and the little note. Watch out, Ms Third. I know everything about you, and I'll only wait so long.'

The line disconnected and I sat frozen for a second before replacing the receiver and stopping the tape. I stared straight ahead, trying to think above the clamor of fear. There had been noises in the background. Distant sounds and a nearby, soft creak of metal.

My head spun and the air in the office suddenly seemed far too close. I felt sick and my head began to pound as my heartbeat accelerated and allowed the panic to take over. I practically ran out of the room and turned left. I was heading for the girls' bathroom, but my vision became blurred and I slumped against the cool metal of the lockers.

A hand on my shoulder made me jump and I gave a gasp as someone said, 'Are you all right?'

It was Tony Monaco. Tony was, by consensus, the "cool" guy of the school. His hair was spiked and dyed black with blue tips. He wore motorbike leathers, even though he had no bike. All the cheerleaders secretly fancied him, as did most of the girls in school, and even I had to admit he wasn't bad looking.

'I'm fine,' I groaned, before straightening myself up and taking a deep breath. 'Panicked over a test.' I lied smoothly.
'I know what you mean.' He grinned and steadied me. 'Hey, you're with the Safety Patrol, aren't you?'
'Yeah, I'm Ingrid Third.'
'Smartest girl in school, and you're panicking about a test?' Tony grinned cheerfully and opened his locker.
'Hey, everyone panics sometimes.'
'Yeah, I suppose. I'm fifth on the grade tables.' He noticed me raise my eyebrows in surprise, and carried on. 'I keep it to myself, if that kind of news gets about it'll kind of wreck my image.'

I laughed slightly, feeling the panic I had suffered in the office ebb away as Tony chattered on about how he was always fighting with Jeffery Mitchell for fourth place in the grade listings. His cheerful grin suddenly fell away and he frowned, before turning his cool grey eyes to my face. 'Thing is, both Jeff and I found a rose at our houses on Monday night and this morning we received identical letters.'
'Telling you that the game had begun and asking if you were ready?'
'Yeah, you got one too?'
I nodded. 'It looks like someone's got some plans for the brightest of us.' I bit my lip and took the piece of paper he gave me, scanning the identical lettering. 'They don't use our first names, I wonder why?'
'I dunno, but I thought I should let the Safety Patrol know. If it was just at school I wouldn't be so fussed, but they know where we live!'
'Okay, thanks Tony. I'll let you know if I find anything.'
'Thanks, oh and - ' He reached out to touch my arm gently, making me look up from the note, 'I heard about your parents, and I'm really sorry. My Dad was a soldier, and he was killed in conflict so I, I kind of know what it's like, but to lose them both must be terrible.'

I nodded and smiled at him, hoping to ease his sympathy a bit.
'If you ever need help with homework or anything, or getting notes… I won't be as good as you, but – well – whatever.'
'Thanks Tony, that means a lot.' My smile was stronger this time and he took his hand away, brushing his fingertips against my skin for a moment before turning and walking down the hall.

Normally the touch would have been over-familiar and out of place, but it had been nice to feel the touch of another person; gentle and comforting.

I turned to walk back to the office and promptly collided with someone's chest.
'Fillmore!'

His hands shot out to catch me as I stumbled backwards slightly, surprised by his presence. One hand grabbed my forearm and the other, my waist. My T-shirt left a tiny gap above the top of my jeans, no wider than a finger, but the skin of his palm brushed against the gap, sending a strange jolt through me.

He drew his hands back as though he'd been burned and I felt a blush race across my face. He shifted backwards uncomfortably and cleared his throat, but his voice sounded slightly gruff when he spoke.
'You found out who your secret admirer was then?'
'What?'
'Monaco?'
'No, no Tony's just – he was –helping.' I ran a hand through my hair, then cursed silently at my nervous gesture. 'Um, he received a note and a rose too, and so did Jeffery Mitchell. They're the fifth and fourth most intelligent students at X. I need to do some research, but I'll bet whoever are second and third got a flower and one of these too.' I waved the note vaguely, and hoped that he couldn't hear my heart thundering in my chest.

'So it's not just you?'
'No.'
'Good.'
We stood in awkward silence for a moment before I glanced at his watch, reading the time upside down with ease. 'You're going to be late.'
Fillmore frowned in confusion, his mind obviously elsewhere. 'For what?'
'English class. Can you get me a copy of the essay title?'
'Yeah, sure. See you later, Ingrid.'

I watched him walk away in the same direction that Tony had gone. He shook his head to himself, as though something wasn't making sense to him, before disappearing around the corner. I looked down at the note in my hands and made my way back to the office, lost in thought. Anyone would have thought I was engrossed in the paper in my hands, but all I could think of was Fillmore, and how different his touch had been from Tony's. It was far more…electric.

'Stupid girl,' I muttered to myself as I slipped into the office and made my way to my desk. With a sigh I collapsed in the chair behind my desk and logged into the computer. Ruthlessly I pushed all peripheral thoughts from my mind. I forgot about Harris, and the enigma of Cornelius Fillmore. The image of my parents bodies was fixed in my mind's eye, but I forced myself to work around it. I needed a distraction from my life, and now I had a case to solve.

The game was on.

End of Chapter Three