Title: Visionary

By: Kara

Begun: November 22, 2004

Finished: Almost finished!

Rating: PG-13

Summary: After a businessman dies suddenly and unexpectedly, supposedly from committing suicide, not long after contacting Gabriel about taking an artifact, the case is handed to Sara. While Sara probes the victim's death, Jake and Danny suspect Gabriel's involvement in the crime. When Gabriel begins to exhibit some of the same symptoms the victim experienced before his death, Sara investigates, hoping to save her young friend's life before he meets the same end as his predecessor, but Nottingham's unsuspected offered aid causes her to wonder whether Irons is involved in the situation.

Chapter Two – Catalysts

Gabriel Bowman unlocked the door to his apartment and swung it open, discovering the place exactly as he'd left it—that is to say, a complete mess. He set the artifact down on the large table in the middle of the main room of the apartment where he cleaned and inspected his other artifacts, and walked over to the phone in his kitchen.

The red light on the answering machine was blinking. A digital number '3' was emblazoned on the screen. Gabriel sighed, pretty sure he already knew the source of the calls. Resisting the temptation to press 'delete,' Gabriel instead played the messages, and was utterly unsurprised to hear the sweet female voice of a girl he'd been seeing lately, Hannah Mathers, a waitress he'd met at a diner a few weeks earlier.

"Hey, Gabe, it's Hannah. I was just calling to say I had a great time last night and I hope—"

Beep! Gabriel abruptly interrupted the message to switch to the next one, from his friend Sly.

"Hey man, I got your message. Turns out I can't get together Friday evening. I got a deadline for the comic that I've got to meet by Monday, and I can't take the time off to hang out with your sorry ass." Gabriel smirked at the sarcasm in his best friend's message. "Call me—I'll see if I, the working stiff, can fit you into my busy schedule."

There was another 'beep' before the machine proceeded to the final message.

"Hi honey, it's me again!" –Hannah— "I know I just called, but I forgot to ask you whether you wanted to get together this weekend. We could go out to that Italian place my friend Becky works at—you know the one. What do you think? Um… call me. I miss you!" The message ended and Gabriel deleted them all.

Settling back against the counter he weighed his options, but ended up taking the more honorable route and dialed Hannah. She answered on the second ring, "Hello?"

"Hey, Hannah, it's Gabriel."

"Gabe! Hi sweetie, how's your day been?"

"Oh, it's been okay. I'm helping my friend Sara out with a case."

"Wow, that's so cool, Gabe. What're you helping with?"

"Uh, just some artifact stuff. I can't really go into detail—you know."

"Well, yeah, of course. I understand—Silly me! I always open my mouth and speak before I really think. It's a really bad habit of mine—"

"No, it's okay." There was a moment of awkward silence before Gabriel countered, "How has your day been?"

"Oh, it's just great!" she gushed. "I had my hair appointment this morning, and I went running with my sister. I feel so energized! You should really try it sometime—come running with me!"

Gabriel cringed, thankful that Hannah couldn't hear the grimace over the phone. "Uh, no thanks, I think I'm okay with the exercise I get."

"Ohhh, you're so lazy sometimes!" Hannah sighed. "I honestly don't know how you manage to stay so thin. Oh, hey, what about dinner on Friday? You know the restaurant I was talking about right?"

"Yeah, but I—"

"Great, and I was thinking we could maybe go catch that new Matt Damon movie too. What do you think?"

"Actually Hannah, I don't think I'm gonna be able to make it on Friday. I've got a lot of work to do for this case, and I sort of promised Sly I'd spend some time with him. I haven't seen him in awhile…"

It wasn't exactly true, Gabriel mused, about his not seeing Sly lately. He'd seen him two days ago, actually, but he just wasn't sure he could bear spending two evenings with Hannah so close together. He didn't know what it was about her; he just hadn't been able to click with her for some reason. There was a definite barrier—the only problem was that he was the only one who seemed to sense it.

"Oh—I'm taking up all your time, aren't I? I'm sorry, sweetie. Of course, that's alright. Maybe we can try the restaurant sometime next week."

"Yeah, that sounds good… Sorry."

"It's alright!"

"Well, I gotta get going—I have to start work on this artifact stuff for Sara. I'll call you later."

"OK, I'll see you later, Gabe. Good luck."

"Thanks. Bye." Gabriel ended the phone call and paused thoughtfully for a few seconds before he dialed Sly's number. His friend picked up on the fourth ring, to the sound of loud rock music blaring in the background.

"This is Sly," he said by way of greeting.

"Hey man," Gabriel said.

"Oh, hey." There was a pause as the volume decreased and Sly returned to the phone. "You got my message?"

"Yeah—it's okay. I might have a lot of work to do for Sara this weekend, so it's not too much of a problem."

"We've got to get you out of the house more, young'n." Sly sighed. "When's the last time you hade a date, anyway?"

"It was last night, for your information. I'm not as unsocial as you seem to think."

"What's her name, again? Maya?"

"Actually, Maya was before… I'm sort of seeing this girl Hannah now."

"Hannah, what the hell happened to Maya? She was hot." Sly paused a moment. "For that matter, dude, what happened to Greta? And who was that chick before her—Tawny?"

Gabriel pushed himself up onto the countertop, chuckling. "Your knowledge of my dating history is astonishing. I haven't seen Tawny in months."

"You're missing the point. What was wrong with all those girls? You keep serial dating like this and you're never gonna settle down with anyone. You planning on being a bachelor for life? 'Cause I hate to say this my friend, but your boyishly charming looks won't last forever."

"Look at this: Sly the Dating Doctor. Who'd've thunk?" Gabriel drawled. "Since when do you invest in my romantic life?"

"Since you became the pickiest guy in the world! If you're not gonna keep them, at least hand one over to me!"

Gabriel laughed then got serious. "I don't really know what went wrong with the other girls… I just never clicked with any of them. Tawny wasn't too serious herself, and Maya… well she was such a materialist. It drove me crazy, I just couldn't picture myself with her. I don't know if it's gonna last much longer with Hannah either."

"Christ, Gabriel, what is it now?"

"I don't know… she's a really sweet person, honestly. I like her a lot, but I keep thinking there's someone else out there for me that I'm gonna like more, have more in common with… and it stops me from going too far with the girl I have now."

"You're gonna have to decide what you want and soon before this becomes an ugly habit—if it hasn't already," Sly told him. "Look, just go out with this Hannah girl a few more times, and try to find things you like about her this time, OK? I gotta get going. I'm starting a new page, and I'm on a roll. I'll talk to you later, Gabriel."

"Aight, thanks for the advice, Sly." Gabriel smirked. "I'll talk to you next week."

Gabriel hung up, pondering his friend's words. Was he really being too picky about girls? Yes, you are, Gabriel thought disparagingly. But there was no warrant in worrying about that now. There was work that Sara needed done regarding the Witchblade, and as of late, the Witchblade was top priority.

o-o-o-o

"Look, rookie, the point is—you don't harass the witness based on insubstantial evidence—especially if the witness is a friend, who I've asked to help out with the case."

"If he's involved in the case, he shouldn't be working on it at all, Pez." Jake insisted, sparring with his female partner.

"If Gabriel's involved in the case, we'll know soon enough. Don't worry about it, McCarty. For now we need him to help us figure out the significance of that artifact."

"What makes you think that Box is important anyway, Sara?"

"Gut instinct," she answered curtly. "Never underestimate a woman's intuition, remember?"

Jake rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. I'll lay off him for now. But if I find any more evidence that he had contact with Torpe, I'm bringing him in."

"Keep talking, rookie. Danny and I are going to go talk to some of the witnesses, ask if Torpe had any acquaintances in the area. You keep an eye on things here."

Sara and Danny picked up their coats and left the office, taking Danny's car back to the scene of the crime. They discussed Torpe's case and not much else on the way, the tension from earlier still evident to both.

"Well, I guess I'll start with—" Danny glanced at the sheet he was holding, "Mrs. Berman. Do you wanna take the next person on the list? He should live just a few houses down… John French."

"Sounds good to me. Meet you back at the car in twenty minutes?" Sara looked at her watch to get the time. Danny nodded and both parted their ways.

Sara had hardly walked twenty feet when she almost ran into a dark-clothed figure. "Jesus—Nottingham!" she exclaimed breathily, putting a hand on her chest to calm her beating heart.

"Lady Sara," Ian bowed his head at her. "You're looking lovely this morning."

"You flatter me," Sara drawled, pushing past him. Her stalker simply followed close by, speaking little, as he was accustomed to doing.

"I assume you're here to investigate the death of Robert Torpe. You could interview me. I witnessed his… 'suicide' this very morning."

"Of course you did." Sara turned to look at him, pulling him off the sidewalk so Danny couldn't see them if he looked. "Look, I already know the Witchblade wants me to pursue this. If I find out Irons is behind yet another scheme to take this thing from me, I'm going to be really pissed."

"...As in all moral panics, an accusation is enough to destroy a person's life. Hysteria trumps evidence." Nottingham quoted, preening. "Carol Tavris, psychologist."

"Fancy. What's your point?"

"You judge me too quickly, Lady Sara. I am here merely to assist in the case. It is true my master was aware of the situation with Torpe, but he had no part in the murder—"

"That you know of," Sara countered, then considered her reply. "I guess I should just be thankful that he's not the one killing innocent people this time… So if you're not here to warn me, set me up, or whatever it is you do these days, then what are you here for?"

"Irons wished for me to monitor the situation. If there is a danger to you, there is a danger to the Witchblade. He has become rather fond of you, and if you are to be the Wielder, perhaps it would be more progressive for the two of you to get along."

"Not freakin' likely," Sara snorted, exiting the alley with Nottingham in tow. "I don't need a bodyguard, Ian."

"But you do need information, and I may have access to what you need to find out."

"Does your boss know who's involved this time?" Sara asked. "Because that would be the really quick solution to this dilemma."

"Alas, we are as unaware as you of the party behind Torpe's unfortunate demise. But I'm always here to lend a hand, should you require my assistance."

"I'll tell you what you can do, right now. You can get lost." Sara reached the front porch to the witness's house.

Nottingham looked thoughtful for a moment before bowing ever so slightly. "As you desire. I'll be around if you wish to speak with me more, Lady Sara."

"I know you will. I'll just ring the stalker bell the next time I—" Sara turned around to face him, but Nottingham was already gone. "I ought to put the bell on you," she muttered to herself.

o-o-o-o

Twenty minutes and one completely useless interview later, Sara was waiting by Danny's car for him to emerge. "Hey, I got nothing," Sara began. "French doesn't know any more than what we already got. What about you?"

"Berman was a little more responsive. I got the name of the church that Torpe attended. Apparently he goes to service every week, and knows the priest, although Berman wasn't sure on what level of intimacy. Torpe didn't go out much and socialize. He was always pleasant, the neighbors say, but not very open or friendly."

"So, you wanna check out this church, then?"

"What else have we got going for us at this point?"

o-o-o-o

Gabriel opened the evidence bag and carefully slid the Box out, placing it before him on the table. He examined the surface, sides, anything, memorizing details, running any references or symbols through the registry of his brain, trying to place them. If he could match symbol with meaning, he'd have more of an idea what Raleigh had in mind when he designed it.

It was the eye on the front that most caught his attention. The rest of the Box was mostly decorative design. The eye was the key.

Well, that could mean any number of references, Gabriel thought to himself. The eye was a common metaphor for truth—an open eye meant that the beholder could see clearly. If it had been closed, it would mean the beholder was blind, and couldn't see the truth. The open eye could also stand for perception, memory, envy, or clarity. In Egyptian mythology, the eye was the symbol of the Egyptian God, Horus. It stood for the "Eye of God," or "Eye of the Sky," which commonly meant the sun.

Mulling over all these possibilities, Gabriel focused in on the truth aspect. The eye was a deep red, and emblazoned amber wisps of fire. That could also mean a number of things—that the eye was evil, or that it saw evil. The flames could represent rage, or destruction. They could also be a symbol for barrenness, as fire tended to consume and burn away everything it touched, whether good or bad.

This seemed to fit into Raleigh's theory of the nature of humans—if the eye was covered in flames it could mean that it saw the truth—that humans were inherently evil, and so were consumed by hatred and pain.

He spun the chair around and wheeled over to his computer. He looked up information about Raleigh's theory. The most-searched website popped up first and Gabriel clicked on it. He wasn't sure what he would find—he'd already been to the website four days earlier, when Torpe first called him, just to see what he could find, but had been thoroughly unimpressed with the availability of information.

Glancing through the page's information with new eyes, Gabriel noticed a passage that mentioned the duty of the Box. He read to himself quietly, "… 'Raleigh's Box is said to contain the truth of the human existence after the death of Christ and provided a channel through which the evidence of the inevitable human direction could ultimately be revealed.'"

He considered these words a moment before he turned back around and regarded the Box.

"Oh, what the hell," he said to himself and pulled himself back up to the table. Pressing the button on the front, Gabriel took the Box and pushed the lid open—

Almost immediately he was bombarded with a shocking series of violent images, mimicking that which the Box's preceding owner had experienced only four days earlier. Terrible visions of death, mutilation, and pain pervaded Gabriel's senses. He clenched his teeth, squeezed his eyes shut, gripped the sides of the Box in a deathly clutch, but the images seethed into every part of his mind. He could almost feel the pain of the unfortunate victims in his visions, and there was no doubt that he could feel the emotion—every single powerful emotion running through his brain simultaneously.

When it was all over he found himself sitting in his apartment still, seated at the table. Gasping for breath, Gabriel looked around then looked down at the Box. It was unharmed, but his knuckles were a deathly white from holding it in his grip.

What had he just witnessed?

Trembling with fear, Gabriel quickly snapped the lid of the Box shut and instinctively pushed it away from him, as if doing so would aid him in some way. There was no doubt in the young man's mind that whatever he'd just seen was a product of the artifact, most likely from opening the artifact… but as far as the substance of the visions was concerned, he wasn't sure of the veracity. It was so genuine… and a nagging feeling inside of him told him that he had just witnessed a bitter taste of reality… but with the images of murder, pain and death so fresh in his memory, Gabriel wasn't ready to admit that all he'd just seen was true.

Pushing the chair away from the table slowly, Gabriel wiped a hand across his sweat-covered brow. His hands still shaking visibly, Gabriel tried to ignore it and stood up to walk to his kitchen. He opened up an overhead cupboard and pulled out a flask of Whiskey he usually kept hidden. He poured a glass, attempting to steady his hand, but splashed a few drops on the counter anyway. When he'd finally got a hold on his trepidation, Gabriel raised the glass to his lips, and froze when another vision hit him like a boulder.

A blonde-haired woman in her forties is walking down the street. In the background, a statue can be seen, and lots of people. She turns a corner down a less busy street and nearly collides with a man in his thirties. The man grabs her roughly and pushes her against a wall. He yells for her to give him her purse.

The man tries to wrench the purse free from her grasp and the woman screams in terror. He slaps her then pulls a knife out. She relinquishes the purse, but not before the man thrusts the weapon into her stomach. He takes the purse and runs off down an alley, leaving the injured woman alone.

Grasping her stomach, the woman starts falling toward the pavement—

And collided with a shattering of glass.

Gabriel snapped back to reality as the vision abruptly ended and looked down at his feet, where he'd dropped the glass of whiskey. Shards and liquid were all over the floor, but Gabriel paid no attention to them. He was 100 certain that the vision he'd just witnessed was going to happen… and it was up to him to stop it.

o-o-o-o

Sara and Danny walked inside the tall arches of the St. Martin Christian Mission Church to find a nearly empty building. The large interior was richly decorated, but a musty smell pervaded the air. A Latina woman and her two small children sat in a pew near the front, and further back, an elderly man knelt in prayer. Careful not to disturb them, Sara and Danny walked past the aisles of pews toward the front pulpit.

The Latina woman, finally succumbing to her son's insistent tugging at her sleeve, stood up to leave as the two partners reached the front row. She walked past them and Sara reached out an arm to stop her. "Excuse me—we're looking for Father Merrick. Do you happen to know if he's here today?"

"Oh sure, honey. He's always here." Holding her daughter's hand with one arm, she pointed with the other to a door off to the side. "He should be back there in his office. Second door on the left, as soon as you enter."

"Thank you," Danny said, and led the way toward the direction she'd pointed. He glanced around at the pulpit and the display of lit candles in the corner. "This is a really old building. I can't believe I never knew there was a church here before. I come down here all the time."

"Not much to notice about the place," Sara looked around disdainfully. "It could use a bit of sprucing up, if you ask me."

"Well, it's not the aesthetics that are supposed to make you want to come to church, it's the faith," Danny counseled sardonically. "It's nice to know that some people look past appearances to maintain their faith."

"To each their own," Sara shrugged. "Personally I still think you don't even need to attend church to maintain your religion. Personal faith and acts of kindness should be enough for a just God."

Danny smiled at her, used to her aversion toward organized religion. "To each their own," he smirked, holding the door open for her.

Father Merrick was in his office as the woman had claimed, skimming over some papers with a small pair of eyeglasses and simultaneously writing in a notebook off to the side. He was about 70, Sara noted, but in relatively good shape for someone his age. He looked startled when Sara knocked on the open door to warn him of their entrance.

"If you are waiting for confession, I'll be out in just a few minutes—"

"I don't have anything to confess," Sara stated, eliciting a look from Danny, which she ignored. "We're homicide cops—Sara Pezzini and Danny Woo—and we want to ask you a few questions about a supposed parishioner of yours."

"Homicide cops?" Father Merrick looked shocked, and removed his eyeglasses, setting them down on the desk. "And you want to talk to me?"

"Yeah," Danny answered. "I don't know if you known him, but his name is Robert Torpe—"

"Oh, no…" Merrick looked down, sadly, putting his hands together in a silent prayer. "Yes," he said. "I knew Robert. He's been coming here for many years… but why are you speaking to me? Why not his family?"

"Well that's the thing—Torpe lived alone, and we can't track down his family. We were told by a neighbor that he came here frequently, so we thought you might be able to give us a little information about his death."

"How did it happen?" The Father asked, gesturing for them to sit in the chairs in front of his desk."

"Suicide, we think," Sara replied simply. "He jumped off the roof of his apartment building this morning—you didn't see it on TV?"

"Oh, no, no. I don't watch much TV anymore. Too much talk of death and hatred."

"Tell me about it," Sara agreed.

"That is very unfortunate." Merrick shook his head in disappointment. "I knew Robert was depressed frequently, but I never thought he'd take his own life so violently."

"Can you tell us anything about his depression?" Danny asked. "Like, what was bothering him? Were there any people bothering him, specifically? Anyone that might want revenge on Torpe?"

"Well, Detective Woo, it's not exactly my job to implicate a person who might be innocent in the death of another man, as you know—"
"Yes, sorry, but we really need to collect information on Torpe's death if we're going to figure out how it happened and whether anyone else was involved—"

"Didn't you just say it was suicide?" Merrick asked. "If he killed himself, why would anyone else be involved?"

"We're not… entirely sure it was suicide." Sara took over for her partner. "Witnesses seem to think someone might have convinced Robert to jump. Like we said, though, we're just trying to gather information on Robert's life. You seem to have known him better than anyone else so far."

"Then I'm sorry to say I didn't know him very well either. He came in to confess once a month, but most of his concerns were about work, or regrets that he didn't keep in better contact with his family. There wasn't much else he usually had to say, except…" Father Merrick squinted in thought, reaching for a memory.

"I do recall he came in here three days ago, and he seemed a bit unsettled, but it was a Sunday, and my congregation was rather full. I was so busy attending to the Mariotti family, I must say I didn't pay much attention to Robert that day." A look of regret passed over the priest's face. "Perhaps if I'd been more gracious with my time, this wouldn't have happened—"

"Don't blame yourself, Father," Danny told him. "There was nothing you could have done to stop it."

"Still," Merrick sighed then looked up at the two. "That's about all the information I have. I'm sorry I could not be of more assistance."

"It's alright," Sara answered.

"I'll walk you out." Father Merrick stood and walked with them toward the entrance as Danny commented on the interior. They stood at the end of the aisle briefly, finishing their conversation. Sara saw a new person in the church, heading their way. He was in his mid-thirties, an average looking man. He lit a candle at the front of the room then walked toward where the trio stood.

He paused and greeted the priest at the entrance. "Father Merrick. It's nice to see you looking well. That was an inspiring sermon last Sunday."

"Thank you, Paul. I see you were here to light a candle. You worked with Robert Torpe at the bank, didn't you? It's nice of you to show concern for a coworker who has passed on."

Paul snorted derisively, emitting a strange look from the detectives and the priest. "Light a candle for Torpe? No Father, he doesn't deserve that much. I'm here to grieve for my grandmother. She's in the hospital with pneumonia and the family is praying for her. You wouldn't catch me grieving for Robert Torpe."

"God's love is all-embracing Paul. Remember that."

"Yeah, Father. I'll show him as much love as he would have shown me if I were the one to jump off a building in front of my neighbors." He glanced at Sara and Danny, looking Sara up and down with seeming approval, then headed for the exit. "I'll see you this Sunday, Father. Take care."

Upon his exit, Sara turned to Father Merrick questioningly. "Who was that?"

Merrick sighed. "That was Paul Reynolds. He's been quite a tough shell to crack, as far as my parishioners go. Not the most pleasant person."

"Nah, really?" Danny grinned sarcastically.

"Nonetheless, it is my duty to take care of my entire congregation, and that includes Paul. He works—worked—with Robert at the Fifth Third Bank. They've known each other for a few years, but absolutely despise each other for reasons I haven't been able to discern. He's usually the chief subject of Robert's complaints about work."

"And you didn't think to mention him when we asked about Torpe?" Sara said.

"I didn't think it would be relevant. For all his talk about hating Robert, Paul is quite a passive man. I don't think he would ever act on his feelings toward Robert."

"Still, it might be worth checking out," Danny said. "Do you happen to have Mr. Reynolds' address?"

"Yes, I suppose that would be OK, assuming you'd find it yourself if I didn't." Merrick told him. It's in the back room, hold on. Let me get it."

"OK, thanks Father." The priest disappeared back into his office and Danny turned to Sara. "What do you think, Pez?"

"I think we've got ourselves our first suspect." Sara had barely finished her sentence when her cell phone rang. She pulled it out of her pocket and answered, "Detective Pezzini—" Her expression went from surprised to confused, then concerned. "Gabriel—wait, wait… Slow DOWN Gabriel. What are you talking about?"

On the other end of the line, Gabriel paced frantically in his apartment, holding the phone tightly. "I said, I need your help," Gabriel insisted. "I need you to go to Central Park, where it crosses Parker Avenue immediately."

"What for?"

"There's something I need you to do, and I can't do it myself because I don't have a car to get there fast enough. Are you nearby?"

"Yeah, I'm right outside Central Park—why? What's going on? What do you want me to help you do?"

"I need you to save someone's life."