I hope you're enjoying this. I wanted to explore taking Dempsey away from Harry, with no weapon and having to use his wits to hopefully stay alive, and retain the ambiguity of his relationship with Harry too. No offence to any religion is intended, I had to give Owen an obsession and motive. You will find out more about that, just not yet...!
DMDMDMDMDM
"You're the IT guy, but I remember you from the police academy." Dempsey recalled as he slumped onto the sofa opposite Owen. The energy had been taken from him but he tried to stay focused.
The young man's gaunt face lit up with a wide smile. Dempsey offered the same expression back, and mirrored him. "I remember you talking to us about the Bogeyman, and how you caught him. I've read your reports and asked for your dissertation at Yale. I never go it."
Dempsey tried not to laugh at the absurdity of it. He can't even remember his dissertation and vaguely recalled being late, his head probably between the tits of some broad or another.
He continued to smile when he spoke; "Richard, they're going to find you. You've killed three times…four." Dempsey stumbled on the numbers, unable to consider that Spikings might be dead, "All Met police detectives, I can't protect you."
Owen waved his hand in a vague act of registration. "I accept my fate. When my work is done, I'll see Mother again, and Heaven will be waiting for me."
Dempsey breathed out, bit his lip. He worked hard to find the words. He wasn't overtly religious, his Jewish history seemed important to past generations but he'd largely been agnostic. He'd seen too much to feel like he could believe even if faith could give some comfort. Either way, he couldn't afford to slip up here and set off another killing spree.
"So your work is done?" Dempsey asked reluctantly.
"No!" Owen said decisively, his face bristled with rage and Dempsey felt a brief wash of fear through himself, doubting that he'd understood the situation. "I have one more task but I must look after you first."
"I'm all good, you've looked after me okay." Dempsey protested, forcing himself to watch every single sign, terrified of blinking.
"I don't want Harriet thinking I didn't take good care of you." Owen replied.
Ah, Harry. Dempsey tensed. "She's…. She not my enemy."
Owen paused as he stood by the toaster and offered Dempsey a look of hurt, "Women are wicked and should be punished, but she seems to be loyal to you. Is she?"
Dempsey took a breath, "She's my… woman."
He felt apologetic on her behalf for the clumsy words, but he didn't want to tell Owen any of the finer details about Harry.
"So you have redeemed her, taken her to the path of righteousness. They carry the seeds of Eve's betrayal but you saved her from the wickedness with her former husband and cleansed her. You took a harlot and made her into a servant." Owen's pale eyes lit up and he waved the bread knife as if it were a holy relic.
Dempsey felt sick and not at all reassured. "She's important to me and my work."
"I know she's important to you. I will send her to you." Owen deposited a plate of toast on the table. "Are you cleansed?"
"Yes, it's next to Godliness, right?" Dempsey replied, stopping himself from saying anything else that would put Harry in danger.
He look at the toast and the tea. He'd seen the kid make both and felt reasonably sure that he hadn't added anything to either. But still. "I'll take a glass of water also."
When he'd finished, watched without hesitation or apology by Owen, he took in a gulp of air; "Spikings is dead isn't he?"
Owen was on the backfoot, Dempsey observed, as if he was suddenly uncertain for the first time. "I don't know if I finished, I'm sorry if I failed you."
"Failed me?" Dempsey tried to hold back his anger, aware of the fragility of his situation and of the rumours that abounded SI-10 about his involvement. Of how Harry had to put her own reputation and closely guarded privacy on the line to provide a witness. "Do you think I wanted you to kill these men? You ever hear of tholt shalt not kill?"
"That applied to men, they were devils." Owen's face was emotionless.
"They didn't hurt me." Dempsey faltered a little, remembering how Lloyd put Harry in danger, and Owen saw his doubt.
"You hide it well but I see it. The man next door, he used to beat up his wife." Owen indicated the far wall with a nod of his head, "Each night me and Mother would wait for it to start. It's like you, waiting for the next person to blame you. Like Coltrane, Simmons."
Dempsey wondered what happened to the neighbour. He was aware that his reasons for being in this country did hurt. That being forced to disappear as he'd done more than once, the scapegoat for many, was a truth he knew. The words flew out before he felt he'd checked them, "Sure it's annoying but as long as I'm free to do what I believe in, to work with Harry and bring criminals to justice, then it's just words. They don't mean what they say. Coltrane and Simmons were both locked up."
"Justice was served in a temporary way, mine is permanent." Owen argued.
"But this is my fight, not yours. Coltrane had to face trial and explain his actions which lead to more arrests. If he was dead that would never happen, same with Simmons. We got more answers, if they were dead, others would have been free to carry on doing bad shit." Dempsey urged, his voice as measured as he could make it, a contrast to the turmoil in his mind. "Please, no more killings."
"No more, this had to stop." He urged again.
He saw the moment that Owen doubted himself. A sudden bleakness to the cold eyes and a fear creeping in. Dempsey wondered how far he could push without backup. He already knew that nobody would know he was here.
"You need to sleep now." Owen seemed to gather himself.
"I don't need no looking after." Dempsey growled. "I need Harry."
'Sir, you can barely stand up, Please believe me, I'm not going hurt you but you need to rest to get well. I have made up the guest room for you and…"
"All right." Dempsey broke into the passionate tirade with more force than he wanted, causing Owen to stop mid-sentence. He suddenly realised that he needed a break from the kid before he lost his mind.
Maybe if he got some sleep, if Owen got some sleep it might be better in the morning. He could hear his mother telling him this and he wondered just how concussed he was. If only it was a nightmare.
He followed Owen to a bedroom, eyeing the front door. Carefully, he tried the handle and found it unlocked. Now wasn't the time, he told himself. Owen was too close, and too enraged. Dempsey figured it wasn't physical strength that killed his colleagues but the force of anger and belief.
Inside the spartan room there was a cross on the wall, a picture of the same elderly lady and another of Jesus. A bible sat on a shelf and there was a beside table with a glass of water and a single bed, neatly made up. A sash window.
"Is this alright?" Owen spoke making Dempsey jump as he continued his observations.
"Yeah, all good." Dempsey sat on the bed, quietly practiced in obedience for once, somewhat unwilling to believe he was expected to spend a night alone.
"What would you be doing now, if you were at home." Owen asked, a note of caution in his voice that Dempsey didn't miss, as if he'd realised that perhaps his guest wasn't the saint he believed.
"Same as you I guess." Dempsey replied guardedly. He'd probably have some music on, a glass of wine in his hand and trying to persuade his partner to play strip poker. He didn't think that was Owen's style and the thought made him laugh.
"What's so funny?" Owen looked wide eyed.
"Nothing." Dempsey wondered if it was mild hysteria as he felt tears in his eyes. The last time he'd felt anything like this was when his dad passed away. The relief of knowing the bastard was gone. The irony of his situation, held captive by other man who thought he shared the same back story, sent Dempsey into a tail spin of bitter laughter.
"You know what's so funny? Is that you think you know about me." Dempsey finally said. "If you knew anything about me, you'd know it's Harry who saved me. She's gonna redeem me again and you don't even know how. If you'd really seen me and her, you'd realise"
Owen seemed desperate; "I don't understand you. Tell me."
Dempsey glared at him, just short of pity, perhaps realising at the last moment that any sign of that emotion would cause Owen to attack and then found himself collapsing back onto the bed. He missed the sound of the door locking after Owen left the room.
