A/N: Thanks to Ravenshell for being my beta!

Chapter 42

"When are you going back to work?" I ask my dad, pushing the microwaved vegetable medley around in my plate.

"Next week. Did you want to do anything special?"

"Going to the Lair would be nice."

"April. We've already discussed this. I don't want you down there. I forbid it." The way he says 'down there' makes it sound like a place of hellish monsters instead of the family I know and love.

"I'm worried about Donnie."

"And I'm worried about you. Didn't you see the news reports? ...His name was Frank Voss. He was taken away from his pregnant wife and small child. Donatello is a threat and I don't want you anywhere near the mess he and his family have created."

My cheeks burn as I listen to my dad talk about Donnie and his family like serial killers. "Dad, you know that wasn't Donatello." He gives me a pointed look and I reconsider my words. "I mean, not really. He's kind and gentle."

"And also a dangerous ninja with newly acquired primal instincts he has little control over."

"That's not true! We went to the Lair for weeks and not once did Donatello ever show himself to be dangerous!"

"But I fear he will."

"What do you mean?" My defenses lower slightly, as I pick up on his sober tone.

"The treatments aren't working anymore. So even if he were still taking them, he would still eventually succumb to his more animalistic urges."

"Then we have to do something…try something else. We have to help him!" My fork clatters against my plate as I demand my father's attention.

"We have to do nothing. You claim they've saved the day countless times, then they'll have to do it again—without your interference."

"What if they can't this time? What if we had the chance to help Donnie, but he dies because we didn't?"

"There are far worse things than death, April." My vision grows hazy with unshed tears as I try to understand why my father is being so cruel and horrible to the only family I could turn to when I was being hunted by Kraang, and he was incapacitated by his bat mutation. His phone buzzes against the dinner table. After a few taps and a swipe on his cell phone screen, he pushes away from the table. "There's an emergency at the college that I need to take care of. I don't want to hear anything else about going to the lair, okay?"

I refuse to look at him, choosing instead to stab at my broccoli florets. "April. I'm serious. Promise me you will let this go?" I huff, but keep my lips sealed with a furious pout. The sudden knocking on the door gives me an excuse to leave the table.

I swing the door open with more force than necessary.

"Casey?" My anger melts almost instantly. Relief and anxiety wash over me as Casey steps inside.

"Hey, Red. I was wondering if you still wanted to have…. uh… movie night?" He gives me a toothy smile but the impressions in his mind clearly say 'play along.'

"Oh, yeah… I, um, almost forgot."

Dad grabs his long coat from the hall closet as he greets Casey with a smile. "Casey, how nice of you to come by. Unfortunately, I have a work call to attend to so I'll leave you two to enjoy your movie night. Try to have fun, April. Maybe it'll help you take your mind off of things." My lips thin out as my teeth silently grind against one another.

"Yeah, sure." I don't bother to hide surliness in my voice

"It shouldn't take long. I'll be home in about an hour." And with a pleading smile for me to behave, he's gone.

"Why do I get the feeling I just stepped into a war zone?"

I let out a shrilled groan as I dropped to the couch like a sack of rocks.

"Guess we're not on the winning side, huh?"

"No. My dad is being ridiculous! He's so paranoid and worried about me being in danger, he can't see the danger he's putting everyone in if we don't help Donatello."

"Give him time, Red. He just found out the dude he trusted with his daughter ate a sewer worker."

"Whose side are you on?!"

"Whoa! Take it easy. I'm just trying to keep cool, that's all."

The tension in my shoulders eases into a slump of defeat as Casey's countenance softens. "I know. I'm sorry. It's just, Donatello may not have time to wait for my dad to come to his senses; he needs our help now."

"I feel you, Red." There's no sense of mockery or idiocy in his voice and I appreciate his effort. I watch him curiously as he reaches inside his sock and pulls out a neatly folded piece of paper. "Here. It's for you."

My nose scrunches up as I frown at the offensive smell. "Why would you put it in your sock?"

"Because Donnie didn't want me putting it in my pants." I shudder and thank heaven for small blessings as I unfold the paper:

My sweet April,

I was so ecstatic to receive your letter, though I question the hygienic nature of its mode of transportation. I can only hope this letter does not suffer the same fate. I miss you terribly and wish you were here, but under the circumstances it is probably best that you keep your distance. Without any other viable treatments, my mind and body are subjugated to the extraterrestrial radiation coursing through my veins. This isn't the way I want you to see me. It isn't the way I want you to remember me. Please do not mistake my melancholy as a sign of surrender. Every day, I fight the darkness in my mind and the changes I feel boiling inside my veins. However, as my mind and body betray me I'm losing the ammunition I need to fight this growing sickness. This may be the only letter I write to you. It's getting harder to focus my thoughts and words. This letter by itself drains me of the intellectual strength I once carried in high regard. I don't know what will happen from here, but always remember I love you. I loved you since that fateful night of our meeting and I will love from henceforth.

I love you. No matter what he says. I won't let him hurt you. I love you. I'll die before I let you hurt her.

Donatello

With a pitying gaze I stare at the letter, observing how Donnie's penmanship transitions from neat and articulate to shaky and barely legible. Tears spill from my eyes unabashed as I press the letter against my heart. I'm not sure if it's a part of my powers, but I can feel it. It's like a residual psychic impression; traces of it are still on the very letter I'm holding. I can feel Donnie's anguish, his mental torment from the monster in his dreams with the red eyes and mouth full of fangs. His fears are real and ever-present as feverish nightmares and painful body tremors keep him awake at night. He's so afraid. Afraid of living and of dying.

"April?" The sound of Casey's voice pulls me back to the here and now as I try with little success to pull my emotions back together.

"It's really bad, isn't it?" I ask, but I already know it is.

"Yeah, Red. It's pretty bad. He's worse since I saw him last." As he rubs his hands over his knees I can feel him hiding something from me.

"How bad is it?"

"April, I'm not sure I should-"

"Just tell me!" The lights flicker over our heads with the raise of my voice before I manage to calm myself. "Please, Casey."

"I stopped by yesterday and I could hear him screaming before I reached the turnstiles. I've… I've never seen anyone in that much pain in my life. At least my mom gets a morphine drip, but I don't think Don can have painkillers… not with all the mutant radiation in his body. It was hard to be around him, but honestly, I don't think he even knew I was there."

"I have to see him."

"What about your dad?"

"I don't care. I need to see Donnie. I have this really bad feeling."

"You mean like your psychic vibes?"

I nod, turning to face him. "Before Thanksgiving, I felt a presence in Donatello while he was sleeping one day. At first I thought it was just a nightmare, but now I'm not so sure."

"What do you mean? Is he possessed or something? ...like that movie with the head-spinning little girl?

"No, not like that. It was connected to Donnie like it was a part of him but not really… it's hard to explain, but anyway this thing is dangerous. It's smart. It could see me prying into Donnie's psyche and it… spoke to me, or more like, it threatened me." I shake Donnie's letter in my hand. "Donnie started rambling at the end of his letter, like he wasn't really talking to me anymore." I look at the end of the letter again noticing how Donnie's handwriting derails from immaculate to nearly unreadable.

"So you think he was talking to this creepy thing in his head?" Casey asks while pointing to his temple.

"Yeah, I think so."

"That's crazy weird. Like a genius's descent to madness, yo."

I refold the letter and put it in my back pocket before abruptly standing and grabbing my jacket.

"Where are you going?"

"I told you, I'm going to see Donnie. There has to be something I can do. Maybe if I can get into his head again I can—"

"Whoa, slow down Red! You… you can't go there!"

I glare at him when he blocks my path to the front door. I clutch my fist and plant my feet, ready to move anything or anybody in my way. "Get out of the way, Casey."

"April, think….. God, I can't believe I'm the one saying this…. just stop and think a minute. Your dad said he'd be back in an hour; if he comes home to find you gone, he's gonna freak the heck out!"

"I don't care. Now, move!" When he reaches for my shoulder, a force burns through me that thrusts him against the adjacent wall.

"He could call the cops, April!" I release my psychic hold on Casey and his body relaxes against the wall, relieved to move of his own accord again. "You said it yourself. Your dad's paranoid. Can you imagine how he'd react to seeing you missing? He'd figure out that you went to the lair and he might freak out and call the cops, and then things will be a heckuva lot worse than they are right now."

The angry bells ringing in my ears fizzle out as Casey brings out the logic I didn't consider, things that I should have considered. God, I almost pulled a 'Casey Jones.' My hands cover my eyes as frustration and helplessness overwhelm me and tears start anew.

"We'll figure something out. We just have to be smart about it." He pulls me into a hug and it only makes me wish Donnie were here holding me instead.

"I know… I know," I mumble my admittance as I wipe my eyes of stray tears. "You're right. I know my dad means well, but in a panic he would totally freak out and probably call the police if he thought I was at the lair. I'll have to plan it better and I'll have to do it soon. I don't know how much time Donnie has before he completely loses himself." When I try to pull away from Casey, I notice he's holding me a little tighter than I realized. With a wiggling motion, he finally catches my drift and releases me. "Thanks, Casey. For a minute there I was starting to sound like you." I smirked wrapping my arms around myself.

"Hey, there's only room for one Casey Jones, and that's yours truly." I roll my eyes as a conceited smile stretches across his face in a way that only he can pull off without looking like a complete jerk—most of the time. "So… did you just bodyslam me with your brain?" he asked with an amused quirked brow.

"Um…"

"Dude, that was so wicked! Since when have you been able to do that?!" And there's the Casey Jones I know and find endearingly annoying.

"Just now?" After the fact, I'm just as shocked as he is.

I roll my eyes and laugh as Casey compares me to a red-headed fiery comic book character. He clears his throat before things get too quiet. "You want me to hang around for a bit until your dad comes home? We could watch TV or something." He runs his hand through his raven hair, avoiding eye contact as he scans the ceiling.

"I'm not really in the mood for TV. I need to mull over a few things before I sneak out to the lair." My thoughts of mutagen and radiation theories are interrupted by the soft brush of crestfallen psychic energy as it seeps into my mind.

Oh, Casey…

I instantly regret my short inattentive response when I look up and catch the disappointment on Casey's face before he shrugs off my rejection with a 'no biggie' as he walks toward the door. Casey and I never really talked about things after Donnie and I made our couple status official. After the big blow-up at Thanksgiving, no time ever seemed to be the right time and even if we did talk about it, what exactly am I supposed to say? Maybe it's best to leave well enough alone. Or maybe…

"Um, Casey, I wanted to thank you for playing messenger for Donnie and me. I know it's probably awkward…." I test the waters, hoping to gage his reaction. I try not to tense as the psychic impressions of his amorous feelings still linger in my mind from his hug.

"Passing love letters from one of my best buds to the hottest girl I know? Nope, not awkward at all."

"Casey…"

"I'm joking, Red. It's all good," he lies to me while his brain buzzes with soft waves of melancholy.

"Could you keep an eye on Donnie for a few days? Just until I can work out a plan to see him myself."

"No problem." I feel his sincerity as it outweighs his self-pity. He looks back with a smile as he shoves his hands in his pockets and strolls through the doorway out into the chill night's air. "Later, Red."

I sigh as I shut the door behind him. Casey's emotions are too much to deal with at the moment. I stare at my hands, the feeling of electricity still buzzing through my fingertips. I remember the impatient anger I felt when Casey blocked my path, how I slammed him against the wall without even touching him. I've never been able to move someone with my mind like that before. Did my powers just have a growth spurt? I make a beeline for my room and flip open my laptop. I spend the rest of the night researching terminal illness, radiation, and telekinesis.

I can't imagine what could be such an emergency on my week off from work. I really hated to leave home with April in such a sour mood. This is the most she's said to me since the chaos in the sewers five days ago. I thought her silence was giving her the opportunity to see reason in this situation, instead it only allowed her anger and discontent with me to fester and grow. She's so stubborn. Once she has something in her head, it takes an act of God to remove it, and that something just happens to be a certain purple-masked humanoid turtle.

Why can't she listen to reason? Makeshift chemotherapy sessions are one thing, but curing a cannibalistic mutation is out of my realm of knowledge. My cheeks boil with anger remembering Casey's revelation. None of them can be trusted. They put my April in danger every single day she was down there. The reports on Frank Voss were horrific and to think that it could have been my little girl ripped to shreds….

I swallow back the fear as my anger lowers to a slow simmer in the back of my mind. None of that matters now. April is safe and away from those monsters. She's at home, she's safe with Casey. I chuckle to myself. A few weeks ago, I would have never put Casey Jones and the word 'safe' in the same sentence together. Funny how the truth puts things in a different perspective.

As I drive into the college parking lot, I notice the blue and white lights of police cars in front of the building but it's the black FBI cars that really capture my concern. I take my time pulling into a parking space and even after turning off my car, I just sit there. I replay my routine for the past several months, mentally assuring myself that nothing is out of place. Every T is crossed and every I is dotted. I was careful, more than careful not to let my extracurricular activities with the Hamatos spill into my livelihood. I curse myself for ever getting involved with the turtles. They've been nothing but trouble for April and I since we met them, and I'm almost certain this emergency call-in is no exception.

As I walk into the building, I'm greeted by Dr. Hilton, the chairperson of my department.

"Thank goodness, Kirby, what took you so long? ...Nevermind… did you hear about Gary in Chemistry?" Hilton says wiping sweat from his forehead to hide his nervousness but it still shows through the wet spots near his armpits. He must feel the additional sweat as he crosses and crams his hands under his arms.

I swallow down my own bout of nervousness as my heart tenses at his question. "N-no, what happened?"

"Police said his neighbors were complaining about an awful smell coming from his apartment. When the police went to investigate they said the place looked a bloody mess—literally."

"Someone killed him?" The squeak in my voice causes a few of the uniformed men to look back at us. I shrink down at their curious stares.

"That's the thing, they couldn't find a body. They're still looking for suspects."

"If it's a missing persons case, then why are the FBI here?"

"Police found some nasty chemicals in his basement, I'm talking biological warfare chemicals."

Mutagen. I didn't want to believe it, didn't want to think about the possibility of Gary and I being discovered in our mad scientist experimentations, but I knew. Even as I walked from my car into the building I knew my worst fears were coming to light. My eyes widen with a barely contained hysteria as I piece this horrible mess together and what it means for April and me. They found the mutagen Gary and I were splicing , cultivating for those blasted turtles. No matter how hard I try, I can't get away from the calamity those turtles spread to everything they touch.

"Why do they need to talk to me?"

"It's just protocol, Kirby. The quicker you answer their questions, the quicker we can leave. I know you and Gary… talked, but I'm sure I don't have to remind you that the college doesn't need any bad press."

"Right," I nod nervously in agreement as a female with a badge hanging from her neck walks toward us. She carries an air of authority that demands our silence as she flashes her plastic tag in my face before eyeing me with a penetrative gaze.

"I'm Agent Sage, and you are Kirby O'Neil, I presume?"

"Yes, that would be me."

"Mr. O'Neil, I would like to ask you a few questions about your co-worker, Gary Lawson." She cuts her eyes to Hilton, who nods and gives me a pointed look that tells me my job may be dependent on my responses, as he walks off in the opposite direction. "He was reported missing on Thanksgiving and upon further investigation there were signs of a violent struggle in his apartment. However, Lawson was not found at the scene of the altercation and is still allegedly missing. I'm told you and Lawson were close colleagues. When and where was the last time you saw Gary Lawson?"

"A few days before Thanksgiving… I, uh, stopped by his apartment." He had given me the last set of treatments for Donatello.

"What were you two doing at the time?"

"Just destressing… trading student exam stories, discussing scientific journals, nothing particularly interesting to the socially-skilled population." I try to joke unsuccessfully.

"So would you say Lawson had anti-social tendencies?"

I blink at her deduction. She's quick. "Anti-social? ...No. Reserved? Yes."

"Did you notice any changes in Lawson's behavior leading up to your last encounter with him?"

"No."

"Where were you on Thanksgiving at five o'clock that evening?"

"Having dinner with my daughter." And finding out my daughter's friend was a man-eating monster.

"Did Lawson discuss any strange topics with you? ...mention anything about a strange chemicals? …Does the word 'mutagen' sound familiar to you?"

I wipe the perspiration from my face. "Sorry, I'm not much of a chemist. I couldn't tell you the difference between arsenic and a glass of wine," I lie with a uptight smile that makes my lip twitch. She studies me with a disapproving glance before handing me her card.

"Don't make any vacation plans. We may need to call you in for further questioning. In the meantime if you think of any information beneficial to finding Gary Lawson, don't hesitate to call."

I frown curiously at the small office card. "I thought you were FBI?...What's EPF?"

"Earth Protection Force. It's all under the FBI umbrella. We're like the Tooth Fairy; the less people think we exist, the better. Have a good evening, Mr. O'Neil." And with a swift turn on her heels, she navigates her way down the hall to Gary's office.

I put Agent Sage's card in my pants pocket and wipe my sweaty hands against my thighs in the process as I make a beeline out of the building and into my car. I fumble for my seatbelt, locking the doors as I try to breathe slowly and calm my pounding heart. "This cannot be happening." I try to call Gary's cell, but immediately hang up and curse my panicked stupidity. They probably have his phone tapped. "This cannot be happening."

But it was, and I was going to be smack-dab in the middle of it, if I wasn't careful.

Parking a few blocks away, I pull the hood of my coat over my head as I powerwalk down the familiar neighborhood.

Gary's neighborhood.

I don't know what I expect to find but none of this is sitting well with me. What exactly is this Earth Protection Force and why are they so interested in mutagen? Are they more Kraang bots in disguise? I'm a block away from Gary's apartment building when I spot the black van across the street. Even without the letters F.B.I. printed on the side of it, the vehicle sticks out like a sore thumb. I make a sharp turn to the left and come behind the joined apartments. Wincing as thick bristles from the fence-like shrubbery claw at my hands, I try not to rustle the prickly bushes too much. Once inside Gary's backyard, I look around again keeping my stance low to the ground in fear of being seen.

I'm standing at the scene of a crime and I'm absolutely terrified. The sliding glass door leading into Gary's apartment is broken. I don't know if its hysteria that drives me to slip under the yellow police tape into the apartment or stupidity. How many years of imprisonment would I receive for trespassing on a crime scene?

Using the light of my cell phone, I carefully step around toppled furniture. The bloody hand prints on the walls make my stomach clench with guilt. A sickening smell permeates the area as I try not to gag. I am partially at fault for Gary's disappearance. Had I not sought his help on behalf of Donatello, he wouldn't have been involved with the mutagen. Gary is a good guy. He and I became fast friends, one of the few people I could talk to about my alien abduction, and now he's missing. This is yet another life destroyed by those teenaged turtles.

My heart pounds as I find the open door to the basement. The police have already been here, they wouldn't have left anything dangerous behind. So why am I so terrified of what I may find? To avoid leaving fingerprints, I stick my hand in my pocket and using it like a glove, flip the light switch on that leads to the basement.

The smell is stronger and thicker down here, like a combination of rotten eggs, fruit, and other decomposing matter. Stepping down to the last step I look around at the wrecked basement. The lab table we worked on for many of nights is broken and splintered in half, destroyed by some blunt object with a lot of force. Broken beakers, tossed equipment…. all our efforts destroyed, though the treatments are of no use anyway. Even before I found out the truth about Donatello, it was my intention to brainstorm another alternative because my observations showed little progress in Donatello's full recovery. But those notions are behind me now, my concern is Gary.

Who else would have known about our experimentations? My brows furrow as I recall Gary having medical connections with the Center for Disease and Control. Could someone from CDC have raided Gary's home in search of our mutagen experiments? He was getting DTPA drug in exchange for more mutagen. I search cautiously through the debris and this time I really do gag as the vile scent is even stronger now. In various areas on the walls and floor there are pale yellow spots of a jellied substance in the midst of broken mason jars. Using my coat to cover my mouth and nose does little to block out the scent that seems to be stuck inside my mouth like curded milk. There was a time when those jars remained untouched for a reason on the now empty shelf to my right.

"So how's the kid doing, Kirby? Is he getting any better?" Gary asked me as I measure out another dosage of medicine into a capsule.

"So far so good. His condition hasn't worsened and the extra radiation is flushing from his body. So that's a start." We're still early in the treatments so time will tell. I stare at the shelf of mason jars for the third time this evening. I stared at them last week when I came over. The first time I saw the jars I thought they were preserved peaches, but upon closer observation the yellowish gelatinized contents of the jars didn't look like appetizing fruit at all. "I've been meaning to ask, what exactly are you breeding in those jars?" I ask, half-joking, half-curious.

"Oh those?" He tips his head in the direction of the shelf in question. "I ran out of room in my medicine cabinet." He laughs. "Just kidding. I've got a whole different set of concoctions in my medicine cabinet. Let's just say they're my smoke signal in time of distress, to be broken in cases of emergencies only." He ends his evasive answer with a friendly wink while putting his finger to his lips in a secretive manner. Gary is quirky in every sense of the word so I simply shake my head with a chuckle and continue working.

As I remember that night nearly a month ago, I suddenly feel like Gary's answer was more than just a quirky response from an paranormal-enthusiast. What if these putrid jars were broken purposely to attract attention? To anyone else they were just rancid chemicals splattered on the ground, but I knew better. Gary was sending a distress signal that only I knew about.

There's more blood on the wall that trails back up the stairs that I didn't see when I initially came down here. Upon closer observation, I see a series of small markings along the walls. My eyes widen when I realize they are fingernail ridges. I am all too familiar with the survival instinct. I remember clawing at my cell door nearly a year ago attempting to escape the Kraang as they dragged me to their laboratory as a scientific slave worker. Was Gary captured as well? As concerned as I am for my friend's safety, something tells me Gary wouldn't have been caught by surprise.

He often talked to me about the Kraang and his theories on alien invasion, planet domination, and species enslavement. I found myself relating and reliving my experiences through his tales of the supernatural, feeding both my curiosity and my paranoia. As a trained psychologist, I would have advised anyone not to entertain such notions and maybe even suggested the person see a psychiatrist for prescribed medication, but that was a lifetime ago. Now I am mentally on the other side of that desk, too far gone in the truth to foolishly diagnosis myself as mentally ill. No, Gary is much too smart to have vanished and not left a clue or trail to find him.

Again, I ponder the night Gary told me about the mason jars.

I've got a whole different set of concoctions in my medicine cabinet.

Gary was just joking… right? He wasn't really hiding anything in his medicine cabinet… or was he? As I sprint up the stairs I feel like I'm spiraling deeper into a proverbial rabbit hole. Stepping into the upstairs bathroom, I don't turn on the light knowing it will be easily spotted through the curtained window by the surveillance van across the street. Instead, I use my cell phone again, swiping the dim light across the room until I spot the medicine cabinet just above the sink. Shaving cream, allergy medicine… I don't spot anything out of the norm in his medicine cabinet. A bottle of anti-depressants catch my eye as well as the medicine for anxiety beside it. The prescriptions expired a year ago. I can only hope Gary didn't need them anymore and this isn't a sign of a more serious untreated diagnosis. Even with this newfound information, I am no closer to finding out where my friend is or if he's even alive. I sigh as a place the anti-depressant back in the cabinet. I mutter to myself as the prescription bottle slips from my hand and clatters into the sink. It's then when I notice the black markings on the bottom of the bottle. Shining the cell phone light on the bottle, I see 'Br' written in permanent marker. That's the symbol for the chemical element Bromine. That crazy son of a gun did leave clues! Stuffing the anti-depressant bottle into my coat pocket, I reach for the anxiety medicine bottle; 'Y' is printed on the bottom. The allergy medicine has 'Li' and the can of shaving cream has 'Ar' scribbled underneath it. I shove them all into my pocket, deciding it best to analyze my findings at home before my luck runs out.

Leaving my friend's apartment, I lock the doors to my car once again as I rest my hands on the steering wheel. Gary knew something was going to happen. Maybe I should talk to Agent Sage tomorrow and tell her what I know about the Kraang. I would usually seek Splinter and the turtles' help for matter of this nature, but they have proven to be less than trustworthy as of late. I wanted to be as far away from malicious aliens and dangerous ooze as possible, but somehow yet again I find myself unable to escape the clutches of the supernatural.

TBC...

A/N: Looks like both the O'Neils have a lot on their minds. Thanks for reading and don't forget to leave a review! I noticed a few new followers so I'd like to say welcome and thanks for checking out my story! :D

See you next chapter!

Poetique