A/N: Un-betaed. Warning for graphic gore imagery. There are also a slight hint of mental child abuse. Read at your own risk.
Warmth was the one that woke Barry up from his sleep.
And he wasn't happy.
Nope. Not at all.
He hated warmth.
It was an inconvenience and uncomfortable. The way he woke up with a damp imprint of his own body on his bed, and the stickiness of his sweat-soaked shirt that clung to his skin—it annoyed him to hell.
And he hated it when he closed his eyes, all that he could see and feel was the warm brown eyes and soft arms wrapped around his body in a gentle warm embrace.
Okay, maybe he didn't really hate the warmth.
He just hated how much it reminded him of Iris West.
Barry squeezed his eyes shut, trying to push the sharp twisting feeling inside his chest down, wanting to bury it and get rid of it for good. This wasn't him. He never felt like this. He felt no guilt when he ripped his previous victims open and laid their beautiful insides out for the world to see. He purposely bonded with his victims before he murdered them, craving that little moments of human connection and attachment. A little attachment to Iris shouldn't made him feel like this. It wasn't like Iris was the only thing he had ever been deeply attached to. There were his pets that he kept while growing up and he had loved them all so much.
He didn't feel like this when he killed the pet bird that his mother bought for him.
He was five, and the pet bird was the only talking companion he had, despite the bird was only able to repeat certain phrases. Molly was sort of his first friend, thus, one day, when the bird simply stopped talking to him, he felt so betrayed and angry that his vision turned red and the next thing he knew, the toilet bowl was filled with blood and feathers.
He only felt satisfaction, even when his father fretted over the missing bird.
It wasn't his fault.
Surely the bird should have told him that it was sick and couldn't talk right?
Then, there should never be misunderstandings.
He has always been careful and patient with his pets afterwards. No more doing irreversible actions without getting proper explanation.
Now, speaking of explanation, he really should go down to his guest room and see what the hell his doppelgangers had been up to that the whole building ended up having a black-out and plunged him into this annoying heat.
He chucked his drenched shirt away and threw his feet over the edge of his bed, only to sway as the dizziness washed over him, the dull throbbing at the side of his head made him grimace in discomfort and sort of wishing for Frost's cold hand to sooth the pain for him. He waited, hunched at the edge of his bed and waited until the nausea and dizziness went away before he forced his body to shuffle out of his room, grabbing a fresh shirt in the process. He completely relied on the wall, unable to navigate in the darkness with his head still throbbing in pain like this, only to halt when he literally saw statics and lightnings in his hallway. There were muffled groans—pained and tormented noise—that came directly from Savitar's room, and Barry finally knew the reason of the black-out and this impossible warmth that suffocated the atmosphere of his house.
The Flash was having one of his episodes again.
And apparently it was the misery episode rather than manic—something that Barry was regretfully grateful for.
He rather watched his doppelganger trembling and writhing in pain rather than laughing maniacally in a murderous rampage.
Barry leant over the wall, trying to get as close as possible to the door, with full intention on assuming his role as the speedster's second doctor, despite the impossible heat and statics that made him felt even hotter, dizzier and light-headed than he already was. Metahuman physiology was still new to him, and speedsters' physiology was even newer, thus he has no idea if this weird thrum of energy he felt was the infamous speedforce leaking out of the Flash, or it was simply the excess vibration the speedster gave out while he writhed in his pain. Whatever it was though, it was affecting him too—because Barry knew that his own heartbeats should not beat that fast.
The Flash screamed, and violent black lightning literally zapped in the hallway, crackling like ominous omen of doom.
On second thought, never mind.
Maybe he should go to his secret lair and started working on Woodward instead. Savitar could handle the Flash without Barry's help.
The heavy weight in the air lightened as Barry strode farther from the speedsters' room and he couldn't help but took comfort in the calm darkness. It was still warm by the time Barry entered his study, though it wasn't as suffocating like it was in the hallway, but Barry wasn't complaining.
He really was not so fond of excessive heat.
It has been almost two weeks without proper stress-relief for him. In between trying to infiltrate Team Frost, pretending (not really) that he was coping with his grief after Iris' death, and his permanent job at the hospital as well as his part-time job at CCU, Barry didn't exactly have time to enjoy his hobby.
He usually kidnapped his victims a week before he presented them to the public.
And he only has, like, a few more days before it's Monday and the police would be expecting his next art.
Such tough critics he had, he couldn't even catch a break.
Barry exhaled a breath of relief once he entered his lair, the only room in this penthouse that still has functioning electricity—god bless. He wasn't exactly a fan of heat until he met Iris, preferring cool and chilly temperature for his immediate surrounding, thus, to know that this room was not affected by the power leakage of his doppelganger was a blessing. He then spent a little too much time underneath the air-conditioner to cool off, completely enjoying the comfort.
He had this urge to make a quick call across the multiverse to see if Piper would install the same security back-up-plus-generator program of this room to the rest of his house.
Just in case if another black out happened.
He was pretty sure his house was like the second house for the speedsters anyway. They crashed here often enough to earn a permanent room.
Though, despite the comfortable temperature of the room, Woodward was surprisingly wide awake when Barry entered his confinement. The hulking young man seemed so small and vulnerable now, huddled at the corner of the room, shaking and yelping like some helpless little puppy the moment Barry walked in. Barry quirked a gentle smile, balancing the mugs in one hand while the other pushed the door behind him close.
He preferred the privacy while talking to his victims.
But of course, this little confinement was never used for his victims before. He usually charmed them, and literally gained permission from his victims to take them away from the public's eyes, completely unnoticed. After that, it wasn't hard to trick them to go somewhere private, sometimes those who were so trusting would easily fallen asleep while he drove, thus making it easier for him to take them to another Earth. The Flash didn't give a single fuck about who Barry killed under his roof as long as he cleaned his mess up, so there was that. Plus, by doing so, there were less evidences to link the murders to Barry, and his victims never suspect that the house that he brought them to was not his actual home.
Of course, he had a backup house under different alias for the murders he committed on this Earth. One could never be too cautious after all.
Once his victims were comfortably seated, Barry would make them some drinks and invited them for a small chat, while the slow-acting drug slowly shut down their system. He enjoyed talking to his victims, getting to know them, learning their stories—an essential ingredient to the masterpieces he would turn them into—before he had them collapsed to forever sleep. Despite his reputation, Barry wasn't a sadist that enjoy inflicting pain. Quite contrary, he enjoyed it if his victims were comfortable and at peace when he put them to sleep.
However, Woodward wasn't relaxing at all.
Kinda reminded him of how Iris was before he killed her.
Crap. That were two victims in a row. His perfectionist side wasn't exactly happy with this development. Did he really needed a break before he got into his old rhythm back?
"It's not going to hurt, Woodward…," he murmured once he had seated himself in front of the young man, taking the shaking hands into his own and wrapped them around the warm mug. "I'm not a sadist."
"But you're a killer," Woodward squeaked, hands trembling so bad that Barry didn't trust him to be able to hold the mug on his own.
Barry smiled but said nothing, reaching a hand to brush the hair out of the young man's face.
"You're the Scarlet Ripper."
"Mm-hmm," Barry simply hummed, his smile turned softer and gentle. "Everyone have their hobbies, Tony."
Woodward let out a pathetic shriek. "Ho-Hobby?!"
Barry clicked his tongue, chiding. "Is there any problems?"
"You call killing people a hobby?!"
"You tricked and raped random innocent girls, I killed random innocent people," Barry sipped on his own hot cocoa, tongue darting out to lick the foam off his lips, completely nonchalant. "We are not that different."
Woodward immediately went silent, eyes lowered to the ground.
Barry let the silence went on for a few minutes before finally placing his mug on the ground and leant forward, pressing one hand on Woodward's cheek.
"Why do you attack me, Woodward?"
His tone was that of a disappointed teacher that instantly made the younger man flinched and lowered his gaze even more.
"You're not even on my target list," Barry continued on, his thumb gently stroking the younger man's tear-swollen eyes. "I don't target people that know me. My victims were all strangers that I picked up on the streets."
Then, something seemed to blow courage inside Woodward.
"What about your girlfriend?"
Barry stiffened.
Woodward grinned, forcing himself to push more on the topic, sensing a glimmer of hope to get out of this horror alive when Barry tensed up at the reminder of Iris. Woodward had seen the hot reporter on the campus ground before, when she came to greet the professor at his office with coffee and donuts in her beautiful hands. Woodward would've fucked her, but that woman has a mind of her own, too difficult to manipulate and would be a waste of time for him. So, he settled with just watching her from afar, appreciating her gorgeous body and pretty face whenever she dropped by at the campus.
But that didn't mean that he wasn't salty that such gorgeous woman fell into Prof Allen's arms.
Woodward carefully analysed Barry's behaviour, noting the shocked stunned look on the older man's face. It was a moment of weakness that Woodward didn't expect to witness, hence the courage grew stronger inside him. He could do this. He could escape. Thus, he shifted, fishing the pocket knife he kept in his pocket—the guy who brought him here didn't exactly searched him for any weapon after all.
All these time, he thought that the infamous serial killer was a scary terrifying man that would ruthlessly kill and maim you if so you so much talk back to him.
But this? Prof Allen has been nothing but gentle and nice to him. Yeah, the connotation of impending death was scary, but the guy was still the cinnamon roll that everyone loved. Woodward was confident that Prof Allen wouldn't be as lethal as his serial killer alias was supposed to be if he didn't get the chance to drug his victims. Nerds like the professor could never fight in a one-on-one combat. Look at that skinny body! Too weak. Nerds like him were sneaky little bastards that use their smarts to outwit their opponent.
Woodward started to gain confidence that he could get out of this alive.
Stab the professor enough to immobilize him and sneaked out before the other guys notice. He could escape using this plan. And then he would tell the world about the real identity of Scarlet Ripper. He would be famous. He would be a hero.
"Yeah," Woodward huffed, nervousness mixed with adrenaline caused him to square his shoulder and stared straight into Barry's unfocused eyes. "Iris West. Your girlfriend. Is she a stranger, prof?"
Barry felt his chest suddenly tightened, his ears rang with Iris' voice—the harsh words and threats she thrown to his face on that faithful night, the smug tone when she told him that she never loved him, that he was so easy to manipulate till she got enough evidences to reveal his crimes—they all thrummed in his ears, causing his hurting head to hurt even more.
"Do you think I can love a murderer, Dr. Allen?"
"I never did. I never love you."
"And now you'll rot in jail for your crimes."
"You earn your time in this cell, boy…."
Wait, was that him or Iris' voice has turned deeper and older?
"Ah, Barry my boy, I told you that only good boys can play outside."
"Dad," Barry mumbled, his mind wasn't exactly in the present time. "Dad, please."
God, he remembered his dad. The old man's praising words to him whenever he did good, and the isolation he had to suffer when he did bad. It used to drive him crazy, when his father locked him in the discipline room for days, without anyone to talk to or anything to entertain himself, completely and utterly alone in the darkness. And whenever the old man came to give him his ration for the day, he would only receive words of disappointment.
"You see, Barry, my boy. No one would love you like how I love you."
"You would be alone if I'm not here to love you, Barry."
"Barry, my child, haven't we established that only good boys deserve love?"
"You couldn't memorize a simple theory? You're not a good boy, Barry."
"You don't deserve freedom nor love. Now, stay here and think about your mistakes."
God, it hurt so much.
His head hurt. Hurt. Hurt. Hurt. Hurt.
Barry didn't realise that he was tensed and hyperventilating, mumbling incoherent words under his breaths—but Woodward saw the opportunity.
"Damn, you're messed up as fuck, prof," the younger man commented as he lunged towards Barry, pocket knife poised to attack.
What he didn't expect was for his attack to be deflected, the knife bounced onto the ground with a loud clang as Barry towered over Woodward. In his heightened adrenaline state, Woodward would have fought back—he was younger and more muscled than the professor after all—but the unfocused manic glaze in the teary green eyes stunned him frozen, causing him to gulp in nervousness when Barry pushed him down. He struggled, eyes widened in horror and bewilderment at the unbelievable strength that the professor displayed.
He could barely move underneath Barry's grip.
Too strong. Too strong. Barry was oddly too strong for a man of his physique and it almost seemed too easy for him to restrain Woodward using one arm while forcing the young man to swallow the hot cocoa using the other. Woodward choked and trashed as the liquid flow down his throat, but Barry forced his mouth closed till Woodward has no choice but to swallow, tasting the tang of chemical bitterness inside the supposedly sweet cocoa. Once he has swallowed everything, Barry removed his hand away and by then, the twin green glazed eyes seemed more focused and alert—sober now. Barry climbed off Woodward's chest and settled himself with his back against the wall, legs crossed as he gently pulled the weakened young man onto his lap. Woodward let out small pained whimpers, trembling as he started to lose the feel of his limbs, everything seemed so blurry and glazed now.
It was just numbing paralysis at first, but Woodward knew that the drug would soon kill him. He had lost track of time, laying there with his head on Barry's lap, while the other man seemed to be content basking in the silence. Multiple times he tried to speak, but his mouth refused to open, his body grew exhausted and sore as he felt his eyelids grew heavier.
He felt very sleepy.
"Good night, Tony," Barry simply smiled and stroked Woodward's cheek, as if he was soothing a crying child to sleep—or in this case, soothing a drugged young man to death. "I told you that it wouldn't hurt, right?"
Drugged and almost completely out, Woodward nodded once, body growing limp though his face relaxed, making him seem peaceful.
Barry planted one gentle kiss over Woodward's forehead when those eyes fluttered shut forever.
He already knew what kind of art he would turn Woodward into.
Frost was so sorely tempted to ice Barry Allen.
It was Monday, the first day of the third week of the month, and it was only three days since she somehow ended up as Dr. Barry Allen's ice pack in the dark CCU parking lot. No. They weren't cuddling, despite the way he was leaning against her that night or the way she found his body warmth so irresistible—she was just his ice pack and he needed her to sooth his pain. Full stop. The end. Anyhow, it was only three days since the surgeon got bludgeoned in the head, and the guy was currently in the elevator of Starlabs, balancing coffees and pastry boxes in his arms as he headed to the cortex.
I'm going to ice his ass, she grumbled to herself as he walked into the cortex—Frost has completely forgotten that she never really has privacy of thoughts whenever Caitlin was awake.
"Frost said that she is going to ice your ass."
If it was possible to ice her own self without feeling pain, Frost would ice Caitlin too.
CAITLIN.
Caitlin has the galls to quirk a smile. I thought you want me to tell him that. Sorry, my bad.
Frost would've glared at Caitlin if they weren't sharing the same body.
Barry halted at the entrance of the cortex upon hearing Caitlin's words, his brows knitted together to a confused frown, twin green eyes squinted in utter confusion as he stared at Caitlin. His hair wasn't styled in his usual sleek look, falling messily over his forehead as if he was trying to hide his bandages. He was wearing a navy blue cotton t-shirt, with dark trench coat and black jeans—all were clothes that were far more casual than his professional look, an indicator that both CCU and the hospital he worked at were still banning him from going to work.
He wouldn't be strolling in here at eleven in the morning if he had to go to work.
Lisa stopped polishing her gun and twirled her chair around, grinning teasingly at Barry who was standing at the entrance of the cortex.
"Oooh, doctor boy, what have you done~?" Lisa teased, although she did stand from her chair and ushered Barry to take a seat at one of the chair near the controls.
"Um, I don't know…?" Barry trailed off, eyes staring warily at Caitlin, his voice trembled slightly in nervousness as he handed the coffee cups to them.
"You're cute, doc," Lisa laughed, squeezing his shoulders, though her face turned solemn when her gaze landed his bandages. "Though I think I can guess why Elsa is mad at you."
"What did I do?"
Lisa sighed and rolled her eyes. "Men."
"What?"
Caitlin and Lisa burst to a knowing giggle while Barry continued staring at them in bewilderment.
Frost snorted.
You do realise that he is a surgeon and knows what he is doing right? Caitlin pointed out, inhaling the aroma of her coffee with a pleased hum.
I'm being reasonable, Caity, Frost retorted, a bit too defensive for her own liking. The guy just got bludgeoned in the head. He should be resting.
Caitlin cocked an eyebrow but said nothing.
Then, Caitlin's smile grew mischievous as she gently squeezed Barry's arm. "You have done nothing wrong, Barry," she started.
Frost sensed Caitlin's intention before her counterpart could even continue talking;
Caitlin Snow DON'T YOU FUCKING DARE TELL HIM—
"Frost is just worried about you," an asshole of mind twins she was, Caitlin resumed with a beaming smile, completely ignoring Frost's threats inside their shared sub-conscious. "She thinks that you should be at home resting instead of being here."
Fuck you, Caity.
Aww, who am I to stop the defrosting of the Frost?
Barry beamed at them.
"That's very nice of her," he murmured, those bright green eyes stared directly into Caitlin's own, as if Barry was trying to make eye contact with Frost. "Thank you, Frost."
Frost suddenly remembered his warmth, and her memory rolled back to that night she found him injured, when she had the length of his body leaning and curling up against her much colder one. She didn't realise how much she craved human warmth before that happened. She had all of Caitlin's memories, she remembered all the friendly hugs and intimate embrace her softer side had received but it was not her memories. She remembered how it felt to be hugged, but no one but Iris and Len had actually ever hugged her. The team loved to hug Caitlin, but weren't so fond of hugging Frost. They hugged Caitlin, and Frost only got the second-hand experience from Caitlin's eyes. It was like she was looking through a stained glass—she could see and get a hint of what happened, but it wasn't her own experience.
To feel Barry's body warmth that night was the luxury she rarely received.
After all, Iris was dead, and going to Cold to ask for a hug was an ego suicide.
She was grateful that Caitlin was fully asleep that night because she knew that her softer counterpart would never let her live this down. Even now, when Caitlin has noticed her concern towards Barry's health had turned the goody-two shoes Caitlin Snow to that annoying mischievous little sister that Frost never wanted to have.
You know, if this keep going on, you might have to change your name from Frost to Chill, Caitlin commented, now talking to Frost as Barry had his attention diverted to Lisa, the man was listening silently to the update of Cold's health.
Shut up, Caity.
I feel the warm butterflies, Frosty. And it doesn't come from my side of the mind.
Shut up. I don't do butterflies.
Oh, sure. You do penguins.
You little—
Frost was barely able to complete her reply when Caitlin promptly tuned her out, shutting off the link of their shared subconscious instantly. Annoyed for not being able to yell at Caitlin, Frost sulked in the depth of their mind, listening in to their conversation. Lisa was done reporting on Cold's progress, which wasn't much to tell anyway, apart from the older man's persistent to be let out of bed despite his wounds. Barry had proceeded to list down Lisa's tasks to take care of Len, prescribing a much stronger painkiller since Cold has been showing signs of pain despite his constant assurance to the rest of the team that he was fine.
Frost rolled her eyes. Men.
"Barry?" Lisa said, stashing the notes into her back pocket, inching closer with a slight hesitant smile. "I know that this is sudden, but...can I hug you?"
Barry blinked once before a smile broke across his face and he was quick to stand and embraced Lisa.
"I'm always up for a hug," he grinned, voice muffled by Lisa's hair.
"Thank you, Barry," Lisa squeezed him tighter to her body. "I know that you said to not mention it, but I need you to know how grateful I am to you. You saved him. My brother. My only family," she gave out a small sob. "Thank you so much. I owe you for life."
"Lisa, hush," he soothed, breaking the hug so that he could run his thumbs under Lisa's slightly teary eyes. He levelled their eyes, voice soft and gentle as he assured; "you don't owe me anything. I'm happy to help."
A sob choked through Lisa's giggle. "I could never repay you, Barry."
Barry tilted his head for a moment, seeming thoughtful, but then his teeth flashed in a playful grin. "If you want to repay me so much, there's something you can do."
Needless to say, Lisa perked up in excitement. "What is it?"
Barry grinned again, eyes twinkled mischievously. "Hug me one more time and you have repaid everything, complete with the interest and tax."
Caitlin and Lisa stared at him, dumbfounded at such simple request, before Lisa giggled and leapt into his open arms to hug him again, this time much tighter and closer.
Frost watched in interest when Barry's eyes fluttered close against Lisa's hair, as if he was content being hold and hugged like that. His body has turned completely lax and slumped in Lisa's embrace, his arms clung around the older woman's body like a drowning man holding onto a lifebuoy, not even looking like he wanted to break the contact.
When they did part, Barry's movement was slow, as if he was reluctant to end the hug.
Frost wondered if no one had ever hugged him before or he just the kind of person who loved hugs so much.
Though, before she could ponder even more, Dr. Wells wheeled in, Joe and Cisco were right behind him.
"Dr. Allen," Wells greeted, smiling warmly at Barry. "I'm happy to see you up and well again."
"Morning, Dr. Wells," Barry smiled back, equally warm. "I have had enough rest for these past few days," he said, offering a cup of coffee to the old scientist. "And I'm banned from the hospital's and CCU's compound for the rest of the week…," he shuddered, frowning a bit. "I'm slowly dying out of boredom."
"You should take this chance to have lots of rest, son," Joe muttered, pointedly not looking in Caitlin's direction. "Eight stitches, and you're at risk of mild concussion, Barry. You aren't supposedly out of bed yet."
"Joe," Barry sighed, sounding fondly exasperated. "I'm fine."
"Barry, you don't seem to be in a good shape the last time I saw you."
"The nausea and dizziness have passed. Really," Barry shrugged, nonchalant, yet his tone was assuring. "I spent the whole weekend sleeping and lazing around. That alone is too much rest."
"But—"
"Joe," Barry cut him off, voice firmer now. "I'm not a child. I know what I'm doing."
Both of them then stood there staring at each other—well, Barry was staring while Joe was glaring—two stubborn men, refusing to back down.
As much as Frost agreed that Barry needed to rest more, she was rooting for him this time, since currently, Joe wasn't her favourite member of the team.
She was still salty at his accusation the other day, when he yelled at her for purposely putting Barry in danger by including him into Team Frost. Caitlin was saddened at that outburst, but Frost was mad. It wasn't her fault that she had to reveal her identity to Barry and subsequently lead to Caitlin's invitation and his decision to join Team Frost.
If anything, all of this started when Ripper attacked Len.
Thankfully, Cisco decided to be the one who broke the silence.
"Funny, because I'm pretty sure that he knows best. Out of all of us, he is the best doctor…," Cisco mumbled under his breath, effectively snapping Joe out of his glaring. "No offense, Cait," he grinned at Caitlin, avoiding eye contact with the detective.
"None taken," Caitlin grinned back.
Joe glared at them both.
Cisco yelped and hide behind Lisa.
"Joe," Wells said, firm and authoritative. "I'm sure that we have more pressing matter, right now."
Joe gave Caitlin and Frost one last glare, as if blaming her for everything but he strode to the monitors anyway, plugging in the USB drive. The huge screen on the wall blinked to life and they were greeted with the live footage right outside the city hall where the police was bustling around. Joe exhaled a deep breath, seemingly to hesitate, his eyes darted in Barry's direction, but Wells gave him an encouraging nod, and he firmly set his jaw.
"Brace yourself," he warned and clicked on the button.
The screen then blinked again, before pictures of a bloodied crime scene appeared into view, popping all over the screen, each picture was more gruesome than the other.
"Ripper," Frost growled, ice crawled up her veins and the next second she was fully in control, platinum white hair bounced angrily as she strode across the room to stand directly in front of the screen.
Joe nodded grimly.
"City Hall," Lisa murmured, striding past Barry to stand just slightly behind Frost. "And let me guess, no one notice when he sneaked inside there to leave the body?"
"Security cameras are hacked, like always, and the guards didn't hear anything," Joe stated, his own lips set into a grim line. "No one noticed the body until Mr. Woodward entered his office."
"Wait, the State Attorney's office?" Lisa interjected, whipping her head around so fast to look at Joe. "He left the body in the State Attorney's office and not one guard hear anything?"
Joe shook his head.
"And even worse," Wells started, pulling out a data sheet onto the screen. "The victim was his own son,"
Frost now has her sole attention on the screen, reading through Tony Woodward personal details silently. 19 years old spoiled son of the State Attorney, tall and well-built, has been arrested for few small crimes, and have been a suspect for surprisingly large number of rape accusation but always been released due to 'lack of evidence'. Frost snorted, willing to bet her own powers that Tony had Daddy's help in escaping the rape accusation. She shifted her attention to the crime scene pictures, scanning each picture, trying to look for clues that the police might have missed.
"Did he leave any notes?" She asked, not even removing her gaze from the frontal picture of the grotesque scene. "Did Ripper leave any notes for us?"
"We didn't receive any for now," Joe answered curtly.
Frost nodded, returning her attention back to the screen, though she couldn't help but feel that something was strangely odd about this body.
He uses a bit too much props this time, isn't he? Caitlin commented, pulling Frost's attention towards the scattered dolls on the floor around Tony's distorted corpse.
Yeah. And he is a bit sloppy too, Frost added, focusing her attention towards Tony's neatly folded clothing, where she spotted a tiny drop of blood on the otherwise pristine shirt. Something is off with our killer, Caity.
Or he maybe just had a bad day. Maybe he caught the flu. No one can focus when they had a flu.
Ha ha hardy-har, Frost mocked a sarcastic laugh before turning serious again. But honestly though. What's with the dolls?
Really. What's with the dolls?
"Oh. My. God," Cisco said, voice trembled in discomfort. "I hate dolls. Why must he use dolls as his props this time?"
"I agree," Lisa murmured, shifting uncomfortably on her feet. "Ugh, graphic," she groaned, glancing briefly at the pictures, before a violent shudder rolled down her body. "Graphic."
Frost had to agree. Tony's body, like all the previous victims, were skinned and stripped off his skin, now looking very much like anatomical figures with only his muscles being shown to the world. The skinned body then was nailed to the walls in a crucifix position, his head hung low as if he was bowing his head in guilt. Surprisingly, the only organ that has been extracted out of his body was his heart, of which it was placed neatly inside the open jewellery box on the table. Though, what that caused discomfort in both Lisa and Cisco was the porcelain dolls surrounding Tony's body. Half of the dolls wore a sad expression, lined on the table in neat rows with one doll wearing black standing in front of the rows, her back facing Tony. It oddly reminded Frost of the environment in the court when people attended a hearing, or like the scene in horror movie where a cult is sacrificing someone to the devil. The dolls that were scattered all over the floor were broken or missing pieces of their porcelain bodies—and they looked either oddly angry or creepily happy, looking as if they were either glowering or taunting Tony's corpses. Few of the least broken of the broken dolls were lined up in front of the corpse, a red string tied to their bodies while the other end of the string was wrapped tight around the base of Tony's stretched mutilated dick—giving the graphic image as if the dolls were happily pulling his dick apart.
Frost winced.
She knew that Tony was dead by the time this mutilation was inflicted but that honestly looked like it hurt.
Though, before she could even say or think of anything, Joe's phone rang, and the detective quickly answered it. There were no spoken words from Joe's part, but Frost could see the detective grew even paler as the call went on.
Joe collapsed onto a chair the moment he ended the call.
"Joe?" Wells wheeled closer, reaching a hand to squeeze Joe's shoulder. "Are you okay?"
"He is getting more insane, Harry," Joe mumbled, his voice was barely above a whisper, eyes wide in horror. "We couldn't find Woodward's skin. And he didn't leave any notes in CCPD this time," he wheezed, laughing sharply—the sound was bitter and humourless. "Oh, no. That bastard left a public note this time. It even made the news."
"Public note?" Frost turned around, her heels clicking when she walked up to the control table to switch on the news.
"…A group of women has found their way to Scarlet Ripper's latest scene, here in a private theatre hall of Clarington's Hotel after following the quote unquote, love notes he left them. The police have yet to give a public statement, but rumours have it that for the first time, Scarlet Ripper killed for a good purpose…."
Frost's jaw slacked open in shock.
Joe switched the video clip off. "Manipulative bastard."
Lisa shifted to stand by Joe's side. "What happened, Joe? What did he leave in the theatre hall?"
"Woodward's missing skin," Joe's jaw hardened, his expression was disgusted. "Cut to stripes and been folded and crafted to a bouquet of flowers—"
"Origami of Gore."
"Shut up, Cisco."
"Geez, okay, nobody appreciates me."
Joe quirked a smile when Cisco stalked towards Barry, sulking on the chair behind the surgeon. He exhaled a deep breath, before resuming his words.
"He set up a tea party for the girls, though thank goodness none of them actually sit down and consume anything, since we have no idea if he had the food drugged or not," the detective explained, voice getting more agitated for each word. "The girls are persistent in keeping the love notes once we're done with the investigation though."
Frost cocked an eyebrow. "Why?"
"Because they all said that it was the sweetest gesture anyone had ever done to them since the hell Woodward put them through," Joe snapped. "Apparently he wrote short haikus for each of them to tell them how amazing and wonderful women they are."
"Charmer," Lisa commented dryly. "Our killer is a romantic. How lovely."
"Let me guess," Wells started, lips set to a tight grim line. "All of the girls were victims of Mr. Woodward's alleged rape accusations? The girls whose reputation and life destroyed because they couldn't prove their accusations?"
"Yep."
"So, I'm guessing that they are very happy Mr. Woodward is dead?"
"They are ecstatic," Joe snarled. "Because Ripper left something else too," he growled, his hands curled to tight fists on his lap. "A full compilation of undeniable evidences of all of Woodward's alleged crime. Each girl has a copy, left along with the love note."
"Hence the rumours that he killed for a good purpose," Frost concluded, suddenly not knowing what to think.
She was never fond of rapists that got away with their crimes.
Especially those who was from an influential family like Woodward.
Frost, Caitlin gently reminded. He is still a killer. He killed Iris and so many other innocents before.
He saved the girls' life too, Frost countered, but not really arguing, just merely stating the fact. The evidences would turn the girls' life around. You know that most of them were called attention-seeker and slut once they lost the trial.
Frost.
Frost sighed. I know, Caity. I'm not defending him.
Okay….
"He is humiliating everyone in the law enforcement and manipulated those poor girls to be on his side," Joe ranted, angry and harsh. "Manipulative, sick bastard."
"So you're saying that it is a humiliation to the law enforcement because Ripper gave the justice you couldn't provide to the girls?"
Everyone stopped talking and turned around to stare at Barry, whom had been silently observing them before. He always did that ever since he joined their team. He called it a learning curve, learning to handle the cortex by observing everyone else. It was rare for Barry to give his own input while they were discussing.
"Barry?"
Barry huffed, bowing his head low, arms crossed over his chest, before he finally looked up again, this time his beaming smile was plastered on his face.
Frost noticed that the smile didn't really reached his eyes.
"I guess I have to go down to CCPD, huh?" then, he suddenly shifted the topic, his smile seemed too bright and cheerful. "I'm pretty sure I'm one of the few people who last saw alive."
"I'm still not happy that you didn't press any charges for that assault," Joe muttered, but nodded anyway. "And you're right. Singh told me to ask you to stop by CCPD to help the investigation. No rush, though. Singh says only to bring you in if you're feeling better."
"I'm feeling better," Barry shrugged, though his smile faded slightly. "I don't feel like pressing any charges, Joe. He is just a boy."
"He attacked you."
"Young men are always so hot-blooded."
Frost burst to a laughter.
"Don't speak as if you're not young yourself," she grinned, her hand automatically reached out to lightly punch his arm. "You're just 28 years old."
"Still 9 years older than the poor boy. I'm ancient compared to him."
"Barry, Caitlin said that she is going to lobotomize you if you dare to say that 28 years old is old."
Barry laughed. "I didn't say old, I said ancient."
Frost was suddenly pulled back into their shared sub-conscious—without her consent—as Caitlin resurfaced and gained control of their body.
Usually, Frost wouldn't be happy with the sudden shift of power, but the moment she heard Caitlin yelled;
"Dr. Bartholomew Henry Allen, I'm going to lobotomize you! We are both 28 years old. WE ARE NOT OLD!"
And then Barry laughed and broke to a run as Caitlin chased after him.
How exactly this man turned the solemn horrified environment to this inappropriately ridiculous chasing scene was a mystery to her—but Joe and Dr. Wells have cracked a smile, Cisco looked less traumatised and Lisa was actually giggling.
He balanced out the dark air in the cortex with his natural charms.
Yep. Frost could let this one slide.
A/N: Part of me say that their progress is a bit too fast, but both Barry and Frost rarely had close human contact, so little touches affected them worse than one could predict. They still aren't in love though. Not even close. Just starting off with a mildly-fond friendship.
Hope you enjoy this chapter!
