Chapter Two AKA Rain Check

"Uh… could you run that by me again, Jess?"

Groaning in frustration, Jessica Jones threw her hands up in defeat. She knew that telling someone else about the weird shit that happened the other night and expecting a response that wasn't steeped in disbelief was at best a fleeting hope. Even if the person she was confessing to was Trish Walker.

"Jesus, forget it." Jessica downed the rest of her wine and started for the door. "I should've known that this was a stupid idea."

"No, come on Jess. I'm sorry, alright." Trish stopped her before she could go out the door. "Look, just run everything by me again and – "

"And what?" Jessica cried out. "You'll suddenly believe me when I repeat the fact that I saw some poor girl get ripped apart and flayed by a pack of fang-toothed crimson monsters?"

"Well, I'm sorry if it all sounds a bit…"

"Impossible?"

"I was going to say far-fetched – "

"Christ, Trish!" Jessica exploded, the stress of the case starting to mingle with the alcohol.

" – but I believe you." Trish replied, finishing her statement.

Staring back at her friend, Jessica highly doubted that sentiment. She knew that the world had lent itself to proving that it was stranger than anyone ever thought it could be, if her powers were proof of anything. But she knew that Trish trusted her through and through. She believed her when she told her about him. She was willing enough to help out, knowing the dangers that doing so came with.

That has to count to count for something, right?

And despite her own suspicions that that was Trish's only reason for believing this cracked up tale, Jessica would take it.

"Really?"

"Yes, really!" Trish exclaimed, her answer seeming to calm her friend down enough. "Just, let me get my head around this fully."

Jessica rolled her eyes as Trish began to repeat literally everything she had just said. Everything from running into Katie on the street, to the nameless Englishman, to the girl's gruesome end, to ending up in front of her apartment building.

"Yes. That's everything that happened."

"That sounds like the same things that attacked the city a few years back."

"No, it's… this is different."

"How can you tell?"

"Because they only wanted Katie. They were after her specifically."

"Okay… so what are you going to?"

"I don't fricking know! This kind of shit is way out of both our expertise." Jessica fidgeted slightly, uncomfortable at talking aloud about that night. "Besides, I didn't come here for your help."

"Then why did you tell me all this?"

"I just…" She took a few calming breaths before finishing. "I just needed someone to talk to is all. You know you're the only one I trust."

With those words Trish felt a wave of emotions hit her. Ever since the whole ordeal with Kilgrave, Jessica had seemed less than willing to throw herself fully back into what semblance of normality that she had. She seemed to retreat from the world just a little bit more. And that retreat included Trish Walker.

And now her best friend was here because she needed help. Not help with a case, but just someone to open up to. By the sound of it, Jess had stumbled into something that seemed to go deeper than she expected and now she didn't know where else to go or what else to do.

And the worst part of it was the fact that for the first time in her life, Trish didn't know how to respond.

Her silence must have stretched on longer than she expected seeing Jessica's face shift into one of resignation and tiredness. Grabbing her scarf and jacket she started toward the door.

"You know what, forget it."

"Jessica, wait." Trish moved in front of her friend. "Where are you going?"

"Back to the office. I need to retrace Katie's steps again."

"And you think you'll find something there?"

"Maybe. Hell, I don't know. We'll see." Jessica opened the door and paused before turning back to her best friend. "Look, I know that after everything that's happened the past few weeks, you probably don't want to get involved in anymore of this crazy shit – "

"Jess – "

"Trish, I just…" She sighed, taking a deep breath. "I just wanted to say thanks. For listening."

"You're welcome. I'm always here Jessica."

With a quiet nod she left Trish's loft and made her way out of the building.


"Everyone has secrets. If they didn't I'd be sure as hell out of a job. But it's the degree of madness that those secrets bring that really makes it hard to carry on. Cheating spouses, corporate fraud, all of that barely holds a candle to the flame that cases like these bring out.

Because just when you think you've seen the darkest a human being can go, there's someone out there waiting to prove you wrong."


Two Days Later

She provided an update for her client, Georgina O'Keefe, Katie's ex-girlfriend. She didn't tell her much other than an update on her last known location, a comment on the trouble Katie had found herself in, and a few pictures. Obviously, the more improbable details were spared, including the matter of Katie's demise, but she implied enough that the end wouldn't be pretty. Despite the truth of the situation, she gave her word that she'd continue investigating as much as she could. After all, Jessica was a lot of things, but she wasn't heartless.

A resigned nod was all that Georgina could give as she accepted what the PI had given her.

Several hours revisiting Katie's credit card statements from the past few weeks yielded little information that she'd not already seen. Emptying the remaining contents of her whiskey bottle, she huffed to herself quietly. Reaching into one of her lower desk drawers, she pulled out another bottle and poured herself another glass. This case was starting to become too much for her to handle. She was starting to doubt that what she saw even happened.

Red-skinned monsters, teleporting, mysterious trench-coated men? All this sounds too fucked up even for me.

Jessica looked back at the case file she had assembled on Katie as her eyes settled on the picture of the young woman. Her mind was taken back to that night, hearing Katie's screams, the low growl of the creatures, the sound of skin being torn from flesh like torn cloth. A fate worse than death.

Closing her eyes, she forced herself to take a few deep, calming breaths. All that blood seemed to bring back fresh memories of her last major case. In her mind, the blood on her hands still felt fresh and raw. Names and faces starting to bubble up from the cauldron of her memories.

The empty glass in her hand started to crack under the strength of her grip. She knew Katie got into some deep shit, but whatever it was that had led her to her death, she didn't deserve it. And her mind suddenly reeled back to something that English guy said that night.

" I know the deal you made. I know how many died while you tried to throw off their scent."

Sitting back up in her seat, she started a new search:

Reported murders in the past two weeks

Shifting through the stream of news articles, police reports, videos, interviews, and all other matter of media info that she could find on any suspected murders from the last two weeks she searched for any connections possible to Katie Gerardo. It took her a while but she managed to find a few possible cases that had a strong enough connection to her own case.

The sound of a door creaking caught her attention as she saw a familiar face enter her office.

"Malcolm, you'd better have a damn good reason for being here." She called out to her neighbor.

"I bought a new set of locks for your door." He replied, letting himself in without any worry of being kicked out by the prickly PI.

"You don't have to do any of this." She stated, the underlying tone evident in her words. Why are you doing this?

"I know. But I want to." Malcolm answered, setting down a plastic bag on her desk. "Besides it's been three weeks. Aren't you worried about unwanted guests?"

"What like you?" She asked, returning her gaze back to her laptop.

"Fair point, but I'm a useful unwanted guest."

"Just barely." Jessica muttered, downing the rest of her glass.

Moving to stand behind her seat, Malcolm took a look at the various pages of articles she had just shifted through.

"A new case?" He asked, curiosity bouncing from his voice.

"Sort of." She answered, slightly absent-minded too caught up in her work to actively try and get rid of her neighbor.

"Katie Gerardo." Malcolm read aloud from behind her. "You're still working on her case?"

"Yup."

"And how's it going?" He asked her hesitantly, noting her subdued frustration.

But instead of the pointed look of frustration mixed with impatience that he expected from her, she just stared off into the computer screen. She looked lost, or maybe traumatized, as if she were remembering something. His concern grew as he noted how the familiarity of that look, given how many times he had seen it in regards to a particular sore subject on Jess's part.

Closing her eyes, she forced herself not to think about that night. The sights, the sounds. How she fled, leaving Katie to her fate. She drank up the rest of her glass before turning back to him.

"Go home Malcolm." She said with an unexpected softness. It wasn't a demand or a threat. And that's what surprised him the most.

Opening his mouth to respond, he immediately thought better of it. He'd come to know Jessica Jones quite well since they became neighbors and he could tell that whatever was up with this case, was personal in some way. Despite his instincts telling him to help, to press on, to ask, he just gave her a quick nod.

"Alright Jess." He started for the door. "If you need any help, anything at all, you know where to find me."

Jessica nodded slightly, before the door closed and she was left once again with just herself, her work, and her alcohol. Letting out a breath, she poured another drink and shut her laptop. Getting out her phone, she replayed her recording from that night, trying to see if there were any details in it that she might've missed. It was lucky of her that the Brit didn't notice that she was recording his conversation with Katie, otherwise her only evidence of that night actually happening would've been snuffed out.

She replayed the recording over and over and over again. Taking note of every detail that her phone managed to pick up. And each time, there was one phrase that seemed to hit her the most.

"Not a bloody superhero, that's for damn sure."

Pause. Rewind. Play.

"Not a bloody superhero, that's for damn sure."

Pause. Rewind. Play.

"Not a bloody superhero, that's for damn sure."

After a few hours, she felt an intense tiredness sweep over her. Drinking up the last of the whiskey, she stopped replaying the conversation and sighed. Her eye lids instantly felt infinitely heavier than she could have ever imagined.

Maybe if I just rest my head a little…

Her eyes closed as her dreams were plagued by the strange Englishman's voice and intonation repeating that phrase ad nauseam.

Not a bloody superhero, that's for damn sure.


Malcolm Ducasse sighed quietly as he finished the last of his sandwich. It had been a long couple of weeks for him and Jess. Despite the infallible knowledge that the cause of their pain and suffering was long gone, he still couldn't help but feel an unnerving sensation that somehow the nightmare would start all over again.

Setting aside those thoughts, he got ready for bed. He had just went in for a job interview that afternoon at a local music store. All in all, it had gone well for him and he was scheduled to start the next day. He felt a quick surge of confidence at that. He knew rebuilding his life wouldn't be easy, but at least now he had some sense that things would be okay.

If only he could give that to Jessica. By what he could tell, she had been working on a few cases just to take her mind off him. Even in death, he seemed to somehow plague them both. For now, all he could do was help out when he could and be a friend to her.

It wasn't much, but it was the best he could offer.

Despite her attempts to distance him from her, he still knew that she appreciated his attempts at helping. He could hear it in the faint intonations of her voice whenever he stopped by offering to help fix the damages done to her walls, or to clean up her apartment, or just providing insight into one of her cases. So, he still was willing to help out.

But the case she was working on right now seemed to bother her in a very certain way. Not like how she was dealing with the purple-suited asshole, but in a confused sort of manner. It was as if she just absolutely stuck. Being the closed-off person that she is, it was no surprise that she kicked him out.

She'll be fine. She's Jessica Jones. He assured himself as he crawled into his bed. You can always swing by again tomorrow anyway.

And with a growing sense of vibrancy, he closed his eyes and drifted to sleep.


On the rooftop of 485 West 46th Street, a hooded man began his ceremony, the likes of which had never been seen before. In the hollow throes of an aged and cracked voice, he uttered his ancient words in to the rising darkness above.

" Eripe animam, flere sanguine venire ad me, et ponam te in somnum."

His whispers acting as fuel to the engines of his arcane ritual, a black wisp of smoke coalesced from his hands and down into the pipes and ventilations below, searching for a new sacrifice. A captive. A soul.

That night, he had struck gold in his catch. A young man asleep in his bed. He saw the boys thoughts and the trials and tribulations he has had to face in his life. They flashed before him in succession.

A rough childhood. God-fearing parents. A desire to be good. Addiction. Enslavement. Freedom.

It was perfect. His was a fresh soul, and vulnerable too.

Come morning, Malcolm Ducasse would not awaken.


The piercing sound of her phone ringing shook her awake. She had fallen asleep at her desk again. Looking outside the window, she could see that the sun had shifted to a different angle than before. It appeared to be morning, going by the lively and active hustle and bustle of the city below. Checking her watch, she was greeted with the time: 9:56 A.M.

Fuck.

With a groan she sat up in her chair and picked up the landline to stave off the aching in her head. In her best 'I am sure as hell not hungover' voice, she answered.

"Alias Investigations. Jessica Jones speaking."

It was another desperate client. A young woman, all nerves and stutters, wanting her to look into her sister's disappearance. She wrote down her phone number, gave her the standard contract, and told her that she'd call back as soon as she got an update.

Ending the call, she rubbed her face trying to wake herself up. Ever since that day at the docks, she found her sleeping patterns had become more erratic than before. Granted when she could manage to get to sleep, she was a bit more at ease, it still didn't change the fact that she had found herself getting more restless.

So much for the little things.

Opening her inbox, she saw several messages from Trish, asking if she could come over or if she was even awake. Trish must have gotten impatient, she figured, because the last message read that she was on her way and that she'd be there in 20 minutes.

A knocking on the door and a recognizable silhouette from the window meant one thing.

"Trish, why are you here?" Jessica asked exasperated at her friend, having answered the door.

"Well, good morning to you too." Trish smirked as she walked past her friend into the apartment.

"Morning." She retorted plainly. "Now why are you here Trish? You know I'm still working a case."

"I know. I was just wondering if you wanted to go out for breakfast." The blonde replied, shrugging innocently in response.

"It's too early for this." Jessica replied shaking her head, going back to her desk.

"Jess, it's almost ten."

"Exactly."

With a sigh, Trish walked over to the mess of papers and empty bottles of booze that was Jessica's desk.

"Look, I know you've been working nonstop since you took down Kilgrave." She noted how Jess had winced slightly at the mention of his name. "But you need to take a short break. You're starting to burn yourself out."

"Is that it, then?" Jessica asked, her temper flaring up slightly. "You think I'm insane because of what I told you happened to Katie?"

"No! Dammit Jessica!" She exclaimed, throwing her hands up. "I don't think you're insane. I believe you, alright. You know that."

Jessica only gave a slight nod as she settled down back into her chair.

"I'm worried that you're overworking yourself." Trish explained, taking a breath. "Look, it's my day off. Come out with me. We can talk, have breakfast, your spiked coffee, whatever. I just don't want to see you push yourself too hard at your own expense."

Jessica Jones looked back up at her friend, her sister practically, and sighed. She knew that the last few weeks had been definitely taking a toll on her. All that pent-up energy that developed during her ordeal with Kilgrave needed to channel itself out of her system somehow. It was one of the reasons she threw herself so deep into her work.

She'd never say it aloud, but she knew that her friend had a point.

Dammit, Trish. You're right.

"Give me five minutes." Was all she said as she got up and headed toward her bathroom.

Rolling her eyes exaggeratedly, Trish smiled in victory. It was a small respite for the both of them but she knew that they both needed it. As she waited for Jessica, her eyes drifted to a plastic bag on the desk. Peering inside, there appeared to be a few sets of locks.

"Those are from Malcolm." Trish turned around to see her friend in her usual slightly disheveled state, leather jacket and all. "He must've forgotten them here when he came by the other day."

"A set of locks?"

"Yeah, they were supposed to be for me. Told him that I didn't need him fixing things around here."

Trish only raised her eyebrow, the damages from Will Simpson's assassination attempt still peppered throughout the room.

"Oh, shut up." Jessica replied to Trish's skeptical look.

Putting on her scarf, she grabbed the bag and walked over with Trish to Malcolm's apartment. She knocked on his door, a few times, even called out to him. When he failed to answer, she became a little concerned. She noticed that ever since Malcolm had kicked his drug habit, he was something of a n early riser. Curiosity getting the better of her, she forced open the door despite Trish's protests.

Looking around the apartment, she saw no signs of any disturbance. Placing the bag onto his kitchen table, she tried calling out for him again.

"Malcolm! You left your crap in my office yesterday. I'm putting it on the kitchen table." Still no response.

Maybe he's out? He mentioned something about a job interview the other day…

Despite the rational part of her brain telling her that Malcolm was probably fine, something in her gut was telling her otherwise.

Turning the corner, she decided to make sure he was fine, hopefully just sleeping in. At the end of the hallway, she noticed that his bedroom door was slightly ajar. Walking over, she froze when she saw his hand peering out just slightly from the room. Panic settled into her system as she opened the door fully and was greeted with a terrible sight.

Malcolm was lying on his bedroom floor, sprawled out as if he had collapsed. Despite his eyes being open, he appeared unresponsive and unaware. But what shocked Jessica the most was the sight of blood dripping slowly yet steadily out from his nose. She quickly dropped down to the floor, and tried waking him up.

"Malcolm? Malcom. Come on, wake up."

Still no response, and the way he felt limp in her arms only fueled the fires of worry that had sparked inside her.

"Trish? Trish! Call an ambulance! Now!"

Looks like she would have to take a rain check on breakfast.


Okay, so after some heavy re-writes, I think I have something of an outline for this story. So maybe I'll end up sticking to it after all.

Please, review! I'd love to hear your thoughts and opinions, just so long as you keep things civil.