Author's Notes: The THIRD incarnation of this theme. Hopefully you can all get over yourselves and just f'in read it. AU story with Turks save Vinny still acting in a Turkish capacity. Reeve gave himself a thing for the detective too… Poor Reevey.
Theme: Strangers
Unfin...
"No, they were more like swoops, not triangles," the woman said, nervously gesturing to the monitor on the table between us.
"Like this?" I asked as I used the pen of my drawing tablet to edit the digital portrait of the suspect. A quick sweep of the pen and the tattoos on the image are erased and new ones replace them.
"Yes, like that! His ears were a bit smaller too. There you go!"
"And his hair ma'am?"
"Red like a car, his tattoos the same."
With the fill tool I colored in the directed areas of the sketch.
"And his eyes, they were cold and pale and blue. No, not that shade… Yes, that one. Like ice they were. Then there were his sunglasses, they held back his hair. Designer ones…"
"Which ones ma'am?" I asked, pushing a few pages of pictures of designer sunglasses to her for her inspection.
"These ones," she said pointing.
I quickly drew them in as she said.
"That is him, that is the man I saw."
"Thank you ma'am," the detective with us finally spoke up. "You are free to go. An officer will escort you home."
The woman nodded and headed out of the interrogation room. I, having work left to do on this image, remaining in my seat. Already I had a sketch pad out and a real pencil, since they suit me so much better, and began editing the image we has already made by composting the descriptions from the other witnesses who had viewed the killer.
"Well, that is the last of them," Detective Valentine said as he stood.
Not even for a moment did I look up to regard the dark male, preferring to work on the portrait that I'd been asked to do for the police.
"Don't you even want to know what is going on?"
"Remember the Coldwell murder?" I asked while transferring the newest detail, that of the tattoos, onto the composite.
"Of course. Pretty gruesome thing."
"Couldn't sleep for a month. Figured out it is better to just be in the blind about these things," I said, finally handing the finished sketch to Vincent. "Okay, through all of that contradicting shit, I've found your relevant details and drawn you your damn suspect."
"We'll send the normal fee to you," Vincent said, "And you'll keep the original right?"
"As always," I confirmed, not adding that the suspect would have made a great model for me.
"Pleasure doing business with you Reeve," he male said before heading to photocopy my sketch.
Yeah, helping the cops catch killers and other bad guys was fun and all, but them showing up outside of my studio when I'm with a client was not the nicest thing they could have done. Especially not Vincent. Really, he looked like a modern vampire, which had clearly upset the priests I had been painting for their church rectory. That would surely kill that commissioned piece. The priests would probably rather deal with someone that didn't know Vincent freaking Valentine.
Within moments the tall male has returned with my work and the pay from the police department. I tossed the pad back into my pack and took the check with a smile. At least this would cover me for the week until I convince the priests that Vincent was only a cop, not the devil incarnate.
"Need a lift home?" Vincent asked.
A nod was the only reply that I needed for this whole thing.
"Come on. Oh, and I'm sorry if I scared those padres off," he chuckled, not waiting for me as he left the room to go and fetch the keys to his car.
"Yeah right, Detective Valentine, you regretting something?"
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My fingers twirled the pencil around and around in them, my mind wrapping around the idea of a new work of art. And yet nothing could come to me. Try as I might, nothing I started seemed to feel right. Hell, I had even tried my normal answer for handling an artist's block, that being drawing Detective Valentine from memory and making him look all dark and demented. Then again, making him look dark and demented was not very hard to do.
Searching for inspiration of any sort I pawed through my back pack until my fingers came to rest upon the sketch book. Something compelled me to take it out and open it to the sketch of the wanted man. When my eyes met those of the pictured male I could not help but shiver. Carefully I propped the picture up upon a chair, then moved to the blank canvas upon my easel. A few moments and I was at work. First his face came to be, then hands and body lean enough to be considered effeminate. Next was a suit and a cigarette in one hand. I added background finally, a brick wall for him to lean against, before finally sitting back with a smile. It had taken me four hours, and it was a small piece, but it looked good for the rough painting it was. It was only the base colors, meaning nothing looked the colors they would be in the end, but it was satisfying enough.
Finally satisfied with the work of the night I left the canvas and my things where they lay and headed to bed.
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"Reeve, Vincent here. We need you to come by the station. There was another shooting last night after the picture you drew was on the news. Some guy who was trying to call in a tip we think. This one was in plain view, probably spur of the moment which means more witnesses to interview," Vincent's voice came over the speaker of my answering machine. I growled and lunged for the phone before Vincent could hang up.
"How many?" I shouted before he could hang up.
"You're going to want to bring your own coffee pot," Vincent joked, though anyone could sense the truth in his words.
"I should be paid double for this," I said with a sigh before hanging up on the dark detective.
For the fifth time this morning I sent a longing look towards the canvas in the corner before picking up my pack and grabbing the sketch pad. This was going to be a long day.
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"Vincent, how many more are there? I swear if this keeps up my hand is going to fall off," I groaned in annoyance as the twelfth witness of the day was being escorted out. This was one of my rare breaks during a long string of working on more details for the sketch of our killer.
"Like I said earlier, he was very public this time, not caring who saw him," Vincent said from over his cup of coffee.
"Which is a change in his MO, right?" I questioned, sipping at my own hot brew laced heavily with sugar to better wash down my aspirins.
"Yes. It really is starting to seem like he killed the guy because he was recognized for your picture. Which means we are getting close to an answer."
"You'll tell me when the funeral comes up, right? I mean, it's kinda my fault that he's dead, right?"
"Not your fault at all Reeve, don't think about it. You're going to help us put this guy away."
"And what if there are others? What if the killings don't stop?"
"They will," Vincent swore, a fire I had never seen before burning in his eyes.
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Another night meant another hour of trying to figure out just what I was going to do. Already a new sketch of Vincent had been made, all pen this time, showing the fire in his eyes. Now boredom was striking again, worse than before. Again the sketch pad was set up, the newest rendering of the murderer's face on the top as I went back to my canvas. Colors were mixed, and a new layer added, bringing the colors just a step closer to perfection. Who knew, maybe one day this piece would be worth a lot, being the only painting with a killer as a subject and the person not actually there to model. What would he call it?
Before the end of the night half of the painting was done, and I could stand back and almost see the finished product before me, not just in my head. Carefully, lovingly even, I washed the brushes and covered the canvas for the night. The morning would present another chance to finish it.
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Except that didn't happen now did it?
"Ugh?" was my greeting as I answered the phone.
"Good morning to you too sunshine," Vincent's voice purred. That sound could only mean one thing. If only I was conscious enough to remember what that was.
"Nrrgh?" was my response.
"You should get yourself some coffee Reeve."
"Owh?" Yeah, still incoherent.
"We caught him."
That shocked me awake. Awake enough to think about how Vincent would be gloating right now, a triumphant smile upon his face and a predatory gleam in his crimson eyes. This image was, of course, a great thing to wake up to, trust me on that one, but the suddenness of it followed by the shout of 'REEVE!' by Vincent to stir me from the few moments of silence caused me to roll right out of my bed and onto the floor.
I could hear the wince on the line as Vincent heard me crash to the floor. A moan was my response.
"You okay?" his voice echoes in the room.
I fumbled around for the phone. Upon finding it I answered as I stood. "Does it sound like I'm okay?" I was rubbing my hip at this point
"Well, considering it took me so long to rouse you enough to make you fall, I'd think you were enjoying yourself. The pain must have balanced some things out, so you should be perfectly fine."
"Fuck you Vincent," I hissed into the phone, sitting down on the bed.
"Sorry Reeve, I'm too busy. Maybe another time."
Vincent must have been REALLY happy about his catch, because otherwise he'd never joke like this. Especially not at, I glance at the clock, three in the fucking morning.
"Vincent… Why the hell are you calling to tell me this at this hour?"
"Thought you might like to see how closely your sketches match the guy."
Despite my desire to yawn, the idea of getting a real look at the man I was painting was irresistible… As was being around the tall, dark and handsome detective when he was in a mood like this.
"Pick me up in thirty, okay?"
"You got it."
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"Dressing up to meet a murderer Reeve?" Vincent asked, crossing his arms to smirk at me from my door.
"Whatever," I said, shouldering my pack and pushing him out of my way so I could close the door behind me.
"You develop an attachment to him or something?"
"What are you accusing me of?"
"You always get so emotionally involved in your models."
"Who says?"
"Reeve, I saw your new picture of me on your kitchen counter."
"Did you like it?" I could not help but ask.
"See? You care too much."
I scowled at the smirking Detective and shoved him into the wall, causing a slight chuckle from him.
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"Reno, got a little visitor for you," Vincent said as he approached the bars of the cell.
"How sweet of you Detective," a cold, sarcastic tone greeted me, "what you got? Someone you wanna scare straight? Sorry Detective, I don't do life stories."
"Well, as much as being scared straight might do him good, I think it might lose us the guy who helps us catch guys like you."
"I wouldn't say that I do that much. I'm just an artist who can cut through witness bullshit."
"Who is this joker?" the male, Reno evidentially, said.
Now I got my first good view of the man, as he chose to wander from the shadows into the light. Bright red hair hung in his eyes which were blue like a glacier. The sunglasses were missing, and the white tailored shirt he wore was untucked and sloppy. Other than that he wore a black zippered suit. The newest detail from my sketches, the crimson tattoos near the eyes, looked almost like fresh blood in this light. Yet worst of all was that smile, so calm and collected, as if he was on vacation.
"You know about the police artist that did the composite of you? The one we got all the tips on and led to your arrest? This is him."
The calm smile upon Reno's face changed to a devilish grin. "I'll have to thank him for it sometime."
"Behave Reno. Now, Reeve is going to sketch you for us, and you are going to behave. Got it?"
"Whatever you say detective."
"He's all yours Reeve. You know the drill."
A nod came from me. I wasn't supposed to say my last name, or where I worked, or where I lived, or anything else like that. It would have been easy if Reno had stayed quiet.
Of course, nothing had been going my way recently, much less now.
"So, you're the bastard artist. Do you feel guilty about that guy I killed because of you?"
"You'll be put to justice," I said as I sat in the chair Vincent had brought with us. I pulled out my sketch pad and flipped to a blank page. I let the silence hold its power over us as I drew.
Finally Vincent returned and indicated that it was time for us to go. I nodded and put away my things.
"See you 'round Tuesti," Reno said mockingly.
I don't know who was more shocked by his knowledge of my name, Vincent or me.
"Just walk away, before he guesses that he is right," Vincent advised me in a low voice.
While I followed his instructions, I knew it was too late. He knew.
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Yet another night came, the fears of the daylight cast aside as I took my place once more before the painting. Paints were mixed and ready for me, and all was ready for the final layers that would turn the rough into the diamond. Now, with an accurate image in my mind, the painting could come into its own.
Once more I was consumed totally by my work, unable to sense the passage of time. Still, I was work from the meditative state I occupied while painting when the sound of shattering glass reached me. Next came a phone ringing, my phone, only to be cut off as if the phone lines had been cut. As quietly as possible, I rose and rushed for the lights. Far swifter than I had ever moved before, I had turned them out and I was fleeing for the bedroom. There I would find my cell phone and gun.
Except as I entered I saw the worst sight possible: a long, lean, red-haired demon stretched out on the bed, cradling my gun. Near me was a tall, bald male who moved quickly to restrain me.
"Hey there Reeve," Reno said as he rose. "Told you I'd be seeing you around. But you didn't expect this, did you?"
I bit down on the hand over my mouth and stomped on the foot of my captor at the same time. The male, either shocked or in pain (or maybe both) released me to grab his foot. Though I tried to run from the room, I only succeeded in being tackled from behind. When I was on the floor, pinned by what had to be the red-head, I knew I was fucked. Reno quickly rolled me so that I lay on my back and he straddled my body.
"What? Leaving so soon? I think not. See, I have a bone to pick with you, and not much time to do it in. Figure that detective of yours will be over when he realizes that not only am I out thanks to Rude, but you ain't answering your phone."
That was it. If I could keep him busy long enough Vincent would come. But the cold caress of the gun barrel against my face told me otherwise.
"Don't even thing about him making it here in time to save your pathetic ass. You're going to be our message to him. No one messes with us Turks."
"Reno…" the male who had grabbed me said, then looked pointedly towards the clock.
"Right, right. Too bad really. Wanted to have so fun with you. Oh well."
The gun pressed hard against my chest now.
"All of this because you're stupid enough to leave witnesses," I gasp out. I had to try and stall them.
"Not going to make that mistake this time, trust me."
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"Shot directly to the heart did him in, but they shot his hands first," the medical examiner said with a sigh. "After that they shot his eyes out. There is also an interesting bite mark on the lip…"
"Enough," Vincent hissed out. He didn't want to hear this.
"Listen Detective, I'm sorry he's dead, but you have to hear all of the information if you are going to figure out who did this to him."
Detective Valentine shook his head and looked around the living room where the body had been dragged by the killer. His eyes landed upon the painting Reeve had probably been in the process of finishing when Reno had come for him. The canvas was unharmed, and unfinished. Where the face would have been painted was still blank.
"Reeve," the man whispered to himself, "I won't let this death go unpunished either."
"He died because he tried to save others. Sad irony there," the m.e. said as he stood. "He's in a better place now."
"And he leaves us all behind in this hell. That is just like him."