Disclaimer: I don't own Heavy Rain or the characters, but I do love them so I try not to hurt them (too badly) ;)

A/N - Thank you to everyone for your reviews, and to those out there who are reading but haven't reviewed, I'd love to hear your feedback.

I had actually planned to wrap up the story with this chapter, but once I had written an ending I wasn't satisfied with it. So I wrote another ending but didn't like that either. Then I wrote one more ending and although I liked how I had ended it, I felt it was rushed and I hadn't fleshed out the story enough. So now I've got a whole lot more planned for this story before I get to my planned ending. (And maybe when I'm all done I'll also post those other endings and let you readers decide which one you like the best.)

This chapter doesn't have as much action as the previous two chapters, but it explores the character of Norman a little more. Hopefully you'll stick around; I've got some good stuff planned as I continue to write.

One more side note, I probably won't have my next chapter up until May. I'm an accountant and it's tax time (until April 30th here in Canada) so I'm swamped. And normally I usually have my next chapter at least half written when I post a chapter up here on fanfiction, but I don't have Chapter 4 started yet. So my apologies, but I hope you'll come back and keep reading, because I promise I am still writing! I just may have some longer delays in my posting for a little while.

Rated M for swearing, violence, blood, and homo-erotic themes. (although not much of any of them appear in this chapter, except swearing. Apparently Norman has quite the potty-mouth in his thoughts!)

To OnlySnakesCanLove - I think I love you as much as I love Blake. It's so nice to find someone as obsessed with that asshole as much as I am. Lol :) (P.S. I really tried to pay more attention to where I was putting commas when I wrote this chapter. They are the bane of my existence, but I think I did better this time. Although I know I am still a horrible comma abuser! Thank you for that feedback.)

Enjoy!


Norman was beginning to exhaust himself, but he had to keep going. Just until the paramedics get here. The detective's life depended on him. He steeled himself and dug down into his gut, into the deepest part of himself, and forced himself to rely on every ounce of courage and strength he had.

A few seconds later, Norman heard the footsteps of the emergency personnel thumping up the staircase and so he finally sat back, too exhausted to continue on with the CPR. His arms were like limp, wet noodles. He took his hands off Blake's chest and fell back onto his ass onto the floor, letting the paramedics take over and do their job.

The three medics rushed into the room, instantly surrounding Carter and setting down their large bags of medical gear. Two of them placed an ambu-bag over Blake's mouth and immediately restarted CPR, while the other quickly set up an IV in Blake's right arm and administered a shot of atropine.

Norman watched as they charged up a portable defibrillator and placed the two paddles on the detective's chest. "Clear!" called out a medic. A loud high-pitched electric whine filled the air and then with a ka-thunk, a massive shock discharged through Blake's chest, jolting his body off the ground. Another whine sounded as the machine recharged. "Clear!" Again the medic shocked Carter.

With shaking hands, Norman wrapped his arms around his legs where he sat on the floor. His heart was racing and he could still feel the adrenaline rushing through his veins. He felt more jacked than any hit of Tripto had ever made him feel. Jesus Blake, don't you fucking die!

The medics shocked Carter for a third time and this time the machine let out a slow steady beeping sound. "We've got rhythm," declared one of the medics. "Hang two units of O-Negative. Let's bag him and get the hell out of here." They carefully lifted Blake's body onto a stretcher, locked the wheels and then rolled him out of the apartment.

Norman felt a stream of moisture rolling from his eyes and briefly feared they were bleeding from Tripto withdrawal, but then he realized it was just tears. He was crying. Thank fucking Christ! Carter's alive! They just had to get him to the hospital and hopefully he would live. One of the cops who had been deployed to the scene stepped over to check on Norman while her partner unfurled a roll of yellow police tape and began to secure the scene.

The female cop bent down and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Agent Jayden?" she asked. "I'm Sergeant Ryan. Are you okay sir?" Looking up at the beautiful, but tough looking officer with skin the color of caramel candy, Norman wiped his damp face and eyes, smearing Blake's blood from his hands all over his face. "That's an awful lot of blood you're covered in," the cop said compassionately. "Are you injured anywhere?"

"No… no…" stammered Norman. "I'm fine. I wasn't hit, it's not my blood." He choked back a sob, feeling embarrassed for crying in front of the female police officer.

"I think you should get some medical attention," she said, her long dark curls bobbing at her shoulders as she reached for the radio on her waist. "I'll call for another ambulance."

But before she could make the call, Norman struggled to his feet. "Really, I'm okay," he insisted. The officer looked sceptical. "What about Nathaniel Williams?" he asked.

"We've got a squad out looking for him. Do you have any more information that might be useful?" Sergeant Ryan asked.

Norman shook his head and wiped at his face again. "No, I gave all the details in my APB to the 911 operator." He looked over at the other police officer who had picked up Norman's Glock from where he had left it on the floor by Blake's body.

"Is this your revolver Agent?" asked the deep-voiced cop, spitting out the word 'Agent' with barely veiled malice. What is it with the cops in this town; no one has any respect for the FBI? The tall Hispanic officer held up the gun with two fingers gently grasping the grip, his hands sheathed in purple latex gloves.

"Yes," said Norman, holding out his hand to take it back.

"Oh, I'm sorry," said the officer, sneering at Jayden as he dropped the weapon into a Ziploc plastic bag and secured it. "This will need to be taken back to the station for evidence."

"But I didn't fire it," explained the Agent. "I just dropped it on the floor when I was giving CPR."

The cop looked at him suspiciously. "Ballistics will be the ones to determine that," he said coldly.

"Well can I at least have my cell phone?" asked Norman, pointing toward his device he had also left on the floor while giving Blake first aid.

Perez responded with a grunt, which Norman took to mean an affirmative, so he grabbed the phone from the floor and clipped it onto the waist of his pants. "We're going to have to take your statement now," the officer continued.

"Sergeant Perez, I think we need to get him to the hospital first," said Ryan, reaching out and touching Norman's hand sympathetically. "I don't know if all this blood belongs to the victim or not and I'm not taking any chances"

"This is a crime scene," replied Perez, his eyes giving Jayden a deadly glare. "My first priority is to take the Agent's statement before anyone leaves." So this is what the whole good-cop/bad-cop routine feels like to be on the receiving end.

"You can take his statement at the hospital," Ryan interrupted, placing her hands on Norman's shoulders and guiding him to the doorway. "He'll be waiting for you there."


Local hospital – Wednesday, October 5th, 2011, 6:10pm

Norman lay curled up in a fetal position across three orange plastic chairs in the emergency room waiting area. His blood stained leather jacket was thrown haphazardly over his body but it provided little warmth as he dozed fitfully in and out of sleep. He had seen a triage nurse upon his arrival at the hospital but was deemed to be fine. He had no need for medical attention, as he had been trying to tell the officers at the apartment and during the ride in the squad car to the hospital. Sergeant Perez had been waiting for Jayden when the nurse finally released him and he then succumbed to over an hour of questioning. When Perez had finally decided he had enough answers, he warned Norman not to leave town. I'm an FBI Agent investigating a fucking murder case. Where the hell am I gonna go?

After the police officer left the hospital, Norman had cleaned himself up in the public washroom the best he could, washing the dried blood and snot off his face and rinsing out his hair in the sink. He had barely been able to get through the police questioning when he had felt the cold chills crawl up the back of his spine and his right hand began to shake. But he hid it… just barely. Once he had made himself semi-presentable, he snorted a vial of Tripto while hiding in a bathroom stall. He then took up vigil in a corner of the waiting room. The drug had knocked him out cold and he had been sleeping for over three hours.

Meanwhile, while Norman slept off the after effects of the traumatic experience, emergency physicians and nurses had worked diligently to save Lieutenant Blake's life. They took over from the paramedics once they had arrived with the detective at the hospital, transfusing both saline and blood into his body. Skilled surgeons then spent over seven hours in the operating room repairing Blake's punctured lung, arm and other abdominal injuries from the gunshots.

Coming to, Norman slowly sat up from his prone position and groaned. His back was kinked; the muscles feeling like someone had tap-danced all over them while he had slept. The hospital chairs were definitely as uncomfortable as they were ugly. Norman stretched his arms up over his head and yawned, his brain a little fuzzy from his nap and the after effects from his latest Tripto hit. Squinting, he saw a vending machine in the corner and then as if on cue his belly let out a loud rumble. How long ago since I had something to eat? Then he remembered the disgusting precinct coffee he had tasted first thing in the morning and nothing else since then.

Swinging his legs onto the floor, Norman started to get up, but a surgeon dressed in green scrubs walked briskly through the doorway just at that moment. The Agent looked up, hoping for some good news. The Dr. pulled his scrub cap off his head and sat down next to Norman in the plastic chairs. The Agent took notice of the streaks of dried blood down the front of the surgeon's operating gown and swallowed back a hiccup that threatened to bubble up from his throat. Norman was acutely aware of the matching stains of Blake's blood down the front of his own clothes.

"Hi, I'm Dr. Kardish. It was a long surgery and Lt. Blake had some very extensive tissue and organ damage from the gunshots," explained the surgeon.

"So, he's….?" Norman stammered, too afraid to finish the question.

A smile crossed over the Dr's face. "We managed to patch him up and repair his injuries. He's in the ICU right now, still in serious condition, so we'll have to monitor him closely. "

Norman released the breath he wasn't even aware he had been holding. Tears threatened to well up from his eyes and he ran his hands through his dirty, matted hair. Thank fucking God!

"He's not out of the woods yet," Dr. Kardish continued. "But we'll give him the best medical care we can. He's still got a long road of recovery ahead of him."

"Thank you Dr. Thank you so much!" Norman exclaimed, clasping one hand on the surgeon's back and pumping the Dr's hand in a vigorous handshake with his other hand.

The surgeon smiled meekly. "Just doing my job," he said, and then he nodded to the cell phone at Norman's hip. "You might want to do yours. I believe Captain Perry has been trying to reach you."

Norman let go of the Dr's hand and pulled the phone from the waistband of his pants and saw the LED display light up – '23 missed calls.' Shit! He had left his phone on vibrate. "We told him not to bother coming down as there was nothing he could do for Lt. Blake anyway. And you've been out cold on the chairs here ever since Sergeant Perez left. The nurses felt bad and didn't want to wake you up," explained Dr. Kardish.

"Thank you for that," responded Norman. "When can I see him?"

"He's not awake yet and we'll need to keep a very close eye on him overnight. Why don't you go home and get some rest son?" suggested the surgeon. "You can come back again in the morning. We'll know more then anyway."

Norman nodded his head, a feeling of relief and fatigue suddenly coming over him despite his prolonged nap earlier. Dr. Kardish turned and started to walk back down the hallway, when he turned back to the Agent after only a few steps. "Oh, I almost forgot," he said, beckoning to the triage nurse stationed at the patient check-in counter of the ER. The nurse held up a large Ziploc baggie and handed it to the Dr. "Here is Lt. Blake's belongings. His clothing was pretty much ruined so we disposed of it, and Sergeant's Perez and Ryan seized his gun, but this is everything else he had on his possession."

Dr. Kardish held out the bag and Norman took it from him. "Thank you again, for everything," said the Agent. The surgeon nodded and then walked back behind the swinging doors of the hospital.

Norman scanned the contents of the bag; it held Carter's gold watch that he had received upon promotion to Lieutenant, his gold police shield, the car keys to their police issued Caprice, Carter's house keys, his wallet and a gold pinky ring. Why hadn't I noticed he was wearing that before? What kind of pretentious dick wears a pinky ring? Norman let out a snicker and then pulled out the man's wallet and flipped through it. He found a handful of small bills, multiple credit and debit cards; nothing of immediate interest until he flipped to the plastic insert that usually housed photographs. Norman found one picture enclosed of a dark haired little girl, probably about five years of age. She was clothed in a red dress, black patent leather shoes, and she had her arms around the scruffy neck of a German shepherd, a big grin covering her face. The dog looked blissfully happy as well, its tongue lolling out of its mouth. Who's the kid and the dog? Instantly Norman's profiler instinct kicked in, realizing there might be a lot more to Carter than he first imagined. His fatigue had suddenly vanished and he recognized the familiar feel of adrenaline pounding through his system

He flipped back through all the plastic cards in the wallet until he found the detective's driver's took a glance at the address, pocketed the man's house keys and exited the hospital. Time to pay Lt. Blake a little visit.


Wednesday, October 5th, 2011, 8:35pm

With no other means of transportation, Norman was forced to take a taxi to Carter's place, but he asked the cab driver to first swing by Nathaniel William's address. Just as he had suspected, the building had yellow tape cordoning off the front door. A lone guard was stationed at the door and a dozen or so reporters were milling about with cameras and microphones, likely finishing up their stories for the 10pm news report. Luckily the gray Caprice was still sitting out front, but Norman didn't want to risk picking it up now with all the reporters around. He would have to come back for it later.

During the cab ride, Norman's phone rang and it was Captain Perry. The Agent had forgotten about the missed calls after the surgeon had handed over the bag of Blake's possessions. After Perry made sure Norman was okay and uninjured he gave him a loud chewing out, causing Norman to hold the phone away from his ear. The cabby shot a sympathetic glance back at him while Perry continued to yell and curse.

Dr. Kardish had given Perry the same report on Blake he had given Norman back at the hospital, so there was no new update on that front. But Perry told the Agent to report back to him at the police station in the morning for a debriefing of the shooting and to continue his investigation of the Origami Killer. He also informed Jayden that he would be working with Detective Ash on the case now that Blake was temporarily out of commission. Norman responded in the affirmative and then quickly hung up the phone.

Realizing his stomach was still growling and he hadn't purchased any junk from the hospital vending machine since he was sidetracked by the surgeon's report on Blake, Norman got the cabby to swing through the drive-thru of a local McDonald's. He picked up a Big Mac value meal and two cheeseburgers. This was Jayden's fast food meal of choice back in University when he was pulling all-nighters while studying for his psychology degree. He had been known to polish off a value meal and cheeseburgers for dinner and then often make a midnight run for a McFlurry and an extra serving of fries. Norman's crazy fast metabolism had kept him slim all these years. He still did go to the gym from time to time, but it wasn't a daily or for that matter even weekly occurrence. He knew that with his age finally closing in on thirty this year he wouldn't be able to keep this up forever, but it was a comfort he delighted in and after the stressful, traumatic experience he had just had, he felt he deserved it. God, I'm just like every woman on the planet. 'I'll start my diet tomorrow.'

The taxi dropped Jayden off at Carter's house; a modest, split-entry bungalow out in the suburbs, about a 20 minute drive outside of town. It was a nice neighbourhood, the kind you imagined living and raising a family in. Carter's house was on a closed cul-de-sac. Norman paid the cab driver, giving him an extra large tip for the McDonald's detour and got out of the taxi, clutching the brown McDonald's paper bag to his chest as if it was filled with precious gold.

Rummaging through his pockets for Blake's house key, Norman shifted the paper bag from one hand to another. Awkwardly trying to handle the food and the Ziploc bag of Carter's possessions. The delightful greasy smell of the steaming hot fries and charbroiled meat wafted from the bag and caused his mouth to begin salivating. He couldn't wait to get inside so he could chow down. He turned the key in the lock and opened the front door, flipping on the foyer light. The entryway opened up into a split set of beautiful hardwood stairs, one set leading down to the basement, the other set upstairs into a hallway. Norman ditched his scuffed brown shoes in the foyer and made his way up the stairs. At the top, the hallway opened up into a living room on the left, the kitchen straight ahead, and then down to what Norman assumed were the bedrooms to the right.

Time to eat! I can explore later. The Agent headed straight into the kitchen, dropping the fast-food bag and the Ziploc bag onto the large kitchen island that sat in the middle of the room. Once his hands were free he switched on the overhead light; this late in the Fall and it was already pitch black outside. He shucked his dirty leather jacket onto a pair of bar stools that sat on one side of the island and quickly dipped his hand into the paper bag, pulling out a fistful of fries and cramming them into his mouth. The hot, salty flavour exploded on his taste buds and he literally felt his stomach roll as the first food he had eaten all day made its way into his belly. Grabbing another handful of fries, Norman opened the fridge to find something to drink. Blake's fridge was typical for any middle-aged, over-worked cop-bachelor. A few half empty Chinese food take out cartons and a greasy leftover pizza box littered the shelves. Some bottles of condiments and cans of Pepsi Max lined the door, while cartons of milk and orange juice with dubious expiry dates also turned up on Norman's little scavenger hunt. But he finally hit the jackpot as he rummaged deeper in the fridge when his hand closed around a can of Coors light. He popped the pull-tab, hearing the satisfying fizz and took a long guzzle from the can, throwing his head back. Refreshing!

Norman grabbed the rest of his food and, with beer in the other hand, he kicked the fridge door closed and walked out into the living room. He sat down on the brown leather sofa, the fabric cool to the touch. A glass coffee table provided the perfect repository for his food, and he unwrapped a cheeseburger and wolfed it down in two bites. Then without barely a pause, repeated the action on the second burger. He stopped only for a few sips of beer and to shovel more fries into his face.

Before he could turn to the Big Mac, Norman felt a gurgle begin to rumble through his stomach. He held a hand up to his mouth and choked back a burp behind his closed fist. There's no way the Mickey D's has gone through my system that fast? Anyone who ate McDonald's was all too familiar with the after effects that greasy food had on the digestive system. But no, this wasn't the fast food; Norman recognized the shiver that crept up his spine and the fuzziness that was beginning to set in behind his eyes. His stomach recoiled again and he felt his intestines begin to churn.

Fumbling in his pants pocket, he pulled out his vial of Tripto and held it up to the light, giving it a quick shake. He saw that only about a quarter inch of the powder remained. Norman hesitated, wondering if he had enough back at his motel room to last him the rest of the case, but then quickly flipped off the top and took a quick snort of the remaining drug. He felt the comforting tingle start in his nasal passages, and then quickly spreading throughout his head and then down his arms, spine, stomach, legs…right to the tips of his toes. Even his intestines settled down from the magical touch of the little blue powder.

Norman let out a sigh of relief and cracked his neck to one side with a loud satisfying pop. He glanced at his watch. It was quarter to ten. It's too late to go get my stash tonight, besides I don't even have a vehicle. Looks like I'm spending the night. He got up off the couch, grabbing the fast food bag that held the remaining burger, and decided to check out the rest of Blake's house, determined to find a TV where he could catch the late night news report.

The Agent purposely chose to avoid investigating Carter's bedroom. As much as his curiosity attempted to get the better of him, wondering what sorts of clues he might find in Satan's den of iniquity, Norman decided that was an itch he could scratch another time. He made his way down the staircase leading to the basement, feeling along the wall to find a light switch in the dark. But before his hand could make contact with the switch plate he heard a low growl and Norman knew it wasn't his stomach rumbling again. He swiped his hand over the smooth painted wall, hoping to find a switch, when he heard the growling sound again. Waves of panic began to wash over Norman as his hand finally found a light switch and flipped it on. Immediately his gaze set upon a large German shepherd seated on a nearby couch, its ears alert sitting straight up on top of its head. Baring its fangs, the dog let out a loud bark and continued to stare down the Agent, making no bones about whose territory Norman had just stumbled into.


A/N - "Memento Vivere" - Translation: "Remember to live."

A/N - (4/14/11) - I had to go back and edit this chapter where I mentioned Norman's cell phone being clipped to his belt, when I remembered that he wasn't wearing a belt in the second chapter! Also, in response to netherlady's review/question: (I did PM you too) Norman goes to Blake's house because his profiler instinct kicked in when he looked through Blake's wallet and personal possessions. He's inquisitive and curious. Plus he's not thinking rationally or logically. The guy is a drug addict, so he's clearly not of sound mind. So I decided to use that as a vehicle to advance the story where I wanted it to go, and so he decides to check out Blake's place. Hope that makes sense to everyone. :)