Chapter 4: Mistakes
A/N: Okay, after a few days of working on it, here's Chapter 4. I appreciate both of my reviewers (you know who you are) and should have Chapter 5 up shortly. I've been very busy with getting ready for my final teaching internship and so that's been a bit of a problem. Hope you enjoy!
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
Johnny woke up just as the sun was setting, not naturally, but because someone or something was banging repeatedly on his bedroom door. Whoever the intruder was was going to suffer a gruesome and horrible death if he had anything to say about it. He stumbled out of the bed after throwing the sheet off onto the floor and it crumpled, wrinkled. The room was dim, and the walls glowed a strange orange through the blinds as he stomped to the door. Pulling it open, he glared at the person on the other side. "Unless it's the end of the world, I'm going back to bed."
"Johnny," Reed frowned, his brow furrowed as he studied Johnny's appearance. "We have a bit of a problem."
"End of the world, big?" He questioned.
"Possibly," Reed planted a hand on the doorframe and held a piece of paper in his right hand.
Johnny did a double take. "What on earth are you talking about?"
"I just got a call from the NSA in D.C.."
"Okay..." he waved his hand, gesturing Reed to continue.
"I think you'd better come out to the living room," he spurted. "It'll be easier if I explain it all at once."
Once Johnny managed to dress himself in jeans and a t-shirt and staggered sleepily out to the living room, Sue, Ben, and Reed were all sitting in several poses of unease.
"What's going on?" Johnny asked as he collapsed onto the same armchair he'd occupied earlier that morning, yawning loudly.
"A few minutes ago," Reed began, "I received a call from a Dr. Munroe in Washington D.C.. The reason he called was that a crypt which is in New Orleans was broken into."
"And this is important why?" Ben cut in.
"Because this crypt belonged to Bryant Verrett, a famous historian who died in the mid 19th century."
"And he's important why?" Ben started.
"Because he was a Vlad Tepes scholar and he was especially interested in history of the Banat region, particularly Latveria."
Johnny sighed, "Reed, you say that like we're supposed to know who that is."
Reed rolled his eyes, "think Dracula. Vlad Tepes was who the legend was based on."
Johnny drew on one of his horror movie nights with an old girlfriend, "also known as Bela Lugosi."
"Right. But the NSA is more concerned about the papers that were entombed with Verrett; two scrolls of parchments, which were essentially gibberish. Probably a code of some sort, but he was never able to figure it out."
"Are we sure about that?" Sue interjected.
"No, but what's odd is that the grave robber stole only one of the scrolls. The other was left untouched."
"Why would someone steal only one of them?" Johnny asked, arching an eyebrow.
"That's what they want us to figure out," Reed said, crossing his arms over his chest. "They're sending the remaining scroll here so we can try to figure out its significance. It should be here by tomorrow morning. Dr. Yale should be here by nine o'clock."
Sue looked worried, "and this Dr. Yale thinks that we can figure out whatever's on the paper? What if it's just gibberish?"
"Then we'll be going on a wild goose chase," Reed said, "but on the NSA's dime. All I know is that he's a cryptographer sent down here to help us with this and to ensure the security of the document."
Johnny crossed his arms over his chest. "Are you any good at breaking codes, ciphers?"
Reed nodded, "I've had some experience in that area. Why?"
"Well, if we have to figure out this code, it's probably important."
"We will have the brain trust of the entire NSA behind us. I'm more concerned about it's tie to Latveria, which, I believe, is why the NSA contacted us in the first place. They're well aware of Victor's history."
"But Vic is a statue," Ben said. "What could he possibly have to do with this?"
Reed shrugged, "I don't know. I'm sure we'll know more when we get the scroll tomorrow. I've invited the NSA agent to stay with us, that way we'll have better security."
Johnny frowned. "Well, this government stooge should be good for somethin' hopefully," he said. "Now, if no one else needs my assistance," he stood and scooped up a black leather jacket, "I'm heading out."
Before anyone could object, he'd swept out into the elevator, giving a half-wave to everyone, who gaped at him.
"Leave it to Johnny," Sue said, rolling her eyes. "Reed, what did they say about Victor? He couldn't possibly be back, right?"
Reed shook his head, "I don't know." He turned, planting a hand on the back of the couch and stared out the window at the red sky.
Johnny whistled as he made his way down the street. He didn't really know where he was headed, but he had to get out of that place. He crossed the street and ducked into McDuff's Bar. Reed's place was so suffocating. It was always so serious. He sauntered up to the bar and grinned at the bartender, who was about early twenties and looked a bit harried, as if she'd worked double shifts and probably couldn't even remember her own name.
"Corona with a lime," he said, pulling up a barstool. She moved away to fill his order and he surveyed the rest of the customers. He smiled involuntarily as he watched the young couple situated in the back corner, who looked to still be in college. The girl practically had stars in her eyes as she watched her date. The boy wore a blue ball cap and was gesturing wildly, causing the girl to laugh hysterically as he performed.
When his drink arrived, he smiled at the bartender again, who blushed and moved away to take care of her remaining customers. He sucked on the lime and took a long swig of the beer, enjoying the music coming from the jukebox. It was old rock, Foreigner, if he wasn't mistaken.
Johnny wasn't really the type to people-watch. Normally, he was too busy being the center of attention, or at least, too busy to notice. However, when a young woman walked through the front door, he was focusing on his beer, his hand wrapped around the neck as he tipped it this way and that, examining the color of the light as it glinted through the amber glass. The young woman sat down on a stool three down from him and waved to the bartender, ordering a beer as well, sans lime.
Johnny finally glanced over, he felt like he'd just swallowed a brick. Or a ton of bricks. The girl glanced over and smiled at him. He could almost picture razor sharp teeth in her smile. That's what she'd reminded him of, a demon. Sure, he'd dated shallow girls before, but this girl, damn it, he couldn't remember her name, had been nuts. She'd only wanted to date him because she could get her picture taken. She was a model for some agency, and all the free publicity she'd gotten from being on his arm for that week had boosted her career, he was sure. He didn't return her smile but held up his beer in a silent toast, praying that would be the end of their encounter. Unfortunately, God liked to torture him. He felt his heart drop to his knees when she stood, her mile-long legs walking towards him until she took the stool next to his and sat down.
"Long time," she whispered in her throaty voice.
He nodded. "How's the modeling?"
"Great," she smiled again, this time without showing her teeth, "I just booked a runway assignment in Milan."
"Good for you." He took another swig of his beer, praying that he'd be able to finish his drink and duck out under false pretenses of having somewhere to be.
"Haven't seen you here in a while," she said.
"Um, yeah. I've been busy." He was thankful when he took the next sip that only a few drops fell into his mouth. Thank God, he was finished. "But listen, I've got somewhere I've got to be in," he looked at his watch, "ten minutes. I'll get killed if I'm late." He took a few bills out of his wallet and slid them under his glass, winking at the bartender when he caught her eye.
The young woman smirked, a dimple in her cheek winking. "Sure you do." She crossed her legs and his Adam's apple bobbed as he watched her skirt slide up her thigh.
Ten minutes later...
He had no idea how he'd ended up in the alley behind the bar. The model's legs wrapped around his waist as he pushed her up against the brick wall, her teeth digging into his ear as she nipped at him. When he pulled away, panting, he couldn't believe what he'd let himself get caught up in. He hadn't been thinking, obviously. He was just, well, lonely.
"Sorry," he muttered, staring into the face of the model, who looked like the cat that had swallowed the canary. "I've got to go." He darted off before she could utter another word, but as he rounded the corner, a flashbulb caught him full in the face, blinding him. As he shoved the photographer out of the way, he did hear her in the distance shouting, "call me, Johnny," with a laugh. He rushed down the streets of Manhattan. Night had fallen already, and he didn't want to go home yet. Instead, he headed for Central Park. Maybe a little night air would clear his head.
Taking a seat on a park bench, he listened to the night sounds. What had him so off, he wondered. Boredom? He just felt like he couldn't settle. He considered calling Tricia, his latest girlfriend, to see if she wanted to do something, but couldn't make his fingers dial her number. He put his cell phone back in his pocket and stood up. Maybe he would head back to the house. Read a book, watch a movie. Seemed to work last night. He was just in some weird funk that he needed to dig himself out of. And whatever this whole thing with the NSA was seemed to concern him more because it nagged at the back of his mind, an important detail that he seemed to be forgetting. He shook his head as he walked. It was nothing; just his tired brain playing tricks on him. As he reached the Baxter Building, he nodded at the doorman and hit the button for the top floor, thankful to be back.
It was nearly ten o'clock when he reached the building and after unlocking the front door of the apartment, he heard silence. The only light left on was the one in the foyer, which he assumed was Sue's doing. Reed, Ben, and Sue were nowhere to be found, which means that they had probably all gone to bed. He stopped by the kitchen to fix himself a snack and grab another beer. Heading back to his room, he perused the bookshelf and found the book he was looking for. Kurt Vonnegut's Cat's Cradle. Not exactly light reading, but it was certainly an interesting book. He fell asleep with the book on his chest, his bedside lamp still on, snoring softly.
As the sun crested over the clouds at twenty thousand feet, Dr. Rebecca Yale yawned and studied the ground below. She'd been on the red eye flight from Washington D.C. after a call from her superior, Dr. Munroe at five o'clock the day before. She'd had to drive into the office from her town home in Williamsburg Village to catch the flight at Dulles. In her bag, a scroll of parchment she'd picked up from her NSA office, which she hadn't even had the chance to examine.
The third plane she'd been on that night descended and she felt the jerk in her stomach at the falling sensation it always caused. She looked around at her fellow passengers, barely suppressing a sneer at the rotund man seated next to her wearing a ten-gallon hat and brown cowboy boots. He'd been drooling on his shoulder and snoring loudly from about fifteen minutes after the plane left the ground after hitting on her, which she modestly deflected by opening up her laptop and putting her ear buds in to block out his questioning. As they jolted when the tires touched the earth, he was jarred awake. She smirked and looked back out the window. The smooth voice of the captain came over the loudspeaker. "On behalf of the entire flight crew, we'd like to thank you for flying with Delta Airlines. It's a cool sixty-two degrees in New York City and the weather is partly cloudy. For those of you traveling to New York City for the first time, we'd like to welcome you. If this is your final destination, welcome home."
Dr. Yale stood, collecting her carry-on bag, and followed the large Texan down the aisle, thankful to be up and moving after such a long night. She'd had two layovers, one in Philadelphia, then another in Chicago, although she couldn't explain why a flight from Washington D.C. took nearly six hours when a direct flight would've only taken an hour and a half.
Since she didn't have any other luggage, Dr. Yale moved straight towards the exit after crossing through the terminal. The line of cabs were waiting patiently, like a long procession of yellow ants. She climbed into the closest one and smiled warily at the cab driver. "Baxter Building, please."
After a harried cab ride to Manhattan, they finally arrived at their destination. "Thanks," she said, as the cabbie helped her with her second bag. She tipped him generously; thankful to be alive after all the swerving he'd done, and turned towards the towering building.
She pushed through the expansive doors and smiled at the spacious lobby as she entered.
"Can I help you?" a kindly old man wearing a maroon uniform asked as he met her at the door.
"Um," she dug out a piece of paper from her jacket pocket and flashed her NSA badge at him. "My name's Dr. Yale. I'm here to meet Reed Richards."
"Ah," the man broke into a smile, "Dr. Richards. Of course. He's on the top floor. Here," he scooped one of her bags out of her hand, "let me help you with that."
"Thanks," she let him help her to the elevator and he handed the bag back to her. She hit the button for the terrace and smiled at the old man as the door slid closed with a whoosh.
She checked her watch as the bell sounded while the car passed each floor. Finally, the doors slid apart, and she stood on the landing, two large double doors leading the way to the Richards residence. She raised her hand and knocked loudly twice and referred to her notes left for her by Dr. Munroe again. When the door opened, she looked up at the man standing on the other side of the door, a half-grin on his face and said, "You've got to be fucking kidding me."