Disclaimer: Story will contain graphic, heavily violent scenes, strong language, and adult themes so reader discretion is advised. All characters are property of Quantic Dream and in no way does the author claim any rights to their entities forthwith. Blah blah blah please don't sue.
Chapter IV
Carter reluctantly continued his work at the police station after the whole Triptocaine incident with Norman. Sure, the agent was recovering at Mercy Hospital (as well as the male nurses who received some bruises and black eyes after failing to restrain the Lieutenant), but even so that didn't mean Carter's world had to stop abruptly. Rather, in an unscrupulous world of law enforcement, the Lieutenant's reality could never stop, especially with the most dreadful and unglorifying part of police work was ever so present: filing daily reports into the database. He had quite a backlog of reports to begin with even before the Origami Killer case. And at first Carter ignored them, procrastinating, convincing himself he had better obligations to fulfill (like maybe catching a serial killer for example). Then over time the reports began piling exponentially, mushrooming even, ebbing their way irritatingly into his life until it became this unbearable shit bag eyesore he just had to shovel up and toss away.
And his enthusiasm to today's series of filing reports was no different, much like the exuberance of a child on Christmas day receiving a sack of yellow onions as gifts – disdainful and utterly appalling. When it came to reports, Carter preferred to start with the newest ones coming in fresh for the day, then slowly work his way backwards in the hopes that, perhaps, the unreported will eventually get shuffled to another less fortunate soul also suffering in mundane file-reporting limbo. And most of the time this actually worked, to the derision of most his fellow officers. But popularity with Carter was just incidental to him in the police force, he was simply all about getting the real job done: catching the criminals of the city's underbelly, no matter the cost, including the still uncaptured Origami Killer. And if it took rolling office report bullshit to somebody else down the pyramid, so be it, as long as Carter was not hanging out at the bottom to have the dung be defecated all over him.
So the first report of the day started with a man who came into the police station visibly distraught and worried. He went to the front desk, spoke to the attendants there for a few moments, and was brought over to Carter's station soon after. As the man took a seat the Lieutenant watched his solemn expression from across the desk, noticing the man's eyes staring to the ground, as well as his slouched posture and wrung hands, accompanied with his disheveled hair and unkept stubbly beard. It was all strangely recognizable, like a reminiscent and ethereal form of Ethan Mars. The feeling of familiarity unsettled Carter, but he simply dismissed it as a passing after-thought.
"How can I help you today, mister…?" Carter's voice trailed off.
"Andrew Barker," said the distressed man. "I'm here about my daughter, she's missin'…"
If Andrew's kid had been a boy, the incident could have hinted at the modus operandi of the escaped Origami Killer, and Carter would have lunged at the opportunity for a fresh lead on the case. However, being that she was a girl, and knowing that the Origami Killer hunted only boys, Carter was ambivalent. He was naturally concerned of course, but also somewhat anxious, wanting to file the report already and perhaps procrastinate the day further by getting a cup of the headquarters' renowned bitter-as-hell coffee.
"I was there at the Covered Market with my kid Jessica this mornin'," recalled Andrew Barker, adding, "She said she wanted to look at the chicken cages while I bought some salmon for lunch. I was quick about buyin' it, ya see, and when I turned back, she was gone…"
Carter was familiar with the Covered Market. It was one of the more popular and larger places in the city where a lot of citizens congregated daily; the density of people was unfortunately an optimal condition to steal away any child unnoticed. The Lieutenant also knew this area as the place where he and Norman apprehended Miroslav Korda, one of the two people originally suspected to be the Origami Killer. Well, it was more like Norman who caught the suspect; Carter was particularly reluctant at the time and lagged purposefully to let the Agent sweat a little. He figured Norman should get his uncalloused pretty boy hands dirty with some action for a change. The Lieutenant had to hold back a mischievous grin at the memory as he continued to type up the report on the computer.
"What time did you two arrive at the Covered Market?" asked Carter. "And what was your daughter wearing when she disappeared? Try to remember exactly, every detail can be important."
"Probably about 9:30 AM, and she wore a light-blue jacket and cargo pants, and she had my black beanie cap," said Andrew slowly, his lower lip quivering as his voice began to crack. "Jessica always loved my cap ya know, such a daddy's girl, and now she's missin' and…"
Carter immediately looked back towards his monitor to avoid being humanly touched by Andrew's authentic melancholy and typed up the preliminary missing person's information into the police database. He did so halfheartedly this time, not because he was predisposed to being an unsympathetic jerk-face, but primarily because the Lieutenant was starting to get distracted with another matter slowly dancing in his head, occupying his thoughts: Norman Jayden.
He thought Norman to be a complete imbecile to get overdosed. The Agent would have surely been far too dead to be brought back by any means had he not called the Lieutenant earlier that night to scream collegiate obscenities at him (half of them Carter didn't even understand, but he determined the context behind each haughty diatribe was anything but pleasant). And just when the Lieutenant barreled through the door of an obscure motel room at the edge of town, wanting to beat the living shit out of Norman for what he said over the phone, he saw the Agent sprawled on the dirty carpet in his own pathetic shame and Triptocaine vials. Then he saved him by applying CPR, and Carter didn't even want to venture down the skewed abnormality behind such an activity: two full grown men, making lip contact, the breathlessness, and man sweat, the urgency, ending in fulfillment. All of it was so oddly prurient if not intimate, especially afterwards when the Lieutenant felt the beating heart of the revived Agent with a fist to his chest, as if some unnamed connection was finally bridged and forming between them.
But he dismissed the whole event as just another peg to add towards Carter's many reasons why he didn't like Norman Jayden; hell he reviled him (or so he thought). Even when they first met on that one rainy evening in that stretch of wasteland to investigate another crime scene of the Origami Killer, Carter already had this wall of enmity between the two. Sure, there was the standard half-hearted cordiality and self-introduction that came when two people met for the first time.
"We're on the same team now!" Carter had said to Norman at that time with artificial congeniality, followed by a click of his mouth, a small wave and an overly sincere wink.
However in those few seconds upon their first meeting, Carter already sensed they would be anything but a team. His preliminary judgment of Norman was this: the Agent was a polished, porcelain, bureaucratic asshat; an unwelcomed outsider, some foreign invader, no less than a virus penetrating the membrane of his police world nucleus. And from that point onward in the case, Norman was always at ends against Carter, continually countering the Lieutenant with intuitive answers backed by logical examinations or other alternative solutions to remedy problems in an ethical approach.
Norman even single handedly disseminated the entire two years worth of Carter's investigations on the Origami Killer with one simple meeting between him, Perry, and Ash, using analytical slide shows streamlined from his fancy glasses while discussing specifics with elevated psychology jargon (but the Lieutenant made sure the agent knew he was a "fuckin' asshole" anyway). Ultimately, Norman always challenged him, making the Lieutenant briefly evaluate his own actions, and for just a flicker of a moment, Carter would feel rather foolish.
Except he was no fool, he was Lieutenant fucking Carter Blake, master and commander of the homicide task force assigned to navigate through the tumultuous waters of the Origami Killer investigation! His gun was his mast and his fists were his sails, with his biting words the wind that carried him through this dangerous journey – he was the unstoppable force!
And yet, Norman Jayden was there in his life as the assigned partner to the case. The agent was always equable, carrying with him his own mountainous atmosphere: his intellect was the rising ground, his logic the solid crags, his words the impenetrable wall of defiance – he was the immovable object.
No wonder the two were at odds, they were completely dichotomous in nature, the quintessential polar opposites. And Norman upset the Lieutenant beyond a personal threshold, even without being physically present, to the point of dominating his thoughts in moments when his mind was least guarded. And yet despite all of that, Carter saved Norman from his Triptocaine overdose, compelled by a greater sense of being, perhaps to redeem himself for his fractured past. Or perhaps it was what Carter felt all along, sensing something more when it came to Norman, something beyond the Lieutenant vs. Agent battle they always fought.
His thoughtful momentum suddenly shifted, and wondered how the Agent would be fairing right now, if he was recovering well at Mercy Hospital. After all, Carter did yell out to him that he wanted him alive, and it seemed he got his wish, which made him feel particularly elated, if not continually worried for his wellbeing.
Yet more to the point, he immediately countered his own concern for the Agent with skepticism: why should he even care how the fuckin' asshole was doing? Didn't Carter dislike Norman so utterly? But he did save his life, who wouldn't at a chance at personal redemption? Except somehow, the real truth behind the façade, beyond the anger and his so-called redemption, was that his intentions were not as selfish as it seemed, but something much more compassionate and personal.
"Lieutenant!" cried Captain Leighton Perry from across the room, breaking Carter's thoughtful revere. "Meeting in my office, immediately!"
Carter gave a low, throaty growl of annoyance. When Captain Perry summoned you into his office for an immediate meeting, it meant that you were in for some dreadful news. And for Carter's case, it was no doubt going to regard the search progress on the Origami Killer, which honestly, didn't make any leads since Madison Paige's testimony two months ago. And even then, her words were circumstantial at best, the greatest lead being an amnesiac woman by the name of Ann Shephard who had passed away the day after Madison's statement, taking with her the possible confirmation to the killer's true identity. The reporter did claim that there was a laptop at the killer's apartment that she couldn't hack into which had all the concrete information needed to convict him; but that piece of evidence was caught in a gas explosion. Searching the suspected Origami Killer's ruined dwelling afterwards yielded no such object, not even pieces of a hard drive or a silicon part of a data chip. So either the computer never existed, was atomized in the explosion, or was cleaned out professionally so that no traces of it could be found.
He considered the first option, since Carter sensed there was something not quite right with Miss Paige that made him doubt her. There was something in her eyes, restless and anxious, ones that seemed bothered by ghosts of the past; eyes that were very much like his. But beyond dead evidence from an equally dead witness, a fantasy computer that never existed, and a possibility that the entire lead by Madison Paige was all completely suspect based on personal hunch, there had been no further advancement at all in the past two months. And now, Carter would have to explain his lack of findings on the Origami Killer case to his superior officer who would, no doubt, be highly displeased.
"Ash," Carter called to his fellow officer from across his desk. "Help out Mr. Barker will ya?"
Ash nodded and made his way over to his workstation, replying with an impartial tone, "Yes Lieutenant."
'Well, looks like shit does roll downhill after all…' thought Carter disappointedly since it was not quite the circumstances he was expecting.
Carter respected Ash enough to treat him as an equal despite their separation in ranking; hell, Ash was probably the only person in the entire precinct whose presence was acceptable to the Lieutenant, as well as one of the few who could stand his acerbic nature. Simply put, he liked him enough that he didn't want to push his report filing to Ash, but he was the only other officer that was better qualified in handling a missing person case properly. Perhaps Carter would show his thanks later by giving him a brotherly slap on the back, which was the most humbling that the Lieutenant would ever be in front of his peers, and as rare an event as seeing a double rainbow across the sky. As Carter stood up from his desk and began walking to Perry's office, Andrew shot his hand out urgently and grabbed him by the wrist.
"Please, Lieutenant, find my lil' girl, she's all I've got left…" Andrew pleaded.
Had it been any other man at that moment, Carter would have rebuked the unwanted physical contact by pushing said person harshly away, maybe even throw in a back hand as well since he was feeling particularly irate by Perry's summons. But when the Lieutenant looked into Andrew's eyes, he saw such a deep, morose expression as tears dared to break out from the edge of the father's lids. It was like seeing the shadow of Ethan Mars made manifest inside Andrew, a man who cared deeply for his child. This stirred a sense of uneasiness within the Lieutenant, bordering between a fine line of shame and guilt from failing to save a son for a loving father, failing both Shaun and Ethan Mars.
"Please…" Andrew croaked out in a whimper as a single tear fell down his cheek.
Carter cleared his throat from a sudden tightness he felt, then replied, "Mr. Barker, we'll do our best to find Jessica."
And when Andrew released his grip, the Lieutenant quickly turned and walked away. He did not want anyone to see him now, to see that the mighty and powerful Atlas statue that was Carter, who held behind him the respect and authority of the world that came with a man of his police status, had the visage of the tiniest cracks in the furthest and most vulnerable part of his chiseled character. In that, perhaps, the magnificent asshole Carter Blake did have a heart after all.
He stood before the Captain's office, composed himself quickly with a deep breath, and exhaled to extinguish whatever weakness was emerging. And when Carter felt he had centered himself back to his Lieutenant persona, he briskly entered Perry's office and closed the door behind him. He immediately noticed that the Captain was standing next to his desk, fiddling with an unwound tie around his neck with great difficulty, struggling to knot it in earnest.
"Lieutenant, help me with this neck-tie will you?" Perry asked, lifting one tail end of the tie in the air. "I've a press conference in 10 minutes and I need to look presentable."
Carter's jaw tightened out of aggravation, feeling his blood pressure rising. He was not too fond of Perry's personal summons, especially when it involved the neck-tie scenario. For one thing, everyone in the station knew that when he called you into his office to fix his tie, it was all just a precursor. This was his way of entering into your personal zone, creating an inescapable box so that the Captain could snare you in his trap to sternly scrutinize you with what was running in his mind. Particularly, this trick was saved for those whom he felt upset with, either with the work they were doing, or simply for their interjecting presence. He did this before with Norman Jayden; and much like Carter, Perry was not too fond of the agent's company either.
He and Perry worked together for over a decade now, and never felt any real enmity between each other's presence. So that would mean that the Captain was disappointed with his lack of progress on the search for the Origami Killer. Carter let out a small sigh as he grudgingly approached Perry to do what was asked of him. He didn't like being someone's personal butler, especially when there was clandestine purpose behind it, but he had to respect the authority of Perry; he was, unfortunately, his commanding officer. So the Lieutenant took the end pieces of his tie in each hand, with the superior officer looming over his subordinate with a puffed out arrogant chest, the closeness uncomfortably invasive to Carter.
"I hope you've made progress in the Origami Killer case, Lieutenant?" asked Perry, sounding rather condescending, as Carter was certain the Captain knew full-well the answer to this.
After all, he was the archetypal Wizard of Oz in the land of his police munchkins, lording over all of them with the foresight to perceive what happened in his own precinct. Regardless, with Carter at the mercy of Perry, he had no choice but to answer anyway. It was particularly emasculating to the Lieutenant to say the least, but it was better to respond, even if the inquiry was rhetorical.
"No sir," answered Carter, opting for the more pragmatic approach than to cover it with a saccharine lie. He took the large end of Perry's tie and went under the narrow side of it.
"Of course you haven't," said the Captain derisively. "I give you a lot of leniency with your work Lieutenant Blake. Your methods are good and effective, but also highly questionable, yet that doesn't bother me since we both share the same practicality when it comes to getting the job done."
"Yes sir," replied Carter in a nonplussed manner. He wasn't quite sure where this conversation was going, as he continued to weave the tie by bringing the big tail up and through the neck loop.
"Considering that the case is fast becoming cold-" continued the Captain, "-I've talked with the FBI on the matter and we both agreed that you and Agent Jayden will continue with the investigation to the very end."
Carter's heart skipped a beat, in shock? Disdain perhaps? Or maybe it was some deep, secret sense of unexplained excitement? To work with Norman again made Carter actually pause for once; he could not precisely pin the emotion he was feeling as he stopped in mid tying and could only blurt out a query, "Sir?"
But the Captain kept his explanation going unfettered: "When Agent Jayden was assigned to this investigation, you two made great progress despite your…dysfunctions as partners. But I'm sure you two will work through your differences this time and catch the Origami Killer, because if you don't..."
Carter's movements on the necktie continued but churned slowly as he went over the knot, absorbing and filtering the information that was coming in.
"…Somebody needs to take the fall," said Perry ominously.
Then it came to Carter clearly, the realization hitting him like an uppercut to the chin. Of course somebody had to take the fall, the investigation had been going on for over two years now. And what had the police to show for it? Circumstantial evidence, lose ends, and a line of coffins alongside broken and unrecoverable families, each one an ignominious reminder of the horrible truth that there was Justice for no one in this cruel world.
And Perry was absolutely right about having the same practicality as Carter when finishing the job. Except for the Captain's case, it was to throw a fellow subordinate under the bus to be lambasted and crucified by the public, as the superior officer would remain unsullied and blameless.
Carter knew Perry loved the limelight, all the attention with the glitz and the cameras, like being the pinnacle example of lawfulness and Justice. Except recently it had been anything but that, with the public extremely unsettled and savagely out for blood, with a strong desire to point a finger at somebody, wanting a figure to blame, to make a reason for all the senseless child killings - and the Captain would not be that target.
"It's either the Origami Killer, or one of you two," said Perry coldly. "That's all there is to it."
And Carter strung up the necktie to its last knot, a little too forcefully at the end, and let go. The Captain chortled for a moment as he felt the tight pressure around his neck, and understood this was just the Lieutenant's way of silent rebellion, obviously displeased by the latest set of news. But Carter had no authority in the situation while all of it was in Perry's hands; the commanding officer was not intimidated in the slightest by his subordinate's antics. So the Captain loosened his own tie at the neck ring, then cleared his throat.
"Understand, Lieutenant?" asked Perry with a tone as stern as his stare.
And just like that time when Carter first met Norman in that stretch of wasteland, the Lieutenant gave a click of his mouth, followed by a small wave and an overly sincere wink, then ending with a tone of artificial congeniality and said, "Yes sir! After all, we're on the same team!"
Of course they were anything but the same team. However, it was sarcasm at its finest, and the Lieutenant was a pure unadulterated savant. Because team player or not, Carter knew how to be an asshole, even if he was cornered by a bigger animal, just so he could psyche out his opponent. And the beast that was Perry simply regarded the Lieutenant's actions as merely a bark with no bite, but even jaws are capable enough to tear through savagely if left without a muzzle. Their little game of alpha dog posturing was at a stalemate for now, but the Captain still had a few rounds of ammunition to spend.
"Now if you'll excuse me, I have a press conference to attend to. The people will be disappointed to hear about the lack of progress on the case…" Perry said as he adjusted his tie once more to make it comfortable on himself. "Hmm, not a bad knot Lieutenant, but Agent Jayden was better."
It was a first shot, a minor grazing blow against the Lieutenant's ego, being compared disparagingly to his despicable counterpart, and obviously not because of the tie, but subtly in overall capacities and attributes as an investigator. Carter was about to shrug the petulant, off-handed comment as Perry walked to the doorway. But as the Captain opened the door, he looked back at the Lieutenant with a hard and knowing expression.
He said grimly, "You best catch the Origami Killer, Lieutenant. We can't afford to keep failures in our task force."
Second shot, through the chest and straight to the heart, and Lieutenant Carter Blake was brutally put beside himself shamefully. As Perry closed the door behind him, the Lieutenant balled his hands into powerful, clenched fists until the knuckles turned white, knowing that not only was his once affable superior now a fierce enemy, but that he was reminded of all his own failures in the past two year. All of them were the nine boys, victims of the Origami Killer, helpless, drowning, just as painfully as Carter was in his own dishonor, with the clandestine tenth figure towering above all of them in an eclipsed shadow; the Lieutenant's fractured past, his greatest failure was always beckoning him, unforgivable and inescapable.
The Thin Man had a hunger that could never be satisfied. This isn't to say it was the hunger of the body, the base primal necessities such as eating or intercourse. No, his hunger was much deeper, much more resounding through the infinite emptiness of his soul, the one that cried out for the need of true Justice in a world so very absent of it; a rotten world where the criminals like the Origami Killer roamed freely, while the innocent were tormented and punished, till death suffocated them in a their tomb of lament.
He needed to devour their evils, their criminal sin was their flesh and the Thin Man's twisted form of Justice was the his sharpened teeth to eviscerate and masticate them, swallow their darkness until it mingled in a violent, cannibalistic intercourse inside his spirit's belly. And while Scott Shelby was his savored delicious main course, there were plenty of guilty pleasures that would serve as his appetizers. The Thin Man had to wait for the right time to claim Scott, devour and consume him; after all, his white whale had only recently been rebirthed into the world, no doubt busy with setting the upcoming twisted trials for Andrew Barker to save his daughter Jessica.
So the Thin Man selected Brad Silver to temporarily alleviate his dark hunger. During his personal investigations in tracking down Scott Shelby, one of his leads brought him to Brad who was involved in Ethan Mars' fourth "Shark Trial." The objective of this trial was to simply kill the drug dealer, but somehow during their vicious scuffle around the apartment, Ethan Mars remained largely unsuccessful. The Thin Man couldn't ascertain why this trial went unresolved, after all Ethan Mars had navigated the dangers of reverse freeway travel, crawled through broken glass and high voltage wires, and even brutally dismembered his own finger to save his son Shaun. Going that far in the Origami Killer's trials, why wasn't Ethan able to kill Brad? Was it because he was a father too, and out of mercy he opted to not execute him?
But Brad Silver was a crook, a criminal, the scum of society! Just because Brad was a father of two girls did not excuse his actions as a drug dealer, trafficking in dope, Triptocaine, and other narcotics to junkies all over town. Hell, Brad even sold his junk to the corrupt police force of the city as filthy bribes, making him largely invulnerable and invisible to the law. Such perversion sickened the Thin Man to his very skin, knowing that a rotten man leeched off the fat of people's weaknesses and addictions, and never feeling the divine wrath of judgment.
No, no more. The Thin Man concluded that it was time for Brad Silver to be punished for his crimes, and that he would use Nathaniel once again to accomplish his bidding. This was, after all, a perfect opportunity to further mold his little disciple into his wonderful, manipulated instrument.
So when the Thin Man told Nathaniel of the plan, and the danger it could entail, the devotee was naturally anxious at first, knowing that confronting the drug dealer antagonistically could lead to certain demise. In fact, having been told of the incident with Brad Silver and Ethan Mars in their deadly conflict with guns blazing all around the apartment did nothing to quell Nathaniel's fears. At one point the religious disciple had begun to protest in earnest.
"Please my Lord," begged Nathaniel on his knees, hands clasped together. "Have mercy, I am afraid…"
But the Thin Man had simply placed a reassuring hand to his forehead, blessing him, endowing him with an illusory sense of strength, manipulating Nathaniel's binding chains of faith.
"Even though you walk through the valley of the shadow of death, you will fear no evil, for you are with Me," said the Thin Man in his compelling tone. "You will follow through with this important task, your God commands you."
And that was all it took for the Thin Man to convince his fanatic devotee to proceed with the plan.
It all started on a relatively quiet Thursday afternoon, where Nathaniel was instructed to approach Brad Silver at his apartment. And when Nathaniel was there, he stood outside the dealer's apartment with a fearful edge racing through his body, raising a shaking fist towards the door, gulping in nothing but dryness in his mouth, hesitating. It was only when Nathaniel recalled the words from his Lord, and how important it was to fulfill the duty assigned to him, did he finally knock on the door. There was a moment of silence after the first knock, and before Nathaniel could raise his hand to knock a second time, Brad opened the door. The dealer looked haggard in his red bathrobe, with bleary squinty eyes and an unkept set of grey hair – all characteristics of a grumpy man obviously disturbed from his slumber.
"Yeah, what do you want?" grumbled Brad in a bleary tone, glowering.
Nathaniel's hands shook apprehensively as he stammered, "I…I'm…"
The dealer took immediate notice of the man's seemingly uncontrollable shaking fists, the profuse amount of sweat on his brow, and his quivering voice. Then his instincts told him that there was just something not right with this person. Ergo: his symptoms seemed to indicate possible narcotic withdrawals or dependencies of some kind, so he further surmised that Nathaniel must have been one of his druggie clients. Although quite on the contrary, the man before him was simply nervous; but to the mind of a dealer like Brad, the world was a stage, and all the people were just actors dressed in dancing dope bags, Triptocaine vials and various other drugs, with him at the center, surrounded by piles of wonderful, corruptible cash. Regardless, Brad considered Nathaniel's presence a nuisance, and wanted to do away with him as quickly as possible.
"Shit…" growled Brad irritably, advancing forward with a threatening gait. "Didn't I tell you junkie dick wads a thousand times I want none of my business at my door?"
Without warning, Nathaniel drew a gun from behind him, holding it desperately with both hands and recited, "Angels and ministers of grace defend us…"
There was a tense moment as the two suddenly squared off, with Nathaniel preparing to fulfill his duty even if it meant his life. Instinctually, Brad held up his hands to show his nonthreatening position and took one slow step back.
"Okay buddy, there's no need to get violent," Brad said as he began to mediate the situation by adding, "So what, you want some cash, some dope? Maybe a bit o' Tripto? I'm sure we can make a deal…"
But Nathaniel stood his ground, neither moving backwards or forwards, which the drug dealer found a bit strange how his assailant was not taking further initiative. Brad, having faced this type of danger before in his line of illicitus work, was quite familiar with this little tango: guy pulls gun, guy moves forward a few steps, guy makes threats and asks for drugs or cash, Brad goes back a few steps, Brad tries to negotiate out of the situation – and ends with either Brad getting his ass kicked then has his business prospects stolen, or Brad fights back and kicks the other guy's ass. And for Brad, he preferred to aim for the winning option, especially if he wanted to take advantage of Nathaniel's unmoving position.
So Brad pulled a shotgun from the umbrella holder next to the doorway and aimed it dangerously towards Nathaniel's head. Discretion was indeed the better part of valor, a lesson he learned on his last encounter with Ethan Mars two months prior. Brad was ready this time, and he wasn't about to let some religious zealot kill him. Fuck that, no more risks like the Ethan Mars incident; Brad would be proactive in protecting himself and his investments.
"Get the FUCK, outta my face you junkie asshole!" screamed Brad, taking an intimidating step forward, shaking his shotgun further ahead to visually iterate the firepower advantage he had.
Brad would have fired instantly without warning, but considering that Nathaniel didn't trespass into his property, there would have been far too much red-tape police bullshit he'd have to hustle through. He wasn't too particularly keen in having to deal with the story of how a dead body ended up outside the residence of a notorious drug peddler like him. If that happened to be the case, either Brad would have go about it with exhausting explanations to the police or sell out drug bribes to them, which he just couldn't afford right now. So he opted to intimidate his attacker to leave the premises for necessity sake, and it seemed to be working effectively.
Nathaniel was visibly shaken, the pistol rattling in his hands as fear gripped him. He was no killer, just a humble servant of his Lord, and Nathaniel only had the gun in his hands for protection against the demons of the world, and the divine phrase bestowed to him by his God before the ordeal – empowering him, guiding him. His shaking began to subdue, feeling himself centered as his fears were gradually abated.
"Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death…" said Nathaniel in prayer, unmoving and holding his ground steadfast, his faith rooting him, his firearm still aimed at the drug dealer.
Brad raised an eyebrow with confusion, but was also irate that Nathaniel wasn't standing down from their tense standoff. He took another stride forward outside the boundary of the apartment entryway, hoping to terrorize the man further with the shotgun aimed close to Nathaniel's face. It was so near that anyone could certainly see right into the metal chamber of the shotgun from where Nathaniel stood. Maybe Brad ought to shoot him anyway just to get rid of this bozo. At least he could survive a single bullet wound if he were to be shot, but nobody can survive a buck shot blast to the head a foot away.
"Last chance junkie, get outta here or I blow off that fuckin' head of yours!" screamed Brad, his finger pressed firmly over the trigger.
But Nathaniel let out a slow exhale, and only replied with the final phrase of his prayer: "I will fear no evil, for I am with Him."
There was an uncomfortable pause, as the religious man looked away from Brad and anxiously to his left. The dealer was puzzled for an iota, wondering what the man before him had been staring at, and curiously glanced off to the side.
The Thin Man had been waiting there, invisible from view at the side of the doorway. And with Brad in his sights, he grabbed the shotgun at mid-barrel and pushed down then away. In shocked retaliation, Brad pulled the trigger as a resounding blast echoed through the apartment complex hallway. And before the drug dealer could even take full witness of his assailant and react, the Thin Man threw a powerful hand chop to his throat, stunning Brad momentarily and choking the air out of him. The dealer began to stumble backwards as he loosened his grip on his weapon with eyes bugging out from the full brunt of the initial assault.
Then with swift demonic speed, the Thin Man pulled the shotgun from Brad's hands to disarm him, spun around in a pirouette, and with a precise and powerful arc, swung the butt end of the shotgun across the dealer's head. If the blow to the skull was not sufficient enough to knock Brad out, his rebound onto the doorframe face first was certainly enough to finish the job; he soon after collapsed to the floor, rolling onto his side unconscious.
The Thin Man straightened himself as he towered over his victim, cracking his neck side to side before tossing the shotgun and sending it skittering across the floor. His fists clenched and unclenched several times as he let out a guttural huff, sounding like a rampaging bull after finishing off its charge. Then he looked back towards Nathaniel, who had fallen on his knees with a look of complete bewilderment, his mouth agape, his hand curling open to drop the gun. And the Thin Man saw that the wall a few inches next to Nathaniel had been riddled with shotgun bearings, leaving a fist sized crater at its epicenter. Had Brad fired sooner in their brief struggle, the blast would have most certainly bored a lethal wound at the upper quadrant of Nathaniel's chest.
Poor Nathaniel - such a pathetic, foolish and yet loyal disciple. The Thin Man surmised that he did his part rather well, the most dangerous and foolhardy part of it; going headfirst into danger unquestioningly, just because he was told to do so. He was a most glorious pawn indeed.
"Arise my child," beckoned the Thin Man, drawing him forth with a rising hand gesture. "You are with me."
Nathaniel stood slowly from the floor, visibly shaken by the missed shotgun blast, but also noticeably disturbed. Though it was not because of the danger he just experienced, rather only part of it. In actuality, most of his disturbance came from witnessing his Lord in action, because for the first time since becoming the Thin Man's follower, he briefly observed a corrosive countenance in that short struggle with Brad. He saw something fierce, something momentarily bestial and unbecoming of a God. The Thin Man could see a semblance of wavering doubt in his little disciple, just a miniscule glimmer, nothing dangerous yet. But if it were left unfettered, it could grow into something troublesome; and the Thin Man still needed Nathaniel, he still served a purpose.
And the Thin Man wondered if Nathaniel could withstand it all to the very end: the master plan, the violent punishments, the abyssal insanity? Could he look into the bowels of his Lord's void, knowing that it would stare right back at him, daring to consume his malleable and fragile soul? The Thin Man would soon test Nathaniel's faith, to understand just how loyal he really was after Nathaniel sees the true nature of his bestial God; when the Thin Man consumes the evils of Brad Silver, because his Savior was so terribly and inexorably starved for the sins of all criminals. Because the Thin Man had a hunger that could never be satisfied.
"Come Nathaniel, let us deliver this wicked person," said the Thin Man standing over the unconscious drug dealer. "It is time to take Brad Silver to our execution scaffold."
Cramble Corner: Hi. So, first off, sorry for the delay of this chapter. Unlike Carter (in my story) I actually didn't procrastinate on this. Rather in my OCD way I literally worked on this chapter day by day for the past three weeks editing and revising over and over to ad nasuem. I mean, holy shit, this was probably the most revised written piece I've ever done in my life: I'd either find some weird flaw, or not enough detail, or stuff didn't make sense, until I had several new drafts of just this one chapter! By the third week, I knew if I kept going back and looking the chapter repeatedly it would never be sent. So as a writer, what I learned is that sometimes you have to let your work go. I guess in a way, it's like I was a parent raising this love child that grew up and needed to go and see the world, spread its wings and fly. So I'm doing just that, letting this thing fly, because seriously I want to get to the other chapters already which have been dancing around in my head just waiting to be written.
Second, I know I said I'd post the Pascal Langdale podcast interview in my previous chapter at the end of this chapter. But it seems the interview hasn't been done yet by the fellas at Playstation Chat. When they finally do release it I will definitely let you guys know and put a link to it in my Cramble Corner. ^_^
Third, I just noticed I average about six variations of the word Fuck in my story per chapter ("...Give or take 10%" - quoth the Norman Jayden, FBI), so I've updated my disclaimer to reflect the presence of strong language.
Fourth, thanks for the continued support and for reading my story! Hope you enjoyed it so far despite the delay, and as always, all comments and constructive critiques are always welcomed. :)