Detective Sarah Rhodes strode into the interrogation room and took a seat without looking at the room's single occupant. She placed her folder onto the table and opened it up, laying out several photos. Then she finally folded her hands atop the table and looked up at the man seated across from her. He was slouched in his chair, staring at her with hostile green eyes. He was handcuffed to the table, hands resting in his lap. He had yet to speak a word.
"The charges against you are multiple counts of kidnapping and assault," Sarah began bluntly. "You're looking at twenty to life." He didn't react. "I suggest you talk to us; you'll only make it worse for yourself."
The man shifted. They hadn't even gotten his name out of him. He had been carrying two credit cards with two different names and three fake IDs. A search of the man's partner had yielded similar results. Sarah leaned towards him.
"This is your only chance to tell us what the hell is going on," she told him in a dangerous tone. "Because the police come into your motel room, find a kidnapped girl and a seriously injured man, it's not looking too good for you. Especially when that girl is the daughter of a congressman."
His eyebrows twitched, an expression halfway between pissed and surprised crossing his face.
"What, didn't you know?" Sarah taunted. "And the condition of that man. It would take a sick, twisted mind to do that kind of thing to another human being. The doctors are saying we might have to add murder charges to the rest."
He abruptly straightened, lunging as far forward as he could go, his eyes wide and intense. "No," he growled quietly. "No, he's not gonna die. He can't. I won't let him, you hear me?"
Sarah studied him for a moment. There was fear in those eyes. Not because he was handcuffed to a table in Detroit's police headquarters, but because she had said that the man might die. She spun a photo around and shoved it towards him. "Look," she ordered. He didn't. "Look," she repeated firmly. He finally did. It was of the injured man's torso, covered in bruises, cuts, abrasions, and punctures.
He flinched, raw pain in his face. "Aw, hell," he said hoarsely. He stared at the photo for a long moment before meeting Sarah's gaze again. "I didn't do that to him," he said flatly. "And I didn't kidnap Mallory. You can ask her. She'll tell you."
"She won't be telling us anything," Sarah snapped at him. "She's in a coma."
He flinched again. "Look, lady," he growled at her. "I didn't hurt them. I would never."
"Then tell us what happened," Sarah challenged. He leaned back again, slouching into his leather jacket.
"Can't," he replied sullenly.
"You can't, or you won't?" Sarah shot back.
The man considered her for a moment. "Can't," he said again. His gaze darted towards the door. "I'm done."
And he was. He stubbornly refused to answer any more of her questions until she finally gathered her file back up and left the room, closing the door a little harder than necessary. Rick was waiting for her. "Anything from the other guy?" she asked, leaning against the wall with a sigh.
He shook his head. "They didn't kidnap Graves, and they didn't hurt John Doe. Nothing else."
"Yeah, same here," she said wearily. "So I'm assuming they haven't identified the second victim."
"His fingerprints weren't in the system," Rick replied. "They're running his photo, seeing if anything will come up with that. I'm not holding my breath."
"Are they still denying any connection to Kruger?" Sarah asked, pushing away from the wall and heading back to the bull pen.
"Yeah, but that doesn't mean anything. The three of them could have been in it together, then offed Kruger and took off with the girl."
"And John Doe?" Sarah asked with a raised eyebrow.
Rick shrugged. "They picked up another victim on the way? I don't know, Sarah. None of this makes any sense, and the only leads we have are still unconscious."
She stopped at her desk and threw the file down atop the already precarious stack of paperwork. She picked up a half-full mug of coffee and sniffed it before putting it back with a disgusted expression. "Okay, so our suspects aren't talking, the vics are comatose, and we've got a week-old body in the morgue. We're gonna have to go back to the evidence and see if we missed anything."
Rick sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. "That's just it. There is no evidence that there was anyone else besides Graves and Kruger in Kruger's house. If these two guys were there, they had to have been invisible or something."
"Sarah, Rick!" Tommy jogged over to them, a piece of paper in hand. "You're never gonna believe this. That John Doe, we came up with a possible match. James Novak from Pontiak, Illinois. Get this, he was reported missing just over a year ago but about six weeks back his wife asked the police to drop the case. Said she knew where her husband was and there was no point looking anymore." He shoved the paper at Sarah, who took it eagerly.
The photo in the corner of the page definitely resembled the male victim. She scanned the rest of the data but Tommy had basically summarized everything. "So...what? Guy walks out on his family, no contact for a year, then gets in touch and wants a divorce?" she guessed.
Tommy shook his head. "Neither of them have filed," he told her. "The wife just wanted the case dropped."
Sarah rubbed her forehead with the back of her wrist. "Okay. We'll give her a call and see if she can shed any light on the situation. She should know about her husband's condition in any case. Thanks, Tommy."
Rick put down the phone at his own desk and turned to face her. "Graves' parents just landed at the airport," he reported.
"All right," she replied, reaching for her jacket. "We can meet them at the hospital."
XxxXxxX
Pain sorrow anger. A city burning, running, a child in her arms. Battle, voices screaming, swords, blood, explosions. Betrayal. Brother against brother. Death. Darkness. Eyes. Red, black, yellow, white. Chains. Pain. Sky full of wings. Storms, thunder lightening rain. Shadows reaching, tearing ripping shredding. Songs. Light, pure bright blinding. Voices, thousands upon thousands singing. Harmonies turning to war cries. Sorrow. Tears.
Mallory woke up screaming.
There were two nurses holding her down before she even opened her eyes but she still fought them wildly, yelling at the top of her lungs. The images were still sharp in her mind, the pain still singing along her nerves. She saw a third nurse approach with a needle and tried to knock it out of the man's hands. He successfully injected it into her IV and she felt the heaviness steal over her limbs.
"No," she whispered. "No. I have to...I have to..." Her words trailed off into a mumble as her train of thought vanished. She couldn't remember what she had to do. The world had suddenly grown fluffy, the pain disappearing off into the fuzzy distance. The drugs buzzed pleasantly in her brain.
"Mal? Honey?"
She dragged her gaze left and made a valiant effort to focus on the woman hovering over the bed. She smiled weakly. "Hey, Mom," she slurred. "What're you doin' here?"
Irene Graves mustered a smile in reply and patted Mal's hand. "It's all right, honey. I'm right here. You're safe now. It's all over."
Safe. Over. The words clonked against something in Mallory's head, setting off a very slow chain of thoughts. "No," she told her mother gravely. "Not safe. They're gonna come back f'r me. F'r us. S'not over."
Irene shook her head. "No one's coming for you, Mallory. We've got police protection on the hospital. You're safe. Everything's going to be okay."
Mal frowned. "S'not okay," she insisted. "We're in danger, me n' Cas...Cas..." she gave up on trying to pronounce the name. "Where's Sam 'n Dean?" she asked petulantly. "They're s'pposed t' keep me safe."
Her mother wouldn't stop patting her hand. "Go back to sleep, Mal," she said gently. "You need to rest. Go back to sleep."
Mallory was getting frustrated. Why wasn't her mother listening to her? She pulled her hand away from Irene and slowly gained an upright position, smacking away Irene's hand when the older woman tried to push her down.
"Where's Sam 'n Dean?" Mal demanded, her brow furrowed with the effort to concentrate through the sedative. "Where's Cas? Gotta find Cas. Gotta make sure he's okay."
Irene placed her hands on Mallory's shoulders. "Mal, listen to me. You've just been rescued after being kidnapped for two weeks. I know you're confused, but you need to get some rest. I promise everything will make sense when you wake up."
"Two weeks... tha's not right," Mal said, blinking hard. Damn, what had they given her? "Got outta the basement three, mebbe four days. Walkin'. Walkin' the rest. Had to find Sam 'n Dean. Message f'r Cas..." She rubbed her forehead. It was so hard to remember. "Ami," she mumbled. "Ami got me out. Wha's wrong wi' Ami? She's not talkin' to me. Ami? Ami, you gotta wake up."
The nurse was coming back, another needle in hand. Mallory didn't like that. She didn't want any more drugs. She slouched against the pillow, letting her eyes drift closed as if she had finally fell asleep.
"Is there something wrong with my daughter?" she heard Irene demand.
"Your daughter was in a coma for over twenty-four hours. It's understandable that she is disoriented on waking up."
"But those people she kept mentioning, Cas and Sam and the others. What about them?"
"Many people in comas have extremely vivid dreams. She could simply be remembering people she created in her own mind. Your daughter is going to be fine, Mrs. Graves. She just needs some time."
The nurse finally left and Irene took a seat next to the bed. Mallory remained still. It wasn't that she wasn't happy to see her mom—she was. She really was. But there was something big and bad coming for her (wasn't there? Ugh, she couldn't remember...) and she didn't want her mom to get hurt.
Ami? She called in the safety of her own head. Ami, wake up. I need you. She searched deeper inside her, still fighting the effects of the drugs, until she found the angel, curled up in a distant corner, weak and dim. Mal poked her. There was no reaction. Mal poked again, harder this time. The angel's consciousness stirred faintly. Mal jabbed her, hard.
"Wha—? Mallory? What?" Amitiel muttered in confusion. Then she bolted upright. Metaphorically speaking, that is. "Castiel!"
Drugs first, Mallory slurred in annoyance.
"What?"
Get rid of the drugs. I don't like them.
It took a moment before the drug-induced haze began to recede and the world came back into focus. The pain returned, but Mal had become desensitized to it over the last couple of weeks. My mom's here, she told the angel. Amitiel shifted.
"I don't understand the significance," she began.
I don't want my mom knowing about you, Mallory told her bluntly. She doesn't need to get dragged into this crap.
"I see. Very well."
Amitiel gathered her strength, slipped into control, and opened her eyes. Irene was staring out the window, one hand resting on Amitiel's arm. The angel sat up, lifting her hand in a smooth gesture. Before Irene could react, Amitiel pressed her first and second fingers against the woman's forehead. Irene's eyes rolled backwards and she slumped into her chair, fast asleep. Even the tiny bit of power needed to neutralize Irene sent Amitiel collapsing back into Mallory's mind in exhaustion. Mallory took command without missing a beat. She disconnected her IV without removing the needle and climbed out of bed.
Her feet made no noise as she padded down the hospital corridors. Thankfully, she had been dressed in a white t-shirt and a pair of blue scrub pants. Carefully dodging nurses, doctors, and on one occasion a pair of suits, she finally made it to the stairwell. Amitiel's senses were drawing her downstairs, and she followed them to a room on the next floor down. She pushed the door open and slipped through.
There was a man on the bed, his head turned toward her, but his eyes were closed. He looked to be in his thirties, with messy dark hair and craggy features. Mallory stepped closer, unable to take her eyes off his face. This was the first time she had actually seen the vessel of Amitiel's brother.
She walked over to the bedside, glancing at the various machines he was hooked up to and dredging up two years worth of nursing school. From what she could tell, it didn't look good. Mallory felt Ami pressing against her as she leaned over the bed. Her hand lifted of its own accord and brushed over the man's cheek.
He hissed in a sudden breath, startling Mallory enough to lose her balance. She had to catch the railing to keep from falling. Sapphire-blue eyes snapped open and attempted to focus on her face, but she could see the influence of drugs in the indigo depths.
"Am...itiel?" he whispered hoarsely. "Sister?"
"She's in here," Mallory told him, shifting awkwardly. "I'm Mallory." He blinked at her. She smiled at him a little hesitantly. "How—how are you feeling? You were pretty banged up."
"I...will recover," he rasped. "My sister..?"
Mallory relinquished control as Amitiel gathered the strength to rise to the forefront. The angel touched her brother's cheek. "I am here, Castiel," she said softly. "Are you in pain?"
"No," he replied. "They gave me something...morphine."
Mallory provided an explanation without Amitiel having to ask. Amitiel nodded and held her hand over Castiel's chest. "You are healing slower than I would like," she told him.
"The fall," he replied. Amitiel pressed her lips together.
"Marax will make another attempt to capture us," she told her brother. "We may not have much time."
Castiel blinked again. "Dean...Sam..." he wheezed. "They were taken away."
"I will look into it," Amitiel promised, laying a slender hand on Castiel's shoulder. "Rest while you can, brother. We must return to battle soon."
He nodded fractionally and allowed his eyes to flutter closed again. Mallory fluttered anxiously at the back of Amitiel's mind.
Sam and Dean were taken away? She demanded shrilly. Oh, my God, Mom talked about police protection. They've been arrested! God, I can only imagine what they must have thought, finding us. How did they even find us, though? We'd only just got back into Detroit!
"Mallory, calm down," Amitiel ordered. "And stop taking my Father's name in vain."
Mallory instantly subsided. Oh. Sorry. Footsteps behind her made Amitiel turn sharply, but she didn't move from her brother's side. A woman stood in the doorway, several inches taller than Amitiel's current host and at least a decade older. Her short hair was dark red and she had hazel eyes under suspicious brows.
"Ms. Graves?" she asked. "What are you doing here? You should still be in bed."
Amitiel didn't move. "Who are you?" she demanded.
"Detective Sarah Rhodes," the woman introduced, stepping into the room. "I'm in charge of your case."
The angel stared unblinkingly up at the woman. Before Amitiel could speak, Mallory poked her again. Maybe I should handle this, she suggested tactfully. I have a little more experience dealing with humans. No offense.
"Of course," Amitiel agreed, receding. The girl swayed slightly during the transition, grabbing hold of the bed railing again. When Detective Rhodes reached for her, Mallory raised a hand.
"I'm fine," she said quickly. "I'm okay. I just...I needed to see how Cas was doing."
"Cas?" Rhodes asked quizzically, glancing at the unconscious man behind Mallory. "You mean James Novak?"
Mallory blinked. So that was what Castiel's vessel was called. "Yeah. It's...uh, it's a nickname. Cas. I wanted to make sure he was okay."
Rhodes reached for the assistance button. "I'm going to have someone take you back to your room, Ms. Graves. You shouldn't be up."
"I said I was fine," Mallory replied testily. Rhodes gestured toward the room's only chair.
"Still, why don't you have a seat. Are you up for answering a few questions?"
Mallory gingerly sat down and swallowed nervously. Inside her, Amitiel was quiet, offering no help other than moral support. "I...guess," she said hesitantly.
Rhodes crouched in front of her. "I know it must be hard," she said sympathetically. "What you went through is incredibly traumatizing. But I do need you to tell me what happened."
Mal looked at her hands, clenched in her lap. She looked over at Castiel and suddenly wished he were awake again. "I...I don't know where to start," she whispered. She really wanted to be anywhere else except right here.
"How about two weeks ago, when you first disappeared," Rhodes encouraged. Mal relaxed. That was easy.
"I was heading to my next class. This guy came up from behind me and shoved this cloth over my face. I think it was chloroform or something because I passed out pretty quickly." Part of Mallory was laughing hysterically at the thought that recounting her kidnapping was the easiest thing she had to talk about. Amitiel eyed that part of her warily and moved somewhere more comfortable.
"He kept me in his basement for three or four days," Mallory went on, strengthened by Amitiel's warm presence. "I..." her throat closed up suddenly and she lost her words. "I—" she began again. Amitiel curled up around her, saying nothing but radiating concern and empathy. "He hurt me," Mallory whispered finally.
Rhodes reached out and lay a warm hand on Mallory's arm. "It's okay, Mallory. Take your time. It's okay."
Mallory took a shaky breath and forced herself to stop tearing up. "I got away," she whispered. Rhodes nodded.
"Okay, thank you, Mallory. Now, I need you to tell me about the two men we found you with. What did they do to you?"
She shot bolt upright. "What?" she demanded in disbelief. "No! They never did anything to me! They saved my life!" The force of her words made Rhodes rock back on her heels, but Mal could see she hadn't convinced the detective. "They would never hurt me," she insisted. "Not ever. They kept me safe, after..." She trailed off, hesitant to say any more. "They're good people," she finished quietly. "They're my friends."
Rhodes nodded skeptically. "If they weren't hurting you, why didn't you call the police? Why didn't you come home?"
Mallory rubbed her forehead. These were the hard questions, the ones she knew she couldn't answer. Because she couldn't very well say, "I'm now the vessel of a fallen angel and we have a demon on our ass" without ending up in the looney bin.
"Because I couldn't," she said finally. "I'm sorry. I just can't say."
Rhodes didn't look happy. "Mallory, you need to tell me the truth."
"I am telling you the truth," Mallory cried. "I can't tell you! I just can't!"
"Amitiel?" Castiel stirred, opened his eyes again, and tried to lift his head. "What is happening? Are you—?"
Mallory was on her feet in a flash, hurrying back to his side. "Hey, take it easy," she told him. It was a little weird; she barely knew this guy but she felt fiercely protective of him. That was Amitiel's emotions bleeding over into hers. "It's okay. I'm okay."
Castiel glared ineffectually at Rhodes. "She is upsetting you," he mumbled.
"No, she isn't," Mallory assured him. "I told you, I'm fine. Go back to sleep, Cas."
"Dean and Sam. Where are they? Are they safe?" Castiel demanded wearily. "Marax will target them in revenge. We have to warn them."
The girl and the angel swapped places. It got easier each time. "Castiel, I said I would take care of it," Amitiel told him. "You only need to focus on healing. Please, brother. Go to sleep."
Castiel sighed heavily and closed his eyes, but his breathing didn't immediately even out. Amitiel turned to look at Rhodes again. The detective was staring at the girl in bemusement; she had heard the entire conversation.
Oh, crap, Mallory groaned.