EPISODE 2: Freak
Part I
"What happened?" Sherlock asked, trying his best to be concerned.
"Maxim called…he said he'd meet with you. Did he?"
Irish. The man was Irish. A well-educated man with a calm, level voice. A teacher. A professor. Hopefully this guy was more intelligent than most people Sherlock knew.
"Yeah...he met me. It got out of hand, though."
Another voice called, "Aw, what did he do now?"
"Shush, he can explain."
Sherlock sighed. "I met with him...took him by the river so we could talk. We were followed."
"Oh God...what happened to Maxim?"
"Sniper. Straight through the forehead."
"Alex! You have to get rid of the body!"
"I did. I dumped it in the river."
"Did anyone see you?"
"No. We were alone."
Silence. Then, "Did he have the briefcase with him?"
"No…he wanted me to go to his hotel, but I've been on leave for a while. I can't skip work today, or they'll notice that something's wrong."
"What time do you get off today?"
"Six." Alex had a pretty consistent schedule.
"Okay, after you get off, go to Maxim's hotel and get the briefcase. I'll call you back. Okay? And be careful. If Maxim got shot, then that means that we have an assassin on our tails. So stay out of harm's way."
"Got it. Call me at seven."
Click.
Sherlock dialed Molly's number and kept the phone on speaker. She answered immediately. "What happened?"
"There's another one."
"What? Another one of you?"
"Apparently. He was shot."
"Did you kill him?"
"No, an assassin did. He got my cheek, but I'm alright. The other one was shot from behind."
"Oh Jesus…"
"Molly, I got another call from someone else. An Irish person…a professor, given his tone of voice. He told me to go to the dead man's hotel and get a briefcase that Alex was supposed to get."
"What are you going to do about that?"
"Well, I'm going to go get it. Obviously."
"Did you look the same, like, exactly the same?"
"Yes, except for one detail. Two, actually."
"Which were?"
"Clothing. And hair."
"Okay…well, was the person wearing more expensive clothes or less expensive clothes?"
"More expensive."
"Well, you're in luck."
"Why?"
"Because I brought your silk shirts back from the UK. And the pants."
Sherlock smiled. "I never thought I'd say this, but Molly, you are a life saver."
"Thank you. Now, I'm going to buy you some sunglasses and a hat. Just so you have something you can wear that will disguise your hair and stuff. Plus, I don't think I've seen you wear sunglasses. You'd look really hot in them."
He laughed. Suddenly, he saw his law firm and began to drive towards the valet around the back (Alex had left him a map of the building, as well as a few names and pictures of the staff members.) "Molly, I have to go. I should free up around 12:15."
"I'll drop off your stuff then."
"Thank you."
The line went dead. Sherlock took a deep breath and prepared himself for the day that was to come.
/
The man completely forgot the pain in his shoulder until he was at the opposite edge of town. He ditched the bike and hid on the stairs leading to the basement of a house in the suburbs, pressing his hand against his shoulder.
It was still early in the morning, so he waited until the family in the house was gone. There were two kids, a nanny, a mom and a dad. The nanny took the kids to school while the parents commuted to work. No one seemed to notice the motorbike, nor did they notice the man hiding in the stairwell with a handgun (having abandoned his sniper rifle in the aftermath of the shooting had occurred.)
The man used his elbow to break through a window on the basement door. He didn't really care that glass was now stuck in his arm, nor that it was scratching his hand as he unlocked and turned the knob from the inside. If his angel could handle the pain, he could. And he'd been through worse.
He walked through the house, blood trickling on the carpet. He slumped against the wall as he pulled himself up the stairs, continuing to bleed. He was beginning to get delirious from the blood loss. But he had to keep going.
He pushed the door open, and then opened the child safety gate at the top of the steps. He went up the stairs to the second floor and walked to the master bedroom. He went to the bathroom, closing the door and leaning against the sink with his good hand.
He started to perform surgery on his arm, cutting into his shoulder and letting the bullet fall into the sink. He exhaled, feeling some (but not too much) relief.
He almost pictured his angel helping his hands stitch up the wound on his shoulder. She wasn't smiling…she wouldn't smile in a situation like this. Especially not because she'd been in this situation herself, or so he'd heard. But she was calm, caring, helpful. He really wished she was there with him, so he could tell her how much he loved her.
He bandaged his shoulder using the first aid kit that was there. He threw his leather gloves away and took off his shirt. He took a washcloth from the bathtub and started to clean the blood off his body and hands, which resulted in it getting all over the floor.
In the medicine cabinet he found a man's safety razor and started to shave his face. He had some stubble…not much though, only a few days' worth.
He then made his way to the master bedroom. He opened the father's closet and started to look through the clothes, finding a pair of jeans and a blazer. He found a gray t-shirt and put that on first, then remove his pants. He changed his underwear, but dumped the old pair on the ground. He might as well leave it all here; it wasn't like he'd ever need it again.
He got completely changed, then took a black hat and put it on so it would conceal his face. He found a pair of black gloves in the father's dresser. He also found a scarf…a blue one. He put them all on.
He took his knife out and carved names on the wall above the bed. Below that, on a painting, he wrote another in blood. Anyone who came in would know who he was doing this for.
He began to cover the walls with drawings. He knew h shouldn't be making such a mess, but he didn't view it as a mess. He thought of it as a tribute to the woman he had devoted himself to helping. He slowly walked down the stairs and carved an inscription on the wall with his knife.
He walked back to the kitchen, took a muffin from the kitchen table, and exited out the back door.
/
Sherlock sat at Alex's cubicle. It wasn't long since he'd been at the office. He'd stopped to get coffee first (Alex liked cream, but that was the only difference I their tastes). His memory had served him well, because a lot of his coworkers had said hello to him and called him by name. So he was thankful that he responded to everyone correctly.
One of the managing partners came by—Viktoria Muse. "Alex, may I speak with you in my office?" she asked. She was a tall white woman with dark hair and a pretty face, but not Sherlock's type—she looked too whimsical, too fairy-tale pretty.
"Of course," he said. He stood up and followed her to her office. She was pretty minimalistic, but she had a bulletin board with some of her children's artwork up. He quickly read the names of the kids and turned back to Viktoria before she noticed his intrigue with the art. "How are Katherine and Liam?"
She smiled. "They're alright. Liam fell off his bike though…he's learning how to ride a two wheeler and lost his balance."
"I'm sorry to hear that."
"Oh no, he's fine. I took him to the doctor, he got stitches. He'll have a little scar…the ladies will love that. At least, that's what Eddie says." Presumably, Eddie was her husband.
He smiled.
"Now, I have a question to ask you…it's a bit personal."
"Yes?"
"Are you alright?"
He frowned. "I'm sorry, what?"
"Are you alright? Before your vacation, you seemed…stressed. Tense. Are you okay? Because I know you have dysthymia…"
"Oh…" Sherlock thought back to what Alex had said in the video. He slicked his hair back with his hand as he explained. "Lana and I…we hit a rough patch in our relationship. We have it worked out though…I just needed some time off to clear my head. Plus, the doctor started me on some new meds, and it's been taking me a while to get used to them."
Viktoria nodded. "Okay. I just wanted to make sure you were okay."
"I'm fine. Trust me."
"Alright. Well, if you need anything, let me know."
"Thank you." He stood up.
Just then, Viktoria's phone rang. She picked it up. "Viktoria Muse," she answered. Suddenly, her face was filled with panic. "Hold on, what happened?"
"Viktoria?" Sherlock asked.
"Shh," she said, listening on the other line. "Call the police, I'll be right there." She hung up. "There was a break in at my house. Blood everywhere. Motorcycle left outside."
Sherlock's mind immediately flashed to the shooting that day. "Oh God, is everything alright? Do you need me to come?"
"Actually, do you mind? I mean, Eddie will be there soon, but I need a friend."
He smiled. "Of course."
"Thank you so much." She stood up, stuffed her wallet into her purse and walked out the door, Sherlock following closely.
This really was a case.
/
The man's shoulder started to hurt again, but he chose to ignore it. He pulled the hat over his head to conceal his face. He'd hate to be misidentified.
He passed by a payphone. The phone inside it rang once, then stopped, then rang twice again. The man walked into the booth and picked up the phone when it began to ring again.
"'Alo?" he asked.
The person on the other line answered in Ukrainian. **Dimitri. How are you?**
Dimitri sighed. **The job is done. Maxim Abramowicz is dead.**
**That doesn't answer my question.**
**I was hit. There was another.**
Silence. **Male or female?**
**Male. Another one of the first generation.**
**Could you tell what country he came from?**
**He was British, but he put on an act when he shot me.**
The man on the other line mocked him. **You poor thing!**
**I took care of it.**
**Well, that's good. I need my best man in shape. After all, you have many people yet to deal with.**
Dimitri ignored the comment. **How is she?**
**Oh, your girlfriend? She's stable. We were still a little late…she might not wake for a few days.**
**Fix her.**
**You can't rush it. The medicine still has to work its way through her body. That was quite a big hole in her chest, you know. And she'd already started decomposing.**
**I don't care. Fix her.**
Silence. **Confirm the identity of the other man. The one who is responsible for your injury.**
**In return?**
**I'll give an extra dose to your…angel.**
**Thank you.** He hung up. He wasn't entirely sure if his employer would keep his word but he needed to take the chance. He needed to get the woman he loved out of the depths of her mind and back where she belonged, into the world of the living.
And he would do anything to help her.
/
As soon as Art got the call about the break-in, he pulled Angie into the car and called Sarah on the car speaker phone so Angie could hear.
"There was a break-in at a house in the suburbs," he said, as soon as Sarah answered.
"Do you have a suspect?"
"Not yet. But we have seen the style before. Motorcycle left outside. Stick figures drawn across the wall. Blood everywhere."
"Evidence of self-surgery. Parka and other clothing items left on the ground," Angie added.
"Sound familiar?"
Silence on the other line. "That sounds like Helena. But she's dead."
"Well, apparently it was all men's clothes." Angie sighed. "Do you want us to involve you in the case?"
"Depends. Do you have the books you made?"
"Yes," Art said. They'd taken the pictures that Sarah had given them, in addition to evidence photos from Katja Obinger's case and put them in booklets. Sarah had explained everything again to Angie, who had transcribed everything into the booklets so they'd have a record in case something came up.
"Well if you find something that you know is related to my case, call me, Cosima or Delphine."
"Why not Felix? Or Paul?"
"You've met Felix. I trust my brother, but he's prone to overreacting or flirting. And Paul…I can't think about that right now. Besides, Delphine knows more."
Angie and Art exchanged glances. Something was wrong. Sarah shouldn't be excluding Paul…especially not when she knew he had feelings for her.
"Okay," he said. "We'll let you know."
"Thanks."
Click.
"What do you think's going on with her and Paul?" Angie asked.
"From what I could tell, she's unsure about whether or not to trust him. He's not an open book."
"Neither are you."
He smiled a little. "Comes with the job."
"Well, I would expect given the job that Sarah has assigned to herself, and to Paul, that they would need to be open with each other."
"Fair point."
Angie started looking through the booklet in her purse. "We need to check for more signs to see if the two cases are connected."
"What are your thoughts?"
"Bible verses, mutilated dolls, paintings on walls."
"Paper fortune tellers?"
"Good call."
They discussed the possibilities of the case (why the person would have needed self-surgery, how they were going to trace the path of the motorbike, etc.) when they pulled up at the suburban house. The initial police units to respond were at the house, as had the owners in two separate cars. There were two middle-aged adults (a tall man wearing a business suit and a brunette woman also dressed very smartly) and one slightly younger black-haired man. They were conversing with a police officer and a young, racially ambiguous woman who was in tears. The two cops got out of the car as they walked over.
"Excuse me," Art said to the couple. "My name is Detective Arthur Bell." He showed his badge. "This is my partner, Detective Angela Deangelis."
Angie nodded when her name was spoken. "We're here to ask you a few questions."
The tall brunette woman outstretched her hand. "Viktoria Muse. This is my husband, Edward."
"Hello," Edward said, trying to retain panic and, as far as the cops could tell, anger.
"And…you two are?" Angie asked, pointing to the crying woman and the dark haired man.
"I'm Diana, the nanny," the woman said, trying to hold back her sobs. "I was the one who found the house…" She started crying. Viktoria put a comforting hand on her shoulder.
"And you?" Art asked the young man.
"Alex," the man said. He smiled a little. "Alex Axis. I'm a friend of the family's."
"He works at my law firm," Viktoria explained.
Angie frowned at Alex. "Do I know you from somewhere?"
Alex paused for a moment and frowned. Or was it a frown? For a moment it seemed that his face went completely blank before coming back with a sly, slightly embarrassed smile. "I don't think so. I would remember you."
The two detectives exchanged glances. That was not normal. Normally a person would look confused or something, trying to place the person's face. That was not the case with this person for whatever reason. He looked completely controlled.
"Now, can you explain to us exactly what happened when you got home?" Art asked Diana.
"It was so frightening! I just came home and…" Diana gestured with her hands. "There was blood everywhere."
"Can we take a look inside?" Angie asked a nearby cop.
The cop nodded. The six people went into the house.
There was, indeed, blood everywhere.
Blood covered floor and walls. Stick figures were drawn in someone's blood; men on one side, women on the other. Footprints covered the carpet, the child gate was open, and blood seemed to be falling in line with the footprints. As they walked to the kitchen, they could see that a tray with muffins was out, and a muffin was missing (they appeared to have been carefully arranged earlier, so a missing one was completely evident). A knife was embedded in the wall of the hallway at one point, next to where someone had carved out:
Бог шукає тих, хто приходить до Нього.
"Boh shukaye tyhk, khto prykhodyt' do N'oho," Alex said, reading the words aloud.
"What?" Edward asked.
Alex's eyes widened. Angie made note of that. "Oh. Sorry. Um…it's Ukrainian. God is looking for those who come to him."
"You speak Ukrainian?" Viktoria asked.
"I'm learning. It's a proverb, so…I just memorized it."
"Alright."
Angie pulled Art aside. "He's tied to this somehow. How many lawyers—how many people—within a hundred miles just so happen to know a Ukrainian proverb and can read it fluently in said language?"
"Yeah, I agree."
"Also, I don't like him. He's giving off bad vibes."
"What do you mean?"
"His interactions with other people are off." She frowned. "It feels like…"
"Like what?"
She looked him in the eyes. "Like Sarah's first day as Beth."
/
Alison Hendrix peeked out the window. She could see the police cars and sirens down the street at the neighbor's house. The Muses, she remembered. Ironic name given that they were not very artistic at all. She liked them because they seemed relatively isolated from the rest of the neighborhood—their house was one house away from being on a corner, both parents worked, the kids took dance lessons downtown rather than gymnastics and soccer like the other kids, and they went to a different school. They were still very nice people—they attended all of the potlucks and neighborhood events and were always complimentary of the neighbors. They just tended to keep to themselves in most other activities.
That's why Alison liked them.
The social scheme she was a part of was fun until she met her "sisters". Then, as she begame more and more a part of "clone club", she began to understand in a different light the fabricated world that existed in the suburbs she called her home. She'd seen her life slowly fall apart around her, ending with the death of the neighborhood's self-proclaimed queen, Aynsley. Her world had been crumbling.
Now it had been fixed with a simple signature and a scan.
She stared at her purse. Contained within it was a burn phone with a pink case. She promised herself that she would never pick it up again, no matter how many times it rang for her. To be honest, she didn't mind her suburban life all that much. It helped shield you from the truth, which was at times too brutal to handle.
She could hear her kids, Gemma and Oscar, giggling as they played downstairs. She smiled. They didn't have to know anything about her. Her husband Donnie, her friends—they didn't have to know who she really was. What she really was. They didn't have to know that someone else pretended to be her, or that she pretended to be someone else. No one else needed to know that a body identical to hers was cremated merely weeks before. No one had to know that crosshairs had been pointed at her head for who knows how long.
No one had to know anything.
For some reason, she left the nanny cam in her jewelry box still. Fully charged battery, but completely turned off. Again, she wasn't sure why she had it. Sentimental reasons? No. She wanted to forget all that had happened in the past few weeks and go back to the way life was before…except for the part about Aynsley, a pawn placed to watch over her and report back.
It was funny though. She didn't seem like a monitor. Aynsley was always prying, sure, and gossiping, but monitors would probably only report to their superiors. They wouldn't embarrass their subjects.
Whatever, Alison thought, shrugging and walking out of her bedroom. It was probably a technique. She needed to know every detail about my life…that's probably why she organized the intervention. To get the truth out of me. And she was so authoritative all the time…
As she walked down the stairs, she couldn't get rid of the cold, uneasy feeling in her stomach. Something was wrong about…everything. Which was saying something, because everything should be right now. The Neolutionists promised she wouldn't be monitored. Life could go back to normal.
At least, that's what she thought until she heard the happy squeals from downstairs.
"Why don't you come around?" Gemma was saying.
"Well, I've been really busy lately," an all too familiar voice said in a thick British accent.
"Busy doing what?" Oscar asked.
Alison peeked around the corner and saw a lanky figure with dark, gelled hair dressed in a dark purple t-shirt, blue patterned scarf, and skin tight black jeans. His dark gray wool coat was slung over the chair like he owned the house. His pouty lips were curled in a smile.
"Well…let's see…I've been chasing criminals lately…" he counted off on his fingers while the kids giggled at the thought of the man in question chasing a killer around the city. "…I waited around in a car for someone who was running around the back of a shady nightclub…I was a bartender at your potluck a few weeks ago…"
"What's a bartender?" Gemma asked.
"I'll be happy to explain that in a second…" the man looked up and smiled at Alison. "…oh! There you are!"
"Felix," Alison acknowledged with a nod and a tiny smile.
"Kids, can I have some time with your mom alone?" Felix asked the children. "When Mummy and I are done chatting…maybe we could play dress up?"
"Yaaaaay!" The kids happily ran up the stairs.
Felix approached Alison, his playful expression turning serious. "I've been trying to reach you. Why haven't you picked up?"
Alison looked away. Both she and Felix knew that the question didn't need answering. "What do you want, Felix?"
"Sarah needs your help."
/
"Do you think he's a suspect?" Art asked.
"Look…I'm not sure yet. I've never met the guy before in my life. But I've seen him before." Angie put a hand to her head. "I don't know where…but he seems out of place here. Like someone pretending to be something he's not."
"Like Sarah trying to be a cop."
She nodded. "We need to run a background check on this guy. Figure out what he's been up to lately."
"And check morgue records in the area…maybe we'll have another Sarah case on our hands."
Their train of thought was cut off by Viktoria's exclamation of "My God!" from upstairs. The two cops ran up to where the civilians had wandered off to and saw what the group had seen.
The bathroom and master bedroom doors were opened, the doorways barred with police line tape. The bathroom had the first case wide open and blood everywhere, dripping all over the sink and cabinets like paint against a plain white canvas. The bedroom was in worse shape—there were figures drawn in blood, not pen ink, all over the walls. The furniture had been slashed at and dirty, week-old clothes littered the floor. Above the headboard of the bed were several words etched into the wall:
Гавриїл
Данило
Майкл
And underneath them, written in blood on a grayscale photograph of a sunset was a fourth word:
Олена
"What do those mean?" Edward asked.
Alex took the liberty of translating again. "They're names. The top three are all angels from the Bible. Translated into English, they're Gabriel, Daniel, and Michael."
"What's the fourth?" Viktoria asked.
Alex stared at it for a second, trying to place the connection between that name and the others. "That's strange."
"What's strange?" Art asked, impatient.
"It's a woman's name."
"What is it?" Angie asked.
Alex turned to her. "Helena."
TO BE CONTINUED…
/
GAH SORRY ABOUT THE LATE UPDATE THIS TOOK A LONG TIME
So...now we know the mysterious man's name. Dimitri. What's his connection to the clones? What's his connection to Helena? And will Art and Angie find out about Sherlock?
So I hope you like it! Please review :D