EPISODE 2: Freak
Part II
"Are you sure those were the names?" Art asked as he and Angie were questioning Alex outsid the vandalized house.
Alex sighed as he leaned against a cop car. "Technically speaking the names are pronounced Havryïl, Danylo, May̆kl, and Olena…but translated into English those names are Gabriel, Daniel, Michael, and Helena."
"How did you know the first three were angels?" Angie half-asked, half-demanded.
"I have a photographic memory. I just make a mental note of everything I find." He smiled. "If it's important, I remember."
"And the names of angels are important how?"
He shrugged. "I just store anything that might be useful. I'm not religious, but lots of people are…and when you're a criminal defense attorney it helps to see what could motivate a murderer. Religious fanatics are a possibility, therefore I have read the Bible to understand it." He leaned back casually against the car. "When I was reading the names, you two seemed surprised about something. Do you know who might have done this?"
"We have a hunch," Art said simply. "There was a serial killer on the loose a while back." No sense in provoking more questions in an already persistent civilian.
Unfortunately that was not the case with this man. "What happened to him?"
"Her," Angie said. "And she was killed. But she was part of…"
"A cult?" Alex supplied.
"I guess you could say that." Angie fished her business card out of her wallet. "Here's my number. Call me if you find any other Ukrainian Bible references in the house."
Alex laughed a little at that, but his amusement did not seem directed towards the comment, but rather to the woman herself. He took out his own card (although his movements were so quick it seemed almost as if the card had simply appeared in his hand). "Here's mine. Call me if there are any developments."
"We'll let you know if anything happens." Art understood why Angie didn't like him; that being said Alex could be a valuable asset, whether he himself was trying to find the criminal or if he led them indirectly to the killer.
"Thanks." He gave another sly, off-putting smile and went towards where Viktoria was waving him.
Angie sighed. "Can I ask you something?"
"What?" Art asked.
"What kind of criminal defense attorney is fluent in Ukrainian and knows more about killers than he does about defendants?"
"What are you talking about?"
"He read that line on the wall automatically and perfectly like it was his first language, and he spoke about murderers like he was hunting them rather than defending them."
"Maybe he's just a fan of detective novels and likes to think he's in one."
Suddenly, something clicked in Angie's mind. "Hang on…" she took out her cell phone and opened up the web browser, searching frantically for something she'd read about in the news a few months ago. Finally, after seconds that seemed like hours, she found a post on a UK blog from a few months ago. She showed her screen to Art. "Does he look familiar?"
On the screen was a picture of a man with a long trench coat trying to hide his face from paparazzi. The man had a deerstalker that was pulled low over his face as an additional, yet useless form of disguise. Dark curly bangs fell just over his gray green eyes. His sharp cheekbones seemed to cut through the lens of the camera taking the picture. His expression was one of mild annoyance as he put a hand up to block the photographer's view.
And he looked just like Alex.
"Jesus," Art said.
"We have to do some serious facial rec on this one." Angie smiled. "Although that won't be too hard."
"Why?"
"Did you see those cheekbones? You could search for those alone and you'll have hits in a few seconds."
/
"I can't help you."
"Alison, please," Felix begged.
"Look…I'm sorry. I wish I could but I can't. Too much has happened. And…" she sighed. "…it'll endanger my family."
"I'm sorry, but what happened to the I'm-not-going-to-take-anymore-shit Alison?"
"Felix! My kids are upstairs!"
"I don't give a sh…crap who's upstairs and who's not—what happened? Not too long ago you were yelling at Aynsley for destroying your life and suddenly this offer turns you into the housewife that everyone wanted to see." He leaned forward in his chair. "You can't get away that easily, Alison. No matter how much you want to believe."
Alison looked away. It seemed so simple. Much simpler than Felix thought it was, anyways.
"Where is the blonde anyway? The house looked empty when I drove by. That and there's less suburban stress acne from when I came here. With her around I'm covered with zits."
Alison tensed.
Felix noticed.
"Alison? What've you done?"
No answer.
"Where's Aynsley?"
"I think you should leave now."
Felix's eyes went wide. "Good God."
"Felix, get out of the house. Now."
"You didn't—did you?"
"No! I did not! She killed herself!"
"Did she? Or did you provoke her?"
Alison tensed again.
"You provoked her, didn't you?"
She stood up, grabbed a pillow, and threw it at Felix's head.
"Oi!" The pillow hit him smack in the face. "What was that for?"
"I need you to get out." Her eyes were cold but…worried.
Felix stood up and slipped his coat on. "I thought you weren't this low."
With that, he walked out the back door left a flustered Alison in the basement, trying desperately not to think about Felix's words.
/
Eamon Cadwell and Jericho Williams were sitting in a BMW down the street from the crime scene, staring through binoculars at the happenings around them. While Eamon was staying on task and watching the crime scene, Jericho was concerning himself with the gangly dark-haired man walking from behind someone's house.
"Williams!" Eamon yelled, diverting Jericho's attention from the stranger back to the crime scene up above. "Pay attention, will you?"
"Christ! Take it easy!" Jericho slammed his binoculars down into his lap. "Can ya cut me some slack, at least?"
"Not when we are trying to observe someone—"
"Y'mean spy on them."
"I won't call it spying until we identify the problem."
"Well, I'll call it spying." Jericho picked up his binoculars and watched with Eamon. "Ya still have to drop me off at the theater…there's another showing of KÀ tonight and I kind of have to be there…since I'm in it, and all."
"If you don't pay attention, I just might leave you here stranded in the suburbs." The Irishman stared at Jericho's skin-tight black jeans, low-cut v-neck black t-shirt, black shoes, studded leather jacket, and eyeliner. "And that would not go very well."
Jericho glared at him. "What, y'think just because you wear a suit and tie you fit in so well?"
Eamon didn't answer that question (possibly for the better).
The man in the leather jacket lowered the binoculars slightly and turned to his friend. "Would you…"
Eamon was staring blankly into the lenses of the device.
"Hey! Eamon!"
No response.
"Oi! Snap out of it!"
Eamon blinked out of his daze. "What?"
"Ya did it again. Ya spaced out."
Silence. "How long?"
"A few seconds. This is the third time in the past two weeks…ye sure you're okay?"
"Yeah…I'm fine…" his gaze faltered. "It's hard to explain and something I am not willing to go into."
"You're the boss." Jericho looked back through the binoculars and focused on Alex, who was chatting with some police officers. He frowned.
"What did you see?"
"It's not Alex."
"How can you tell?"
"You just asked me if I could look in a mirror and tell if the reflection is myself or not."
"And can you?"
"Of course I can! One thing I've learned in all my years of acting is that no matter how hard we try, a disguise is always a self-portrait."
Eamon gave him a side glance. "That was oddly profound."
"Not really…I got it from the goddess of scandals' Twitter feed. I'd check it all the time before she took it down…still not sure why she did."
Another glance. "I thought you weren't into women."
"I'm not. But no one got the world news faster than she did." He paused for a second, and then hit the other man in the arm. "That's not the point!"
"Well then, please get to it."
"That guy is tense. Worried. He's not nearly as laid back as Alex was. And his hair's a little longer than it was a week ago…and by a little I mean a lot."
Eamon looked back through the binoculars. "You're right."
"And…wait one sec…" Jericho zoomed the binoculars and refocused them. "Oh no."
"What?"
"The tattoo's missing."
"Oh God…" Eamon refocused his. "You're right. Without that, we have no clue who this is."
"Should ye call 'im?"
"No…he'll suspect something then. I'll follow him." Eamon put the binoculars down and started up the car. "I love a good mystery."
Jericho laughed. "I think that's something all of us have in common, Eamon."
/
As soon as Sherlock drove away from the crime scene and started going back to his office, he blurted out all of the expletives that he would normally keep to himself when in public.
"How could I have been so stupid?" he yelled, gripping the steering wheel so hard his fingers were burning.
His phone rang. This time he was sure to check the caller ID. "Molly?" he asked with his fake accent when he picked up.
"I'm down the street from your office building. Everything alright?"
"No…nothing is alright, Molly—I slipped up at a crime scene today."
"You went to a crime scene?"
"The one who killed the foreigner today, the one who attempted to murder me…he broke into a house and performed surgery on himself to remove the bullet that was in his shoulder. Coincidentally that house belonged to one of the managing partners at Alex's firm—and Alex's friend."
"So to get more information you decided to go to the crime scene with Alex's friend to gather evidence?"
"Yes."
"How did you slip up?"
"There was Ukrainian on the walls and I could read it out loud."
"You speak Ukrainian?"
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Tak, Molli. Chy ye u vas pytannya? That means 'do you have questions?'"
"Oh…okay…wait how do you speak Ukrainian but your German is limited? At least that's what John told me…"
"It's a boring language. Too much like English."
"Oh…that makes sense, at least for you."
"Anyways, I slipped up. There were two detectives and one seemed to recognize me—I think she's seen me in the news before."
"God…Sherlock, you have to keep a low profile here. You can't slip up again. If you do, they'll report you, and all the Mycrofts in the world will not be able to bail you out."
"Thank you for the support."
"I'm serious!"
"I know you are." Sherlock sighed. "Stay where you are, I'll meet you in 20 minutes."
"Okay. And Sherlock?"
"Yes?"
"Be careful, will you?"
"Of course, Molly." He hung up. He drove for about ten minutes until he got to the valet, where he promptly left his car (he was sure to be pleasant to the man who parked his Audi). Sherlock slicked his hand back again and started in the direction of the restaurant he would meet his friend at. He walked at a fairly brisk pace, intending to get there right on the mark, as he needed to.
Of course, that might've happened if he hadn't collided with a woman on the street.
A very familiar woman that he had only seen once.
/
Helena screamed as the demons clawed at her ankles. Or at least, that is what she called them—they were blackened silhouettes with white eyes and claws instead of hands. Black smoke leaked out of various places on the body, mostly on the skull. The only one that seemed remotely recognizable was the one with the bright red hair, with a trail of smoke coming out of her forehead.
Her hands burned, her feet burned, her head burned—all with such pain that she had never felt before in her life…which would make sense since her heart was no longer beating back where her body lay. But the lack of pulse did not stop her from feeling pain when there were nails in her hands against a crucifix.
The entire world was made of fire and acid around her. Her dyed-blond hair was singed at the edges from the scorching rain. Her toes were ever-so-slightly touching the burning golden ocean, blistering her feet. Sulfurous smoke from the fires that had emerged from the precipitation would choke her every so often, and she'd die all over again. Her tongue was dry and no water was given to her to fulfill her thirst, no matter how much she begged.
A rat crawled around the wood of her cross. This one was giant, human sized with a pair of glasses and a tail that whipped across her face, leaving a long red streak like a rope burn. Her tears were like salt on her wounds.
She felt a knife against her throat, and all of the demons at her feet began to slink away into the abyss of the acid waters.
*Don't cry, Helena…* a voice that sounded almost as meanacing as the world that she had been thrown into whispered in her ear in her native language. *I still have plans for you.*
*I am God's servant, not yours,* she said to the man she knew was holding the knife. She didn't even have to look at him—when she heard the shrill whisper of the man she could already see his well-groomed hair and tailored suit. When she finally did turn her head, she was not all that surprised when the man was perfectly unharmed in this world.
Nor was she surprised when she saw the blackened eyes, for he was the closest thing to Satan that she had ever met.
*That doesn't mean you don't belong to me…if you recall I was the one who found you.*
*Therefore you were the one that killed me.*
The man's Cheshire Cat smile cut straight through her soul. *Now you know that's not true…" He pressed the knife closer to her throat and leaned over to whisper in her ear. *Your sister killed you.*
*Why did you tell me I was the original?*
The acid around her turned black, and thorny vines of pure-black roses emerged, encircling her limbs and piercing her skin.
*Because regardless if you are the original, you are the light,* the man said, almost hypnotically. *You have work to do, Helena. You don't want to come back here again. You have to earn your salvation…I know you will not disappoint me.*
*What do you mean?*
The man walked across the acid like Jesus walked across water. He plucked a rose from a vine just above her heart and contemplated it in his hand. *The black rose symbolizes death and rebirth. You have experienced one—now you should experience the other.*
The thorns covered her body, encircling her face and making the world the color of a starless night.
Suddenly, Hell was gone. The pain was gone, the cross had vanished into the black.
The darkness slowly faded into bright sunlight obscured by the tall trees she remembered from her childhood. She had often escaped during the day and walked about with her friend Dimitri…they'd climb to the top of the hill this forest belonged to and see if they could find Heaven up there. They never got to the top of the hill, but they never stopped trying.
She tried to remember the way to the top, the path that was always there, but found that she couldn't.
She realized she didn't need to when she felt someone tug at her hand.
She turned and found a familiar little girl staring up at her. The girl had long brown hair and the most intelligent eyes anyone had ever seen, her entire face belonging to that of an angel. She was wearing nothing about a shirt and jeans…and only wearing socks on her feet.
*Kira…* she said, confused and tired. *what are you doing here?*
"You got lost," Kira said simply, speaking in English rather than Ukrainian (but somehow understanding Helena perfectly).
*I'm dead…how did you find me?*
"You're not dead. Not anymore, anyway."
Helena stared at her in shock.
Kira held out her hand. "I'll take you home. There's someone waiting for you back there…someone who loves you very much."
The woman stared at the girl's hand for a minute, then took it and allowed herself to be pulled through familiar woods. They seemed to go faster and faster, until Helena felt like she was as young and free as she had been at Kira's age. All of the blood and dirt and burns from her Hell had vanished, and her tattered dress was replaced with an angelic white one.
She could see the gate as she ran—a bright light between the trees that beckoned her in…or was it out?
Kira squeezed her hand tightly and pulled her through, back into life and the promise of redemption.
/
A man and a woman were walking through those same woods that day. The woman and man were both wearing business clothes—the woman wearing a purple dress with three-quarter sleeves and flesh-colored stockings, the man wearing a dark blue suit and white shirt, the shirt with the collar open and rumpled like he had just taken off his tie. The man was wearing shoes and the woman was not, but neither one cared.
"I don't think we should have done that," the woman said.
"Kira would've had a fit if we hadn't…she still sees good in her." The man stepped effortlessly over a large branch, almost like it wasn't even there.
"She's going to kill all of our…siblings," the woman said. Her hair was up in a neat bun, and her makeup was smeared from crying what felt like years before.
"They'll wake them up." The man smiled slyly. "No one else has to die. We can be the last of the casualties."
"But no one will be safe until Helena and Dimitri are dead…"
"It's okay. Everything's going to work out. We're a smart bunch, you know."
The woman smiled and pulled a bobby pin out of her hair, all of her locks falling in messy waves over her shoulders.
"You should wear it like that more often."
"Should I?" she smiled.
The man's phone rang. He picked it up and answered with simply a "Yes?" He smiled when he heard the news on the other line. "Thanks, Kira." He hung up. "Our two train wrecks found each other."
"Don't call them train wrecks!" the woman said, playfully pushing him.
The two of them laughed like old friends, when they had only met a few days earlier.
"I should go see what the living are up to." The man turned to leave before pausing and asking, "Well?"
"Well what?"
"Aren't you coming Beth?"
Beth smiled, something that felt good to do now for some reason. "You're damn right, Alex."
/
Sarah could've sworn she'd seen Kira appear when she crashed into someone.
In retrospect she definitely wasn't real: the little girl had been completely alone, wearing a long-sleeved shirt and blue jeans and socks (oddly enough, they were covered with dirt like she'd been running) in Ottawa winter weather.
So chances are Kira wasn't actually there.
But that didn't stop her from trying.
She didn't care about all of the turned heads when she screamed "KIRA!" on the sidewalk. She didn't care that Art had just called her and she had just picked up.
She only cared when she crashed into a tall man who was walking almost as quickly on the street.
"Oi!" she yelled, her thick Brixton accent attracting more attention than she had intended.
"Sorry!" the man said, catching his breath. Something seemed oddly familiar about him…the accent was all too familiar to her. She didn't know how, but it was.
"It's…" she looked back where she'd thought she'd seen her daughter, but she was gone. "…fine."
"Hey," the man said, turning a slightly dazed Sarah around. "Are you sure you're alright?"
She froze. The man was definitely familiar. He had pale skin and dark hair and was about six feet tall, much thinner than he should have been. His face was made of mostly made of angles—his top lip was a Cupid's bow, his cheekbones were sharp as knives and his gray eyes were laserlike. He appeared concerned…an emotion that seemed to intensify.
He looked very familiar.
And very attractive.
"Do I know you?" she asked.
The man's face went slightly blank and then went into an expression of confusion and…wonder. "I don't think so…but you look familiar to me too."
"Yeah…" she tried to place his face. He looked like a celebrity back in England…who'd died…
…oh God.
"Are you sure you're alright?"
"Yeah…yeah, I'm…fine…" She blinked a few times. "Sorry, what's your name?"
"Alex, why?"
"You just remind me of someone, that's all." She held her hand out. "Sarah."
He took it and gave a smile that was both sly and grateful. "Nice to meet you."
"You too." It was a weird feeling—she felt drawn to this man. It was a weird connection that she had only felt around her "sisters".
"I hope we run into each other again, Sarah."
She smiled in spite of herself. "Yeah."
"Alright…well, I'll see you then."
"See you around." She looked away and started down the street, glancing over her shoulder to see the stranger staring back at her.
/
Sarah's phone rang, and she picked it up frantically. "Art! I am in a state of emotional confusion!"
"Wait what? What the hell Sarah!"
"I ran into some guy on the street that was a dead ringer for a dead detective who says he's seen me before after I just saw the image of my missing daughter on the street!"
"Wait back up…did you get the guy's name?"
"What? Art I am completely confused."
"Sarah this is actually more important than you think! Give me a name!"
"He said it was Alex!"
Silence.
"Oh God…"
"Art, what the bloody hell is happening?"
"Sarah, did you get Cosima's text?"
"What?"
"Check your texts and then get over here to the station as fast as you can. Angie and I have something to show you that may help you get closer to Neolution."
"Okay, I'll be right there." She hung up and checked her texts on her burn phone as instructed.
The acid trip just got weirder—Delphine and I finished decoding the DNA. There was a secondary tag: Generation 2. We think there's a second set of us. Slightly older, probably male.
-C
There was another text that was newer:
DUDE. THIS JUST GOT CRAZY. Art and Angie called and said that Helena's name was written on a painting in Ukrainian. And it gets worse—the guy who translated it looks just like this guy who committed suicide a few months ago.
-C
Sarah dialed Cosima almost immediately. It barely rang once when the scientist picked up.
"You got the texts?"
"Yeah—Cosima, who was the guy that the cops told you looked like the person who translated the writing?"
"His name is—was—Sherlock Holmes."
Silence from Sarah…unless you could count her heavy breathing and whispering of expletives.
"Sarah? What happened?"
"I just saw the same guy just now and he said he'd seen me before."
"Oh shit!"
"Yeah you think?"
"Look, Delphine and I reread the genome again. It seems like we were a second set of success stories. There are all these weird tags and…plans, comparing us to a previous experiment. We definitely weren't the first, I can tell you that."
"Jesus Christ."
"Art and Angie didn't tell me everything…they said they were going to call you."
"Yeah, I'm headed to the station right now."
"Okay good…tell me everything that happened when you get back."
"Got it." She hung up and slumped against the wall of a random building, completely exhausted.
If things had been normal before this mess, there was no way they would ever return to that state.
/
In an isolated facility somewhere else, there was a woman lying in a coma on a table, her arms with needles stuck in them and every function of her body being monitored. The people watching her had seen some brain activity and were impressed at her progress over such a short period of time. They weren't entirely sure of whether or not she could hear them or whether her mind was just creating something for her to hang on to. They wouldn't know until she woke up.
She woke up with a jolt and a scream.
In another, far more isolated facility, there was a little girl napping on a hospital bed, calmer than any other child should've been. She dreamed about being in other places, finding other people and helping them find their own way. She drew pictures of her dreams too, like a man and a woman walking through the woods together, and an angel that had forgotten how to fly.
She woke up with a smile and a feeling of success.
In a flat in a crowded city across an ocean, a man had fallen asleep with his computer partially open next to his mobile phone and an untouched glass of scotch. He dreamed about the times he spent running through the streets with his best friend, solving crimes…the dreams always ending with the friend ending his life on the roof of a place meant to save them.
He woke up with a long-distance phone call from Ottawa.
TO BE CONTINUED…
/
FINALLY! Got it up!
A few things to clarify:
-Jericho and Eamon are OCs.
-Jericho has more tattoos than I explained in this :D
-Strictly speaking I'm pretty sure KA only shows in Vegas but its the only cirque show I've seen. Plus it's fun to imagine Benedict Cumberbatch as an acrobat. Show info here www . cirquedusoleil en / shows / ka / tickets / las-vegas . aspx
-Eamon's daze is not to be ignored
-The people waking up at the end are CRUCIAL TO THE PLOT REMEMBER THEM :D
Also, I'm not trying to make things supernatural or anything. Helena's experience in Hell and Kira's appearance are both important to the plot but I'm not trying to make it fantastical. For those of you who've seen His Last Vow...think of those scenes as Sherlock's mind palace. Then think of what would happen if you he wasn't alone in it. It will all come together at the end
Also: Alex and Beth are still dead. But I think that they'd make a good couple and live happily ever after at some point...so here we are :D
Hopefully the next part won't take as long :D
Disclaimer: Don't own Sherlock or Orphan Black-both belong to BBC. Only the OCs are mine