The eventual West couple reunite with the Cain clan - and finally, a digging into Dr. West's past. :D

Chapter Ten

Shadows of the Past

The prison did not call her back the rest of the night, but she was more than ready to return and face the police questioning at hand, discuss which were dead and which were alive and so forth. Thinking that last part made her worry about Herbert; if they noticed he was missing, then it would be out for the whole town to be on the lookout. She knew she would be in serious trouble if they found out she was housing a fugitive. Which meant they had to get as far away from Arkham then; she could transfer to another hospital, but what about him?

The prison had never been her ideal dream; no, it was only so she could get to this man whom she had shared a bed with since last night – and no, nothing inappropriate happened. He had spent thirteen years in an uncomfortable bed, and she didn't want him sleeping on the couch, either. She'd been taught by her biological mother that sleeping with a man when you weren't married was unacceptable, but it wasn't anything like that. She didn't care. When she opened her eyes, her alarm blared twice before she shut it off so she wouldn't wake Herbert, but the sound of his sleepy moans made her roll over onto her side to look at him. He was so handsome and innocent, nothing like the blood-covered madman the media portrayed him as, which she'd seen but overlooked after last night.

Herbert was...quite adorable without his glasses; she'd seen that in him last night. It was strange, but it also showed how even more boyish he appeared. But always see past looks, see the heart, as Francesca said.

She decided maybe she could sneak some time today or tomorrow to check him out more, like a birth certificate or something. This much she knew: he studied under Dr. Hans Gruber in Switzerland before he died, being found over his professor's twitching body and torn away by police, placed under psychiatric observation for less than half a year before going to Miskatonic Medical. There was always more than just that, but it was also too difficult and dangerous, whereas you tend to find yourself in deeper waters you could never escape. Tomorrow was Saturday, but she had to wait and see how today would go. Maybe while she was at the Cains', she could sneak onto the computer and Google Herbert West.

Or ask Fran to look into it.

Herbert's eyes fluttered open when she was just slipping out of bed, seeing her in the t-shirt she'd worn and slept in last night, stopping above her knees. "Suppose I won't see you all day," he told her with a smirk. He shifted so he lay on his back, the sight of him so sexy – oh, man, that word. Never mind, he is. "I was just getting used to seeing you every day."

Heather sat back down, on her knees and her feet off the side. "If I won't be back earlier tonight, then that means we won't go tomorrow. So, today, why don't you just take a break and enjoy yourself like a normal person before I get back, huh?" she told him with a little smile he returned.

"Suppose someone out there needed my help with their life."

She sighed. "No, not with this going on. Time to lay low for now, like you said last night. We have plenty of time for this."

Herbert's mouth twitched. "Not at my age. Not when I found what I should have in the first place. But then again, if I wasn't in jail, I wouldn't have found the NPE." His eyes were sparkling. "And I wouldn't have met you again."

~o~

She'd made coffee before she left for work, dressed back in her work clothes and leaving him with a peck of a kiss on the cheek, a warm feeling washing over him that he wished she didn't have to leave. The news was on that morning, still talking about the State Penitentiary Carnage. Well, well, well, labeling it like the Miskatonic Massacre. He shook his head as he buttoned the top two buttons of his white shirt, the faded jeans on him fitting remarkably well. He sat down on the sofa with his coffee and settled on revising his notes and all for now. And no mention of me.

He tried to concentrate only to find thoughts about there being more to Heather Phillips taking his mind off his work. He growled and threw the papers down on the marble-topped table, crossing one leg over the other. But his memory was well enough to not forget anything, he had to remind himself that. Herbert had never been one to look through someone's belongings, but something told him that his young assistant – and possible object of affection – had more secrets to hide. There was one place he could think of, and that was her bedside table, which he was sure housed something more personal...and it was.

All these articles and pictures of himself from a decade ago when he was arrested, the stories of the massacre...he smiled to himself at this little hobby of hers. And obsession, he thought, the word itself not used so negatively and misunderstood like his work was called. It seems she sees me more than just as her idol and mentor; she lusts for me. Right beside Heather's little "personal file" was something Herbert himself would never dream of using on himself:

A pulsating vibrating applicator.

He dropped the folder back in and slammed the drawer shut, taking in slow, deep breaths, his heart pounding hard. To know that she owned a vibrator and collected the old newspaper clippings of himself in this one drawer, he could picture her on her bed getting off with that little device over these images of his younger self. It both enthralled him yet infuriated him; he never thought self-pleasure was his forte, nor should it be for anyone even though Dan said everyone did it, one time in an unwanted discussion. "Not I," Herbert had snapped, which ended it right there. Masturbation was too difficult because it wasn't the need for another person to do it for you.

Thinking of that made Herbert think of Heather on her knees, right in front of him, her mouth around his hardening member and the use of her hands on him...he was too late to stop that when he realized how hard he was at the present. Perfect.

~o~

"Your friend was the journalist Laura Olney, but we couldn't find who decapitated her body."

"Not one inmate who did it?"

"No, ma'am. But maybe the man was killed in the mess; we'll still be looking into it. In the meantime, what was your relationship with the Warden?"

"My boss, obviously. But he was a complicated man. What do you expect when you work at a place like this under a man like him?"

"Doctor, why did you come here to begin with? We read your record at Miskatonic, and it would have assumed you'd be somewhere better than this place of crazies. A smart, pretty girl like you should be somewhere safer."

"I can handle myself, Officer, thank you very much. I came here because of my interest in institutional medicine. But now after what's happened, I am thinking maybe this isn't the place for me after all, but I don't think I can leave yet because these men need me."

"These men who harmed innocent people for their own twisted pleasure don't need compassionate help, Dr. Phillips. The decision is yours, though I am sure that your superiors could convince you you're better off elsewhere. But for now, I think I can agree that this place needs you to help clean up the mess. And a new Warden is in place."

It was nearing one in the afternoon, and Heather felt like she was on her own; the conversation in the interrogation still rang in her head after that morning. But there was also Nurse Vanessa, though she was in no better condition than she; her right nipple had been bitten off by Moses who had been alive despite being "killed" and escaped the hole, only to be shot down by SWAT commandos. But she would be given operation for her breast soon, starting tomorrow, she was told.

Heather knew that her questioning officer was right; she needed to get away from this place soon. Her plan was to transfer to Boston General, be close to Dan and Francesca, and little Adrian. Bring Herbert with her.

And speaking of which, maybe Francesca could help her out, like she'd been considering. When Heather managed to steal the time away, she found the nearest phone and dialed the Cain house number. Francesca worked at home nowadays, leaving the country for stories on rarer occasions. After about four rings, there was that soft Italian accent. "Hi, Fran, it's Heather."

"Oh, ciao, how are you?" she said, delighted.

"I'm okay, but I was wondering if you could do me a favor. Dig up anything you can about Herbert West that the papers haven't recorded years before."

There was a pause before she got a hesitant reply. "I sure can, but it's going to be tough. What do you want to know?"

Heather struggled for a moment. "Family, birth certificate, his mentor Dr. Gruber, his life in Switzerland before Miskatonic, anything."

"I'll do it now," Francesca answered. "I'll show you when you come tomorrow, if you still plan to?"

"I certainly do. I mean to get away from this prison anyways, maybe move to be near you guys," Heather answered with a smile.

Francesca laughed and squealed at the same time. "Oh, that's wonderful! I can't wait to tell Dan about this; he'll be so happy."

"Yeah, though it's not final yet, but I know it will happen. We just need to clean this mess up here, first." She heard her name called behind her. "Shit, I have to go, but we'll see you guys tomorrow."

~o~

He still had yet to adjust to being outside bars and bricked walls, but when Herbert stepped out that Saturday morning with Heather and joined her in a taxi cab for the bus station, to feel the sun and warmth on his skin was very strange yet comforting. He had never paid much attention to his surroundings, not even when he was young, but to feel the sun beat down on him was exhilarating. He couldn't describe it.

He sat beside Heather without a word said in case their driver overheard anything suspicious, and then she surprised him by leaning into him, her long hair tumbling over his chest. The sheer florals in her mane reached his nostrils along with her spicy, fruity perfume, a combination another person would be sick from because two different fragrances didn't match together, but he found it very soothing with her. She'd wrapped her arm around his waist and leaned her head against his chest so she could listen to his heartbeat; he, in return, could feel hers against his chest, as well. Herbert wrapped his arms around her back and pulled her closer, the feel of her soft gray sweatshirt not as pleasant as her skin might be. He wondered if there would be a chance for them to move further than they were now, but he automatically assumed that she was not ready for this.

And then she spoke to him. "Herbert, tell me something. Am I really just an assistant to you?"

He was surprised by the question. "Just an assistant?" No, I don't believe so; I might know basic biology in my field, but at the same time, emotion-wise...I believe she's a valuable...friend? Or no; I doubt friends would want each other the way I want her.

Too late to go back now on those words: I want her. "Of course not, but I believe good friends," he said in spite of the thought.

"And we fight over the work," she whispered to him softly, her lips nearly touching his ear, the sensations jolting.

Herbert laughed. "We used to fight over it," he answered, knowing she knew he was talking about Daniel, so their cab driver didn't know. "I can take verbal blows, but anyone I try to work beside never sees eye to eye with me." The car finally stopped outside the station, and they both got out. He didn't have much of anything to pack since they would be here for most of the day, and neither did she. But just before they could walk down the way, Heather took his hand into hers.

"I might not always agree with you, but that doesn't mean I don't want anything to do with you," she promised. "Not everybody can always agree on the same thing. Friends fight...couples fight." She was looking up at him curiously. "Herbert...are we a couple? I've never dated anyone in medical school, and I don't think you've been with anyone before, either."

She was referring to him not answering her question about that particular subject, but no. "You're entirely correct. We're on the same page, then." He smiled down at her. "Though I suppose I should start thinking about other things now that I've accomplished what I spent my life trying to do."

"And what's that? You cheated death, so now what do you want to do?" Her smile matched his now. He knew she was trying to coax him to confessing.

"I'm at the point in my life, so I think this might say it all." With that, he leaned down and kissed her tenderly on her lips. It was not like the rushed, rough one back in the prison lab, but like then, there was no tongue involved. The wave through his system was indescribable, but he wasn't sure if he was ready to call this love. He wasn't sure what love was, although he faintly remembered what Hans Gruber told him long ago in his teenage years.

"Love is difficult to explain for many, defined in many ways, so remember I was married once, long before you were born," the old man had told young Herbert, just not long into his first year of high school when the subject only came up, and he was trying to get his young ward to start seeing girls.

Young Herbert had his interest piqued and asked, "What happened to your wife, Doctor?"

The wise old man had laughed and patted his shoulder. "Ah, my boy, you keep forgetting I prefer Hans, not just 'Doctor'. We are family, after all, if not by blood. But in answer to your question, she died tragically of the plague. My love for her never died, we had no children and you fill that void, but I never found it in me to find another. To me, there would never be another like her, and that is why I, like others before me, seek to vanquish death." He'd smiled and rested his hand on that same shoulder. "Someday, Herbert, you'll find love if you so choose. It is never-ending and burning; even when it doesn't always burn with hot passion, it's still there. It can also be shared sexually..."

"Oh, please!" He'd put his hands to his ears while trying to stifle giggles; learning about the intimate nature of humanity had been an embarrassing topic for him, but with time, he'd gotten used to it. It had made Hans laugh before apologizing and continuing.

"This meaning differs, as I said, although love can be questioned. Some say it is false while others say it doesn't exist, but they have no idea how wrong they are. But you know, this is due to how much hatred and suffering every country endured over the past. Loved ones and friends alike failed one another. It has continued on to this very day. But know this, Herbert..." He'd pulled the boy close to him and rested his chin atop Herbert's head, the gesture comforting enough as he absorbed the older, wiser man's words. "...someday you will find somebody to share your happiness and sorrow, who understands you as you understand her, and always be there. It will be a matter of time, no matter how much, that this often misunderstood thing called love will blossom and strengthen the two of you."

Heather pulled away then, her breaths coming out soft but erratic. He was hoping she would say something in response but found she couldn't, and it almost made him smile smugly that he rendered her speechless. And then the next words ruined it. "We have to get on the bus. We'll finish this later."

~o~

Her lips were still tingling when they got onto the bus for Boston; she sat by the window and gazed out at the streets, stores and the likes that passed by. She and Herbert still didn't speak much, but she did buy them both burgers for the ride since it would be a little while. To see him eating like a normal person was a nice thing; he looked at it like he hadn't had it before and had no idea how to take it. "It's fine," Heather assured him. "It's great, though I wouldn't have it all the time."

He gave a wry smile. "I see why." He took a bite out of it, his Adam's apple bobbing slightly, and she giggled. Seconds passed before he smiled again and nodded. "Not bad. But like you said, not all the time," he said, and shared a laugh with her. This was when Heather began to feel more easy around him, now planning to expose him to a little more fun to be had. Life shouldn't be all work and no play.

They spent their time simply talking about things that didn't involve work; their shared favorite color turned out to be blue, for example. Heather loved country music in contrast to rock while Herbert claimed to have a fondness for New Age and World music, the relaxing otherworldly tunes in contrast to the awful rap music, which made her laugh. Their also shared hobby was reading, everything from science – biology in particular – to the great authors like Herman Melville to Mark Twain and all, as well as a few romance writers for her. Herbert, however, wasn't the least bit interested in romance novels, preferring a real version that real people felt instead of something they choose to enjoy over the real deal. Heather loved reading romance, but on second thought, he was right. Real romance meant with a real person, not a fictional character.

However, briefly and in lower voices, she managed to sneak a bit of information out of him at last about his usage of body parts. Dr. Hill's technical success – Herbert's words – had been the start of it, and the goal to follow was creating a woman from detached parts, at the center of it all being Megan Halsey's heart, the idea all for Dan who lost the love of his life and didn't handle it very well. But like all of Herbert West's other experiments, she ended badly, and Meg's death finally prompted him to move on. "I learned my lesson from using body parts," Herbert finished softly, no drop of emotion as if that was the way it was. "My formula is made for whole human beings only, not separate and mixed parts."

The Cain house finally came into view as soon as they were dropped off at the corner. It was a charming, buttery-yellow, two-story number with a double garage, surrounded by sweet greenery and trees. And there was the family themselves, ready and waiting for them four houses down from the block's corner. Dan was in a wild red plaid shirt, jeans and sneakers, his wife in a soft gray cardigan sweater over a white blouse and tight black pants, a fringed silver necklace around her neck, and their son Adrian in a denim jacket, t-shirt and jeans, just plain adorable. He had his father's brown hair and resemblance, and mother's soft hazel eyes. They all greeted Heather warmly with hugs and kisses, but when it came to Herbert's turn, everything just got awkward and tense.

"West," Dan said, struggling between inviting and aloof. "How are you?"

"Very well, Daniel," Herbert answered with a tight smile, then looked down at the ground. "And who might you be?"

"I'm Adrian," the child answered, grinning. "You're Herbert, Daddy's friend."

Herbert laughed with everyone else. "Well, your...daddy and I were friends, but it's been a long time." He looked up to see Dan shift from foot to foot in an attempt to avoid his wife folding her arms across her chest as she looked back and forth between the two men before deciding to announce her heading indoors.

"Danny, remember you're taking him to Robbie's for the day?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah! Let's go then, buddy." Dan tried grinning to hide the fact he forgot, making Francesca roll her eyes and then looked at Heather, nodding for her to follow her inside. Behind her, she heard Dan "invite" Herbert to ride with him because they had a lot to discuss. She just hoped not another verbal confrontation, though it was always bound to happen.

"So, what have you got?" Heather asked once they were inside the house. Francesca led her upstairs and down the hall to where the computer room was, reaching into one of the drawers and pulling out some papers.

"Birth certificate, some newspapers, everything you asked for."

Heather frowned; really, he was that much famous before the death of his professor, before the massacre? The first thing she needed to see was his birth certificate. His mother's name was Victoria Grace West, father James Marcus West. He was an only child, born on the twentieth of August in 1960. So definitely forty-three. Almost twenty years my senior, not that I care. But it was the headline of the newspaper Francesca handed to her that made her really care: FATAL CAR CRASH IN ZURICH

"I'm starting to feel for him, but if only that night didn't make it so hard," Francesca spoke, wrapping her hair in a ponytail with the band she'd had around her wrist. Heather nodded numbly, half hearing her and instead focused on the story.

Last Wednesday night during a rainstorm, a young American scientist, Dr. James West, and his pregnant wife Victoria were hit by a drunk driver and swerved off the road, narrowly missing several others on the sidewalk, barely off the street, and flying off the air, the vehicle colliding on its roof and sliding along the road. Dr. West, former pupil and a colleague of the renowned Dr. Hans Gruber, was killed in the accident, and his wife barely survived but was taken to the hospital, where she suffered internal bleeding and brain damage. A cross C-section was performed; her child made it through, but the mother was not lucky enough and died from her injuries.

Dr. West was the protégé of Dr. Gruber for many years, married to his high school sweetheart since the end of school, both attending the University of Zurich together and graduating together, having their first child due in two more months by mid-fall. West and Gruber were in together theorizing the conquering of death, but now it seems that the younger man's dream will never be fulfilled before his mentor's time is up, and his newborn child will never know either parent. The baby, a boy but still yet to be named, will be adopted by Professor Gruber of the university, given there are no other living relatives. This is truly a terrible and tragic night for a young couple, and a grievance for their orphaned son and the man who taught the young scientist everything he knew, and "loved him like a son I never had", as quoted by the grief-stricken Dr. Gruber.

"Oh, God!" Heather gasped out, dropping the paper and leaning over, struggling to take in her breaths to her lungs. She thought she was going to pass out; her suspicions were confirmed, after all, and the impact was harder than she'd expected it to be. Oh God oh God oh God oh God oh God...the words in her mind were endless. "His parents...him..." she choked out, feeling the older woman's hand on her back and another on her hand to help her up.

"I know." She looked up and saw Francesca shaking her head. "You should have seen Dan's face when I showed him." She sighed heavily. "If only I could forgive him for Angel and for everything else..."

"He's driven because he suffered tragedy in his life...like me," Heather breathed, her heart picking up at a faster pace, both good and bad. "He lost his parents like I lost Emily."

"But your sister was killed by a zombie, whereas his parents died in a car crash," Francesca reminded her, taking her into her arms then so the younger woman could feel the warmth. "How could you two compare?"

"I don't want anyone to die, don't want to feel helpless saving a life again like I couldn't save my sister," Heather said, drawing back and looking her square in the eyes. "That's why I went to Herbert, brought back his fallen re-agent – the last of it. I thought he would find the way, that he wouldn't stop once he'd started, and I was right. He's really onto it, Fran. We can save millions of lives now that we have it. Just, please, you and Dan don't have to be in on this, but give it a chance."

Francesca stared at her for a second, unsure of how to respond, but Heather knew she was considering it. Then she nodded, not long before she asked, "How deep is your admiration of him?"

"Very deep," Heather answered. "I really care about him as much as it is wrong, that he's a bad guy in everyone else's eyes. But they don't understand him at all. They just don't see he has a heart underneath that stoic shell he puts on for them to see."

Awwww, poor Herbert! The waters really run deeper than everyone else thinks about a person, as much as the line between good and bad is drawn. Plus, that information about love is so true, because I know it myself; it's so hard to explain to another person. :) Those same words by the good late Dr. Gruber were also said by another person whose name I can't think of, but I believe anyone else can say so as well. Truer words never spoken, and the topic on love will be carried on coming up. Stay tuned!