Chapter Eight -The Tie That Binds

Co-written with Renegade Vic

Whoever was holding her upright pulled her arms out of the pillars and lowered her to the ground, the muffled sounds around her intensifying in pitch and a hand lightly shook her shoulder.

"Ava…Ava, you passed…"

I won…

"Don't just…fucking stand there…" she croaked, eyes on the blurry faces above her. "Get the…fucking…antidote, you…stupid…motherfucker."

"Well, we know you're gonna be okay now, at least," Mike chuckled, standing and making his way to the now-open door that, much like the previous test, revealed a cramped storage closet and a syringe dangling from a chain.

This one had a note attached to it, however. Mike plucked the card from its resting place and studied it, brow furrowing in confusion as he flipped it over, only to discover that the back was blank.

The number three had been printed on the card- and nothing else. What did it mean? Three…three what? Three kills? There had been over a dozen reported murders that fit the Puppeteer's methods. Had three been innocent? Or did it have nothing to do with her crimes? Three pints of blood, maybe? The human body could survive losing three pints of blood- Mike had lost four, once, and been laid-up in the hospital for nearly a week, but he had survived. If that was the case, Ava would be fine.

But maybe that wasn't it, either. Maybe it would hold significance only to Ava.

Only one way to find out. Mike removed the syringe from the hook that held it in place, returning to the group- and the still sprawled-out Ava.

"This one's yours. You lost a lot of blood…body's not gonna fight the gas for long if we don't get this antidote in you," Mike stated, seeking out a vein in the semi-conscious woman's arm. At least the others had tied off her wounds- and if the material was any indicator, it had been Obi's shirt they had used.

Big damn hero, huh… Mike thought, the realization that he was only half-joking giving him momentary pause. Something had triggered him to get back into the process of keeping people alive.

"Just…give me…fucking…antidote…already," Ava groaned, wincing again as Mike pushed the needle into the most prominent of veins just below her elbow.

"Huh, and after all we did to keep you alive, you'd think you'd be more grateful. Five bucks to me, next time you say 'fuck' in my presence, got it?" Mike taunted, dodging a feeble swing with ease. "Ten if you try to hit me again."

"Dammit…"

Ava was grateful and she was relieved. As the precious antidote contained within the needle flooded into her body, she felt as though a tightening around her chest had been loosened. She could breathe again, in more ways than one.

It might have been the blood making her woozy, or the concentration of the gas, even as her body became resistant to it…but the true identity of the Puppeteer was out for the first time since she'd taken a life. A huge piece of herself had been revealed to these people, who she barely knew, and she couldn't find it within herself to jump up and slit their throats to protect herself.

After everything they'd gone through in this house, for some reason she didn't think that they would turn her in to the police, or the FBI, or anyone else. She wasn't a murderer of innocent people, so why would they want to chase her down?

Eyes widening, Ava shook her head, 'child-like' assumptions vanishing in a heartbeat. No more ignorance of the possibilities. She was cured, but she was still weak. She'd lost god-knows how much blood to this…this device and her body felt like it was made of rubber.

Struggling to sit up, she grabbed the rocker's shoulder for support, digging her nails in and gritting her teeth.

"Mike…I don't think I can move around on my own," she mumbled, annoyed at herself for allowing herself to be seen in this state. "Could you…help me?"

Never, in her entire life, had Ava asked for help. The only time, and this hardly counted, was when she'd asked one of her earlier victims to 'help' her find a place in the city, where she'd consequently led them into an alley and had her 'wicked way' with them.

Before the Puppeteer…she remembered now. Pedophile. Jeremy Harvey. She'd mounted his head on a spike outside the local church.

"Just until we get out of here." She refused to meet his eyes.

"'Til that shit attacks me again, at least," Mike replied, nodding in agreement. Honestly, he wasn't sure how much longer he'd be able to keep going before the Sarin took its toll one time too many and left him to choke on his own blood. The taste was welling up in his mouth already- he was going to need an antidote soon. One of the next ones they found…

But there were still three other people who hadn't gotten one yet. Jonas wasn't doing so great anymore- it didn't take an expert in biological warfare to tell that the gas was playing havoc on his body. And Amanda and Daniel were both smaller than he was. They would have even less time…

Fuck. He'd just have to grin and bear it until they had enough antidotes for everyone. He'd said it himself- whoever needed the needles most would get them first.

And at least Xavier didn't get his. There were extras. If a test was impossible, they could find another one.

Ten people had been in the room when they started. The greaseball businessman didn't need his dose anymore, and neither did Xavier. Two more antidotes than they needed, to take care of everyone who was still alive.

They could do this. But they'd have to move fast.

"C'mon, we gotta move," Jonas urged, helping Mike to pull Ava to her feet and taking hold of her other shoulder, the three of them forming a grim caricature of a multi-legged race team.

For one ludicrous moment, Mike wondered if either of the other two had ever participated in a race like that as kids. Jonas might have, maybe…but Ava didn't seem the type to have enjoyed things like that, back then.

Back then. Like it had been so tremendously long ago. He wasn't sure how old Ava was, but Mike estimated somewhere in her twenties- younger than him, but not by much. It was hard to tell with Jonas- he looked like he might have been in his late thirties, but with the gas taking its toll on him, it was hard to tell if he was just worn down now or if he was actually much older than that.

"Huh…four legs down a hallway…" Mike trailed off, his thought process ending in a fit of entirely uncharacteristic laughter.

Oh, great. He was cracking up. He could feel it happening as his diaphragm shook with borderline-manic giddiness- and then intensifying as he realized how totally irrational it was to laugh in their present situation.

But he couldn't bring himself to care. It was so hilarious, their efforts to make it down the hallway, moving in such perfect step…

Ava groaned, unable to believe what she was hearing. He was laughing! The demented rocker's brain had deteriorated to the point that a situation as simple as this was funny! Frankly, he and Jonas were the only things keeping her upright at all, and he thought it was funny?

She momentarily wondered whether or not Sarin had manic effects on the human brain…

"Jesus, Christ. Where's your head at, King?" Ava growled, contemplating hitting him but opting against it. She'd probably end up losing her balance and falling over, and she'd rather avoid something as embarrassing, and painful, as that. Her wrists were still aching, but at least it felt like the bleeding had stopped a little. Thankfully, Jigsaw had chosen to make her cut herself across, instead of up the vein. She wouldn't die at any rate, but she'd be piss-weak for a while if she didn't get a blood transfusion when she got out of here.

"Where's…where's my head…" The rocker was in near hysterics by this point, his one free hand clutching his side.

"Hey, calm down, my man. Ain't that funny, y'know?" Jonas was looking at him now, his step slowing slightly.

"We're…look at us! We're a four legged race!"

Ava snorted at that.

Four legged race…she'd seen the other kids playing that at school when she was a child, but she'd never participated. She'd been the outcast as a kid, quiet and 'weird', as the other kids had said. 'Anti-Ava' had followed her all through Middle School to the point that it wasn't even an insult anymore. It was just what she was known by.

"Hey…"

Daniel moved past Jonas, his eyes on a cracked, empty photoframe on the wall.

"Guys, look!"

He turned back to the group, a mixture of apprehension spread over his young face, his finger still pointed at the picture.

"Don't you see it? X marks the spot!"

"Then don't just look at it and fuckin' point!" Addison snapped. "Get it!"

Mike watched as Daniel lifted the frame from its place on the wall, first checking the wall immediately behind it- and finding nothing- before turning the frame itself over. Something shifted in his expression as he did- something that silenced Mike's insane laughter as dead as the house itself seemed to be.

Fear. There was something on the back of the picture frame that Daniel didn't want anyone else to see. What was it…and WHY?

"Whatcha got there, man?" Mike asked, shifting Ava more solidly into Jonas' grip and stepping forward to get a look at what Daniel had found.

"N…nothing. There's nothing here…guess I was wr-"

"Not buyin' it, kid. C'mon. Ava's the fuckin' Puppeteer, and it doesn't matter. If this is dirt on you, or somethin', you might as well just-" Mike reached out with blinding speed and snatched up the photo- and froze.

Staring back at him from the photograph were both Daniel…and Detective Eric Matthews.

The cop who had framed him.

"What…what the fuck? You know this prick?" he asked, wishing for all the world he had a cigarette to burn through the corrupt detective's face.

"He's…" Daniel began to explain, but fell silent as Mike flipped the photograph over. The words "Father and son," written in the same black marker as everything else they had found- every envelope, every note- lay bare for him to see.

"Your dad. You're the son of the shitbag cop who had me put away for killin' a guy I never even knew existed." Memories of the trial- if it could even have been called a trial; the city loved to play kangaroo court, where anyone and everyone had their price, including that miserable, fat-faced fucking judge- came flooding back into Mike's mind, one false witness after another taking the stand in his mind again. The officer who had challenged Matthews' claim, probably the last decent cop on the force- and she had practically been booed from the stand. Dismissed without consideration.

"What the fuck're you talking about," Ava demanded, leaning heavily on Jonas and trying to see what Mike and the kid were looking at.

Corrupt cop? His son? What the hell?

"You know this motherfucker?" Mike asked, holding the picture out to her, glass down. With a cautious raised eyebrow, Ava took the photo and looked down…and promptly felt the twin sensations of her inner demon roaring and the bottom of her stomach dropping out.

"No, fucking WAY!"

Eric Matthews, fucking Detective Eric Matthews, smiled up at her from the photograph, his arm around Daniel.

Father and son.

Her hands began to shake.

"You do know him, then?"

"Fuck, yes, I know him," Ava growled, clenching her hand over the corner of the frame. "He's the asshole that got me put away for a crime I didn't commit."

She thrust the picture back at the rocker, her face a rictus of hateful intensity.

"One time. First degree murder. And it was a fucking frame job."

Being framed for a killing she had nothing to do with was more than a little agitating for someone like her. They'd attempted to suggest her as the Puppeteer, but that hadn't blow over. The guy she'd been 'busted' for killing didn't fit the profile. For all she knew, the cops had killed him solely to fuck up her life.

They had her prints after all, which lead her to be extremely painstaking to detail when it came to her killings.

"I know that guy too," Jonas grunted. "Fucker threw me into Joliat. Five fuckin' years. Add another ten the moment I got out."

"I…I knew that didn't sound right, when you got locked away…" Addison cut in, her eyes fixed on Mike. "He did the same thing to me, too. Possession. Just to make his fuckin' buddy look like a hero…they just rounded up everyone they wanted off the streets, said we were all in some godforsaken crackhouse…"

Rigg. Mike remembered him, too. He had been the one who had questioned him…had been both the good cop and the bad cop in the same routine. At least he was the middle ground…or, if he had been the 'bad cop,' Matthews was the worse cop.

Not inhuman like his buddy, though.

"Saw that one on the news," Mike replied. "Not like there's much to do in prison but watch the news, read the papers, and beat the shit outta anyone who tries to make you their bitch…"

They had never gotten to him. A few of the big guys had tried to bring him down, but they'd learned firsthand just how much pain a shattered kneecap could cause. Everyone had left him alone after that…which was fine for Mike. All he had to do was sweat it out until his case got appealed- and that had been a matter of months.

"He…he's the one who brought me in, too…" Laura added, her eyes as wide with fear as they had been when that slimeball had gotten shot earlier. "He said if I didn't…didn't confess, that they'd- they'd just dump me off somewhere after they were done with me…" With a final whimper, she shrunk back behind Obi, presumably to collect her nerves.

"Me, too." It was unlikely that the others had heard her, but Amanda had spoken up as well. "Apparently I was just some 'useless junkie bitch' that no one was gonna miss…"

It was like a fireball had gone off in the pit of Mike's stomach. Now they knew what they had in common. Eric fucking Matthews. He had ruined all of their lives, one at a time…

And now his son was standing in front of them, wishing he was anywhere but where he was.

"You poor bastard. Poor, poor, unfortunate bastard," Mike chuckled, turning his attention back to the youth who looked for all the world like he was trying to disappear into the floorboards. "I get what you mean, 'bout him being a hardass."

Daniel looked up suddenly, the expression on his face shifting from one of terror to one of utter confusion. "You mean…you guys…you're not gonna…"

Mike had to suppress the urge to start laughing again. This kid thought he was gonna take out his problems with his crooked fuck-up of a father on him?

"What? Blame you for the shit he did? Are you fuckin' kidding? Me and your dad, we've got shit to settle one day…but that's him diggin' his own grave, not yours, you get what I'm saying?"

"But…I thought…"

"What, because your daddy brought us in, we're gonna kill you?" Ava managed a sarcastic smirk. "Look, kid. I'm a serial killer and even I'm not interested in offing you. Far as I'm concerned, you're just as much in this shit as we are. Only he's your dad."

And it was as close as a 'psychopathic murderer' like her could come to the truth. Daniel was an innocent and thus of no interest to her. Or anyone in here. With the exception of Xavier, but Ava had her doubts he was even alive anymore.

The look that spread across the kid's face was something like relieved-anxiety, if there is such an expression. He seemed less tense when he realized that Mike and Ava weren't gonna kill him, but he was still cautious. The others had said nothing on the subject of his well-being, preferring to just stare at him instead.

They weren't going to hurt him. They'd been tested. And the others that hadn't been either had a moral backbone or had been cured.

Loyalty and gratefulness didn't make for a violent combination in her book.