A/N: Two more chapters to go after this. Good luck guessing what's ahead...

CHAPTER 06: NIGHTSHADE

The coppery taste on Hugh's tongue was welcomed, if only because the blood provided some moisture in his otherwise parched mouth. Swallowing it proved difficult, though—almost as difficult as remembering where he was and what smelled like dirt.

"Ah, you're waking up."

Call Hugh crazy, but Miriam's voice made her sound like a giant. It could've been for a number of reasons: acoustics, the detective's budding migraine, or even a hallucination. Still, the only way he could confirm involved opening his sensitive eyes to the floodlights that made him sweat.

"I'd be careful how much I moved if I were you, Detective Reese. You still have some Atropine in your system."

"Atro-what?" Hugh rasped. He cringed at the pain talking caused and dreaded swallowing again. "What...did you...do?"

"You fell through my roof first. The Nightshade and chains were just precautions."

Did she mean she poisoned them? Chained them? To what? Wait, who was 'them' exactly? Groaning, Hugh pushed up from the stone floor with weakened muscles, and they quivered as his erratic heart quickened its pace so suddenly, it left the man nauseous.

"Bet you've never felt effects like that in your career, huh, Detective?"

The man wanted to shake his head but knew if he did, it would turn his tilted world upside-down.

"Shit," another man said with a wheeze. Damien? "What're we? In an episode of Scooby-Doo?"

A fourth person hissed; female. "Miriam? What're you…doing?"

"What do you think, Jez? I'm protecting myself."

"By drugging us?"

"Well, unlike some, I'm not good at doing nothing."

'We found Miriam? How? What did...? Right, Zeke. I got a lead. Jez and Damien crashed it. We fell, so...are we in Black Lotus' basement?'

With borderline pain, Hugh's sight adjusted to the intense lights, and he focused it where he heard the strongest voice. Miriam stood at a long planter on high legs, carefully tending it with a watering tin around UV strips hanging overhead. What struck the detective as stranger than her casualness was how she held herself, even her clothes. The Miriam he remembered had been a Dominican with cool undertones softened by her girly style and loving family. This Miriam? She dressed dowdily and kept her dyed hair in a long braid, priorities switched to some inner battle Hugh couldn't see.

"What is this place?" Damien asked.

Hugh twisted to see him, but soon realized he had been anchored by the neck to one of many triangular, cement pillars in the low-ceiling room. 'Guess Damien and Jezebel are on the other sides.'

"Oh, this old place?" Miriam answered dryly. "It's an overseen storage room someone missed in the police sweep. Or rather, it was never reported. Guess the guy who found it wanted to capitalize on its goods. Too bad for him, he must've died, maybe during the Twenty-Twelve. Doesn't matter; it left me some interesting things to play with."

"I've heard about some of those things," Hugh said.

"How?"

"Sources."

The younger Dominican lowered her watering tin to stroke the petals of a plant that resembled Queen Anne's Lace. Although she kept quiet, the detective resolved to make Wendell assign security details to Zeke Phelps after his jail visit.

"So," Hugh added, "what's it take to get some tacos in this joint?"

"Tacos?"

"It's the least you can offer for this set-up. I mean the trap door was one thing, but"—the detective spat out a glob of blood from his cottony mouth—"drugging and chaining us to a pillar like dogs? Come on, Miriam, you're our host."

"And you're unwelcomed guests."

"Yes; wounded, dizzy, hungry guests. Also, curious. Like, where do you go to the bathroom? You got a...bucket?"

"I'm more resourceful than you think."

"That wasn't a 'no.'"

"Mir," Jezebel swallowed audibly, just out of range from Hugh's right side, "why are you here? Why didn't you tell me you were released? Wh—why'd you remove your bracelet? You know you'll go back because of that!"

Miriam snorted. "You make it sound like I'm scared. I'm not. Not anymore."

"So you plan to hide with plants for the rest of your life?"

"You always did think small, Hermana. All about yourself." With nimble fingers, the younger Dominican rummaged through the flowers that crowded the metal planter. "Cicuta Maculata," she added in a softer tone. "Water Hemlock. It's not as famous as the Poison Hemlock that killed Socrates, but I'm not one for popularity."

"That why you would rig the cheerleaders' lockers in school?"

"They got what they deserved. Nothing more."

"Think their faces would disagree."

"The swelling was temporary and excluded from my permanent record."

"Only because you sweet-talked the Principal."

Miriam drew in a loud breath. "Did you know Hemlock is part of the carrot and parsnip family?"

Jez snarled then coughed. "Enough about the stupid plants!"

"But it's relevant, in a way. Hemlock is disguised amongst nonpoisonous members. It isn't until someone makes a mistake that its cicutoxin wreaks havoc on their central nervous system. Nausea, cramping, convulsions—it can even cause amnesia and life-long tremors."

"You sure that ain't what ya—?" Hugh fought for the right term, though being unconscious meant he had no idea how her poison had been administered, only that it made him feel like he had the flu.

"I know the difference between Nightshade and the most toxic plant in North America, Detective."

"If it's so great," Damien wheezed, "why didn't you use that on us?"

"Because I wanted to incapacitate you, not kill you. Not all of you, anyhow."

Hugh twisted to the left as far as his chained neck would allow. "Damien? Talk to me, man. How are you feeling?"

"Don't worry about me right now. Focus on Poison Ivy."

"They call me Nightshade, actually," Miriam said.

"Who does?" asked Jez.

"Purple Dragons. Forty-Fours. I'm somewhat of a boogyman now." Miriam's amusement ran deep—from her smile to the glint in her stare when she moved to another planter filled with similar flowers. "White Snakeroot, another commonly mistaken plant. It killed Abraham Lincoln's mother, you know?"

"Get to the point!" Jez bellowed. Her chain rattled, and her voice was scratchy, but years as a PD must've lent her strength because she half-stood despite the vertigo Hugh knew she must've fought.

"Poison is often unsuspecting, isn't it?" Miriam continued. She began watering the Snakeroots then gestured with her free hand towards rows of other planters set-ups with such a variety of specimens that the concrete storeroom resembled an underground nursery segregated by pillars, a laboratory station, and hung canvas-tarps that obscured the back-most wall. "Castor Beans. Eight seeds contain enough Ricin to cause seizures, excessive vomiting, diarrhea, and if untreated, death. Rosary Peas are often used in tropical places as jewelry. And yet three micrograms of its Abrin is lethal. Less than a single seed and your organs can fail in four days."

Hugh narrowed his foggy eyes when the younger Dominican chuckled, struggling for balance as Miriam turned to Jezebel with the blankest expression he had ever seen.

"Poisonous things hide in plain sight," she added. "Even amongst families."

"What...What do you mean?" Jez asked. She was on the ground again and beat her fist against it. "No one in the family ever wanted to hurt you!"

"Oh, they weren't the poison."

The older Dominican gasped—a wavering sound that made Damien growl. "Jez has done nothing except protect and love you, little shit!"

"She joined a gang," countered Miriam.

"The rival gang of the one who killed your father!"

"But a gang all the same. And for what? To run away. You never did find the people responsible, Jez. You just became one of them. And lied about it."

"Mir—"

"You were our poison. You pushed Mami away, left Davie crying. You made me pretend everything would be okay. Then?" Their captor's voice sharpened. "You left them to die."

"I didn't know what would happen. I..."

"Ours isn't the only family ruined by monsters. Nor the last."

"Exactly," Hugh interjected. "That's why if you want to hunt bad guys, you should join the Academy." A staggered cough sounded from the Cadet. "Well, you may not pass the psych evaluation."

"I don't need any more evaluations. Or the Academy. I'll find other ways to deal with things."

"Aren't you a little limited on options?" Damian spat breathlessly. "You're name is a giant, red flag. Charges are piling up against you, now including False Imprisonment. You have no leverage, no funds."

"Wrong. You think I dealt with wire transactions when I sold to Doctor Stephens? It was only a matter of sneaking back to my vault."

Damien's sneakers shuffled against the concrete. "If you have cash, why are you still in Manhattan? What the hell are you spending it on?"

"Priorities," Miriam answered. "If I want this city cleansed, I need friends in the right places."

"Cleanse?" Damien gasped, although it sounded strangled. "How'd you get off the Funny Farm again?"

In a split second, Miriam's demeanor cracked, and she hurled the empty watering tin towards the hostages' pillar. "I'm not crazy!"

"Mir, Hermana, please." Jez trembled. "We can still make this better. Just let us go. I promise, no other reports will be filed. No Court dates, no felonies, just more time at the Center, real time, and away from—"

The younger Dominican soured. "I'm over being the victim."

"Por favor!"

"No. This...this is who I'm meant to be. I feel it. And it's freeing."

"You aren't well." The older Dominican sounded close to tears.

"I've never felt so sure of my place," Miriam said, "so strong. I've built up immunity to these poisons, subdued dozens of gangsters with little more than wit and pin-pricks. For once in my life, I have control."

"Control and madness share a thin barrier," Hugh added.

"What one calls madness, another calls necessity."

"It's clear which you are, so who's the other?"

Miriam flashed her trademark ambiguous smile. "I won't be like Jezebel. I won't sit back. They're monsters festering in this city, and I'm going to do something about it."

"These're people we're talking about!" Jez screamed.

"Gangsters. Murderers. Rapists. Thieves. Trash."

"Is that what you've thought of me all this time?"

"They're a blight. Just like those turtles."

"One of those turtles took a knife for us, Mir!"

"And our mother and brother took bullets for them!" Miriam heaved for air maybe longer than she realized. After a deep inhale, she held her breath while she regained her posture. Soon her shakes ceased, her apathy returned, and she reclaimed the tossed watering tin.

"Alright, I'll bite," Damien told her in a strained voice. The Dominican glanced up while bent over, green braid swaying. "If you have all these plans, a master scheme, where does that leave us? You gunna kill us? Sell us? Barter us? Like you did those other people?"

Miriam rightened, grip on the watering tin as loose as her expression, and walked back towards her plants. 'She knows this place has been compromised. She also must know others will be looking for us. She'll have to make us disappear. But how?' Hugh reached into his dress slacks with an unsteady hand in hopes of signaling his Phantom alarm. Just his luck, though, it had been confiscated. 'She isn't stupid, but it was worth a shot.'

"Jez," Hugh spoke in an undertone, "we may have to accept she won't listen."

"Why?" Jezebel whispered. "Aren't you, like, trained for this shit?"

"Talking down perps? Yeah. But it doesn't always work. Mission-oriented people are usually hung up on small details, logic, and patience. But considering what her mission is, we have no bargaining chips to sway her or reason that would convince her to return to the Center."

"She won't abandon her crusade," Damien added.

"There's gotta be some way to help," Jez hissed.

"You're her sister," continued Hugh, "and she has you chained to a pillar."

"Speaking of, anyone else find that strange?" The younger African-American paused. "How she restrained us, I mean. Collars? They're bolted to the stone, for cripes sake. She didn't just do that on the fly."

"Keep talking," Hugh said.

So Damien did, "I think this set-up was more of a convenience. Other pillars have chains too. Like it was a holding area for something."

"Holding what?"

Grinding metal sounded. An elevator? Hugh couldn't be sure, but he heard the whine come to an abrupt halt and not long after the back canvas-tarps parted to reveal a broad-figured man with deep purple hair. He stalked towards Miriam, dark eyes flickering over the captives.

"Did you move everything, Ryan?" the younger Dominican asked.

"Ryan?" Hugh asked. "Ryan Bridge? Angel's brother?"

The purple-haired man scoffed. "Yes," he told Miriam.

"You kept it upright?" she asked. "No jerking movements?"

"I worked in construction for years, Night; I know how to move a silly crate."

"It's a special crate."

"Tell that to the guy who never picked it up."

"I doubt Doctor Tilley was the one who stowed it away."

'Tilley? Now, why is that name familiar? Why? Why...?' Hugh's brows shot up. 'The badge we used to get to Leo. Well, tried. If he had a shipment here, it must be related to the work at Black Lotus. But...what was he working on?'

"We don't have much time left," said Ryan, gaze set on Hugh. "You ready to move the last things?"

Jezebel spat his way. "We aren't things, mama guevo!"

"Ryan." The detective caught the man's attention again. "How would your sister feel if she saw you right now?"

"Angel doesn't matter," Ryan retorted. "She sided with those freaks who attacked me."

"I thought only Raph jumped you. Er—"

"I don't care how many there were. She chose them over me, so I made a choice, too."

"To cut her out of your life? She thought the higher-ups at the Center were barring her from visiting, but it was you?"

"Night understands me. She has a plan I believe in. It's all I need."

"So there were two crazies who managed to escape," grumbled Damien.

Ryan stepped aside so Miriam could approach. She carried three EpiPen-like devices premeasured with a blue-green formula. Hugh jerked aside when she kneeled before him, choking on the tension the collar placed on his swollen throat.

"This is a heavier rendition of the earlier drug," she said in all casualty. "But you won't overdose. If you just cooperate, no one has to—"

Shattering glass rained down from behind the canvas-tarps. There was a man's cry and a thump like the impact of a weighted sack against the concrete. By the time Ryan and Miriam twisted around, a short figure darted through the partitions so quickly, one fluttered to the ground, and Hugh's stomach turned when Kaiya smiled at him.