This is where things get even more AU. In here HG Wells isn't from the past, she's a present day writer. All you genuine Wells fans please don't kill me for this one.
Some SANCTUARY characters have been added.
MAJOR THANKS to all of the concerned commenters, you're all so very kind. I'm hanging in there.
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Somebody's reading this, I don't know who you are but drop a line, OK? Even if it's a complaint/hate mail. I'm seriously curious as to what you guys think is up next. Let's make this interactive people!
DON'T OWN, DON'T SUE!
SNATCH
Sirens blared and lights flashed outside a five leveled building. Gawkers stood around gossiping as police officers and crime scene investigators canvassed the building and took notes from neighbors and passerby's.
On the inside of the buildings fifth floor, Pete Lattimer was standing in a darkened hallway with his back against the wall. A young female officer was standing on his left taking notes as the rest of the officers shuffled in and out of the flat across from them. They wouldn't let him enter the room.
"Come on, I swear I won't touch anything! Just let me have a look around and I'll tell you if I vibe or not." Pete said as he stuck his head inside of the doorway.
The gray haired Detective Wolcott frowned at the odd man. In times of desperation, the force was known to call on some particularly strange aids to help solve a case. This one in particular was one of the strangest. Apparently the famed pizzeria owner was supposed to be "psychic". He claimed he met one of the kidnappers firsthand and he even heard the victim screaming for help in this very apartment during a delivery. How did he know the screams were of the missing vic?
Easy.
The restaurateur claimed he got "vibes" about it when he was watching the Breaking News special that evening.
Detective Wolcott stuck a tooth pick into the side of his mouth and shook his head in disbelief. If it hadn't been for Frederic's recommendation, they probably would've never taken this lead on. As he considered sending the man downstairs to cool it in one of the patrol cars, at that very moment, Wolcott's partner, Detective Aarons took up the honors of removing the restaurateur from the doorway.
Using the bulk of his body, all six foot four and twenty stone worth, Detective Aaron's easily backed the psychic through the threshold.
"Sorry Mr. Lattimer, this is an investigation we can't have civilians contaminating any of the evidence."
Pete tossed his hands in the air. "Civilians? Oh, dude come on! I'm practically one of you guys- I just gave you a tip."
From the gleam in his eyes, the forty-two year old father of two did not take too kindly to being called, "dude".
Detective Wolcott turned his head from this spectacle to take in the rest of the apartment. It was a spacious loft, with officers milling about everywhere dusting for prints and searching cabinets and closets. Thus far, they've been sweeping the entire room for nearly two hours.
With his hands in his pockets, the Senior Detective made his way over to the kitchen side of the loft. The forensic specialists in that area were packing up their equipment. From the dour expressions on their faces things weren't going so good. Wolcott turned his attention to his longtime acquaintance, famed forensic examiner Dr. Helen Magnus.
The dark haired woman was renowned throughout Europe for being an "answer's man". Despite not being a detective herself, countless times her shrewd eye and quick wit had a major part to play in the solving of tough, and sometimes even cold, cases. Dr. Magnus didn't always perform onsite investigations but when she did, it was guaranteed that the case was something good.
At the questioning look on Detective Wolcott's face, Dr. Magnus folded her arms across her chest and shook her head.
"There's nothing in here Wally, not a print, not a strand of hair, it's like a Clean Room."
She nodded her head to the far side of the room, the spot where the bathroom and the closets were located.
"I have a few of the others working those areas. We're taking a sample of the toilet water- perhaps a little DNA's in there and the shower. Just to humor ourselves, I sent Richards to check the closet. Considering they were on the lam, I doubt they would've stored anything in there but you never know."
Just as she said that, a young man poked his head from out of the closet. He was wearing the full body coveralls like all of the other forensic workers but his mask was drawn over his head. His eyes were bright with excitement.
"Dr. Magnus? Detective Wolcott? You both should check this out."
Wolcott and Magnus exchanged glances and then together made their way across the room. Upon entrance of the closet, the young assistant pointed to the bottom corner of the closet shelf. At first glance it appeared to be nothing, but upon closer inspection, a rubber gag was spotted hanging sideways on the edge of the shelf. In the empty closet, it looked most out of place.
"Did you shoot it?" Wolcott asked.
The assistant nodded. "I took a shot from each angle. I didn't want to move it before showing it to you first."
"Good."
The detective dropped to a crouch and picked up the gag with a rubber gloved hand. He dangled the gag in his face and examined it all over. Behind him he felt as Dr. Magnus shifted and leaned in.
"They gagged her?" Dr. Magnus said. "We can have the lab run analysis on the saliva to see if it is a match. We need a swab from both of her parents first."
Wolcott stood up, his lips were pressed into a hard line. He seen too much in his line of work, the gag alone gave him too many possibilities, all of them unfortunately ending. The detective plopped the gag into an evidence bag, then handed it to the assistant. Both Magnus and her assistant went back over to the rest of the evidence pile. Magnus signaled for someone to dust the closet for fingerprints and hair samples and she herself pulled out a heavy duty forensics kit.
As he made his way back towards the front of the room, Detective Wolcott rubbed a hand to his stress knotted neck. That was one turn of events he was not expecting. His eyes sought out Detective Aarons and discovered him peering into the empty cabinets wearing a frown.
"Contact the Bering's lawyers," Wolcott directed him.
There was a pause as Wolcott removed the gloves from his hands and pulled out a cell phone. Detective Aarons watched and waited patiently for continued instructions. "I want to issue an alert along the continent's borders in case there's been a sighting. If this is where she was kept, they are long gone and just maybe, are looking to escape overseas."
Detective Wolcott crossed over to the window and peered outside.
Below were the masses of curious onlookers. Those few who weren't filming with their camera phones and awaiting gossip were walking past with their mouths ajar as they gazed above to the fifth floor. Though it was a harmless action, the nosiness of the behavior irritated the detective. It amazed him how intrusive society could be at times. Poking their noses into everyone's business but not offering a single word of intelligence or aid where it's needed. Detective Wolcott rolled the toothpick between his teeth and focused his attention away from the mock paparazzi.
To begin his deliberation, he checked off on his personal list of facts.
There were only two entrances to the building, through the front door and the back. The building was featured on a particular row where all of the dwellings were literally packed sardine tight beside each other. Behind the row, the alley was a narrow affair with barely room enough for disposal trucks.
That means they had to have entered via the front lobby.
Somber blue eyes scanned the streets for any clues. This side of town was always busy. It was a hub for businesses and students. All those bodies, all those pairs of eyes, and not one witnessed a kidnapped woman being taken into the building?
Just below the building, Wolcott spied the psychic and his wife. As he watched the couple interact, the detective traced his index finger along his jawline. The couple looked to be in a deep discussion. The psychic's wife- Leena was her name, he remembered- appeared to be trying to console the restaurateur as he sulked. Knowing his partner, Wolcott already had a theory as to what might've transpired between him and the unyielding restaurateur. He wouldn't have been shocked to learn that the ex-rugby player had picked Lattimer up by the scruff of his neck and carried him out the door. Despite the image in his mind, the senior detective refrained from chuckling; he had a puzzle to solve.
Considering the psychic claimed he heard screams and now the discovery of a gag, Myka Bering couldn't have been conscious during that period. The kidnappers probably tied her up and blindfolded her. Maybe they even wrapped her in a sheet or bag to pretend she was goods being carried up to the apartment.
How is it, that a full grown woman is kidnapped in plain sight and practically hidden in plain view?
This was a rare riddle that Detective Wolcott found most disturbing.
/
Forced off of the premises via Detective Aarons, Pete was outside leaning over the hood of his car. Beside him was his wife, she was holding a palm to his shoulder as she gently consoled him.
"Don't be too hard on yourself honey, you tried,"
Leena had seen from the looks on their faces (and auras) that neither of the Detectives believed her husband. Even with her auntie's reach, the professional men all but laughed in his face before agreeing to search the building. That was eight hours ago.
"But I wasn't fast enough!" Pete hung his head as he complained. "Why didn't I just do something when it first happened? I was right there, I heard her screams!"
He turned to his wife and repeated the phrase.
"I heard her screams Leena, she was begging for help and I just stood there holding the goddamn pizzas!"
Pete slid his hands over his face and pressed his palms into his eyes. The stress of the situation was radiating off of his body in the form of burnt red waves. Leena could see he truly felt guilty as pale green splotches were spreading across his aura.
"Do you think they've hurt her?"
Pete shook his head. After a moment he removed his hands from his eyes and looked at her. He was wearing a slightly perplexed expression.
"That's the funny part. This time I went there, I did get a vibe but it was different…" Pete's eyes drifted over the crowd. The flashing police lights painted his face a ghastly purple. "It was bad, but I don't think the vibe was necessarily for her."
Pete frowned.
"Something bad is going to happen, but it isn't gonna happen to her."
As he spoke, he raked his eyes over the building as if it were going to expose all of its secret right then and there.
"That's a good thing right?" Leena took on a wry smile. "That must mean the guys that kidnapped her will be caught by the police. Right?"
Now on the fifth floor, Pete locked eyes with those of Detective Wolcott. The good detective was gazing out the window at the world below. At the sight of the psychic still on the premises, Detective Wolcott's eyes narrowed then relaxed. Though Pete was viewing him from a distance it appeared to him as if the man was seeing him in a new light.
A more serious light.
This change in demeanor was not surprising to the pizzeria owner. He knew he was right about that place. But the feeling in his gut that coupled the change was neither good nor bad. Pete returned his gaze to his wife. She had witnessed the exchange between Detective Wolcott and her husband, and noted the changes in both of the men's auras. It appeared they had reached an understanding.
"I really don't know." said Pete.
Detective Wolcott didn't know either.
/
East of the Brooklyn Bridge it was exactly a quarter after one.
It was a few blocks from this and inside of a nondescript motel, that captor and captive sought refuge. It had taken the pair an hour to secure a mode of travel and an hour more to find the motel. With a little haggling the pair managed to score a double.
The room smelled of cat urine and was decorated circa 1970's. Both of the beds were draped in floral sheets and a moldy brown shag carpet covered the floor. There was a flat screen TV on the wall but it only had Pay Per View channels, and hanging beside this was a distracting and peculiar painting of a dolphin jumping over a silver moon. There were curtains drawn tight over the windows, but it was useless. The view of New York shone through the thin fabric along with the rays of the midday sun.
Haloed in this light was Claudia.
The redhead was fast asleep and wrapped around her laptop like a cat. She had been in that position since she had passed out over an hour prior. The moment the pair had entered the dingy room, the redhead collapsed on the bed and murmured something about "free wifi". She spent a vast majority of her time furiously typing online until she finally tired.
On the opposing bed, the heiress was sitting with her knees hugged to her chest. Though her face was blank, her green eyes were curiously absorbing in the room's detail. Never in her life had she imagined spending the night in a literal roach motel. She wasn't sure whether to be disgusted or mortified by this new fact. Though the room appeared clean, she found herself thinking it was infested with germs. Shivering, she ran her fingers through her hair. Once again she found herself surprised by its length.
Claudia made a mewling noise in her sleep then rolled over facing the heiress. Hazel eyes popped open and blearily took her in. Confusion covered the accomplice face followed by a flicker of panic. The redhead sat up so fast, Myka was surprised she didn't launch herself off the bed.
"You!"
The redhead jabbed a finger in Myka's direction. The heiress pointed towards herself, her eyes innocent wide.
"Me?"
"You didn't do anything!" Claudia yelled.
"Huh?"
The accomplice's eye twitched in impatience, "Anything stupid! Call the cops? Report me to CIA? Email your father?"
"No, I've been here the whole time."
As she said this, Myka gestured to the bed. Claudia narrowed her eyes at her and swiftly roved them about the room.
"No moving?"
"Just used the shower," Myka stated defensively, "Was I not supposed to?"
Instead of replying, the redhead glared as she sharply scrutinized her. Myka was wearing a different t-shirt. It was black like the last but this one had a corset collar. The trim of her bra was visible along with the dip between her breast, it wasn't not sexy. A flush crossed the redhead's face and she quickly averted her gaze to grab her computer.
Myka's lips curled in amusement at the younger girl's reaction. The more she got to know the younger accomplice, the harder it was becoming for the heiress to take her seriously. Claudia really was a young woman. Not just in age, but also in her mannerisms and level of confidence. The heiress was willing to bet money that the accomplice probably wasn't even eighteen years of age yet.
Despite this theory, there was something about the younger girl that the heiress found interesting. It was intriguing watching Claudia interact with the older captor, how she seemed to solve things and come up with ideas that would surprise both Myka and the other woman. In the short time the heiress had gotten to observe them, she had determined that like her mentor, the redhead was a paradox she would like to study. Perhaps even get to know.
How did Claudia and HG meet?
Why was the teen working for that woman?
And most importantly- where in the world was this young girl's family?
Though these questions burned inside of her mind, Myka knew she was not in the place to ask those sorts of things. She was an outsider. Or as HG put it, something they needed to use.
"Sorry about that," Claudia murmured.
On the other side of the room, the redhead was crouched inside the mini fridge. According to the accomplice it was the second plus feature of the room, but to the heiress it was an entirely useless double negative. Not only was it filled with sugary drinks and candy bars, it didn't have any Twizzlers. What type of place was this?
"About what?" Myka asked.
"Uh...falling asleep?"
The heiress didn't respond.
Claudia crossed back to her bed with a Redbull in one hand and a package of M&M's in the other. Myka had to bite her lips to keep from chiding her on the breakfast. It wasn't like it was morning anymore anyway. As the heiress' own stomach growled from lack of food, the redhead sipped her beverage and cradled the fully booted computer onto her lap.
"Ok…Myka Bering, I need your eyeballs."
"What?"
The redhead turned so she was facing Myka and patted the spot beside her. It was a signal for the heiress to join her. Myka complied and made herself comfy next to the younger captor. Once they were both situated, the redhead enlarged the windows on the computer screen and dropped her fingers away from the keys. All that Myka could see appeared to be a series of spreadsheets and calculations.
"What is this?" Myka asked.
"This is what the inside of your father's foreign accounts look like,"
The heiress' eyes widened.
Green orbs riveted across the screen as they took in what was being displayed. Now that she knew that the numbers were sums of money, everything else fell into place. She began to gloss over some of the titles attached to the sums and questions formed.
"I didn't know we owned a pipeline in Croatia," Her eyes narrowed and dropped down to a row a few spaces below, "And what's with these charities in Dubai?"
The redhead snorted, "Yeah, well you do."
The heiress took her eyes from the screen and dropped them onto the redhead. There was so much she wanted to say but none of the words would form coherent sentences. When the first words finally strung together, they came out in a blurt.
"Why are you hacking into his accounts?"
There was accusation and a hint of betrayal in the heiress's voice. As her fingers flew across the keys Claudia calmly spoke, "You see, he's really, really nifty. From the looks of it, your family has been using their money for government enterprises, but the way the accountant labels them–
The redhead cut to allow the heiress to fill in the blank. Myka's brain connected the dots before her eyes.
"They all appear as Charities." she breathed.
"Bingo."
The beat that followed this was entirely backed with the clacking of keys. The heiress didn't say a word as she watched one screen shift to another, this one filled with a series of intricate codes composed of letters and numbers. She watched as the redhead compiled the series and yet another window appeared on the screen. It was for the Bering & Sons Corporation database.
"What made you do this?" Myka asked. Her curiosity was genuine as she took in the techies handy work, "Why would any of this matter to your cause? I mean, I thought you didn't want his money, right?"
Without looking from her work, Claudia replied. "When the reward was announced something just didn't feel right, so I went with my gut to figure out why."
"And…?"
Myka's stomach clenched. She really didn't want to know, but then again she did. The techie pushed the "enter" key and a screen filled the window. Myka saw her name and a series of dates and numbers, some of which appeared to be transactions completed within the last twenty-four hours. She didn't quite comprehend.
"It's not his money he's spending. He's awarding money out of your trust fund."
"Wait, what?" the heiress sputtered.
Claudia folded her hands and turned towards Myka. The expression on the redhead's face was grave and reminded the heiress of a Funeral director.
"Ms. Bering, you're paying for your own rescue."
The heiress' mouth sealed tight. She didn't even appear to be breathing. Mistaking Myka's silence for anger, Claudia continued in an attempt to placate her. It did not have its intended effect.
"It's a small amount when you think of it, especially with your pockets, but it's still a bit strange don't you think?"
Myka numbly shook her head, one of her hands was weaving through her hair.
"It's like he thinks I'm the reason I'm missing!"
This comment led the techie to tilt her head, Myka winced.
"Well in a sense I am, but I wasn't in the beginning. I didn't even know anything about any of this," Myka's voice raised, "I didn't even know your plan!"
The heiress hunched over her lap with her hands clasped around her head. Her face was dark and closed off. Claudia wasn't very good with people- or so she believed – so seeing Myka's reaction coupled with the senior Bering's peculiar move deeply confused her. If she didn't know any better, it appeared that there were some serious issues between the two Berings, daddy-daughter issues.
Uh-oh, did we snatch the wrong Bering?
If that was the case, months of practice and study, just went to waste. They needed a Bering that could serve as leverage, not someone who was just as good as a paperweight! The redhead almost lost herself to panic at the realization but then just as quickly reeled herself in with one undeniable truth.
HG Wells never makes a mistake.
With that line as her mantra, the redhead took a breather and switched gears.
"Why would he think that?" the redhead gently prodded.
Either she genuinely didn't know or she was playing dumb, either way Myka Bering claimed silence. Claudia gave the heiress a few minutes to budge but she refused. The redhead huffed exaggeratedly and returned to typing. Screens started to rapidly open and close, some caught Myka's attention but the redhead did not elaborate on them. After a few minutes passed, Claudia awkwardly cleared her throat and spoke.
"Hopefully by tomorrow, we'll get a lot of big things accomplished,"
Myka all but rolled her eyes, "If you say so."
Through the strands of her hair, the heiress observed the redhead. The younger woman was still working on her code. There were bags under her eyes and tension in her shoulders.
"What happened to her?"
Unlike the heiress, the young accomplice was not as good at masking her secrets. The techie's typing faltered and her eyes shot downwards for the briefest of seconds. Almost immediately, the same worried tension from earlier returned to her features. Her cracked armor was exposed.
The heiress was not going to let this moment pass. Myka re-adjusted herself so that she could face the redhead's profile. Claudia had stopped typing altogether, now she was tracing the corners of her keyboard. She looked depressed.
"When you were on the phone, your face went all wonky and you looked… shocked. Something happened to her right?"
The redhead's fingers stalled at the corners of the screen. Myka swore she saw them tremble.
"It's nothing." Claudia murmured.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes,"
"Really?" The heiress pulled a few centimeters closer, "You know, I could probably help you out if you just open up a litt–"
"Why does this even matter to you?" Claudia snapped.
The redhead twisted towards Myka, her eyes were red and glossy, "It's not like you knew her personally, and she damn sure doesn't mean anything to you at this point,"
Myka found she couldn't counter any of the claims.
"Just because we're using you now, it doesn't mean we're some charity case. We're definitely not some Richie Riches pet project."
The redhead thumbed a finger in Myka's face. Though the words stung, Myka could tell it was just the younger woman putting up walls.
"I'm sorry if you feel that way, I definitely don't see either of you that way. I just wanted to help you both any way that I could," Myka said.
"Yeah, well that's it. Your job is to just sit there and do what we want you to do and that's it. You're not supposed to do anything else. You're not supposed to be our friend. You're not supposed to –
"–Care?" Myka finished the phrase.
It was basically a repeat of the earlier statement when she had asked about Christina. Across from her, Claudia rapidly blinked her eyes and turned her face away. The young accomplice's hazel eyes held the look of a wounded puppy dog. Even though tears were threatening, the heiress was more than certain the redhead would've claimed dust or an eyelash as the culprit. Myka wanted so badly to reach forward and console the younger girl it broke her heart that she couldn't.
What could've possibly happened to HG to evoke such reaction?
The theory of her possibly being arrested sprung into her mind and Myka almost guffawed. HG seemed far too competent to have been caught, plus if she had- the heiress highly doubted she would've had trouble escaping. She didn't know why but the thought of the darker woman MacGuyvering her way in and out of situations seemed more appropriate. No, if she rephrased it, it felt more appropriate.
Perhaps HG got into trouble with the rental?
As Myka considered this notion, she rubbed her thumb over the base of her middle finger. It was a nervous habit she'd had ever since she could remember. The only difference now was that the hard metal normally felt in this area was gone. Confused, the heiress' eyes darted down to her right hand.
When did they take her ring?
The heiress couldn't believe she hadn't noticed the disappearance before and chided herself for letting it slip. That ring wasn't any old ring. It was a family heirloom passed from one firstborn Bering to the next. It was said to strengthen leadership qualities to all that wore it. Myka didn't really believe in that hubbub, but she wore it anyway. In fact, she wore it every single day since her first day of college.
Myka turned to the redhead to ask her about it. The younger woman was staring down at her keyboard. Seeing the image bothered the heiress, she pushed her questioning off to the side to give the redhead a few moments of silence. It didn't take long as shortly afterwards Claudia cleared her throat and raised her face. The accomplice was wearing a forced smile.
"Uh…We're still cool right?"
Myka softly replied, "If you mean me not calling the cops still, then the answer is yes."
The corners of the redhead's eyes crinkled.
"So…we're going back to your place later, popping bottles and sipping Merlots?"
The forced humor was unsettling, but Myka understood the techie's need for levity.
"Of course," Myka replied, "Just don't forget my Twizzlers."
Claudia pressed a button on her computer and the screen saver faded. The heiress couldn't see what she had entered as she had tilted the screen towards her person.
"I want to code for bit."
And that was the end of the subject.
What did happen to HG? Any takers?
Comment please!