The Flash: Silent Whispers
Chapter Three
Barry walked into the hotel corridor, ducking under the yellow tape and reaching the door. Outside the room, one of the officers was pinching his eyes closed and looking away, while another comforted him.
A trail of crushed rose petals was carefully laid from the entrance of the room to the bed. Barry made sure not to step on any of them as he entered, seeing August hunched over the body.
"Patty couldn't make it today, not after I described the scene to her," sighed August, sensing Barry's presence behind him. The victim was completely naked, with roses stuffed inside his mouth. Blood had pooled from under the back of his head and his legs.
"Jesus Christ," gasped Barry, letting out a deep breath and closing his eyes. He came across bodies every day as a forensic scientist, but no matter how desensitized he was to them, this was something new.
"Apparently our victim here, Thomas Kirby, had come for a… ahem, sexual liaison with his mistress. She tried checking into the hotel 5 minutes after this happened," said August.
"She a suspect?" asked Barry, taking out a pair of tweezers and carefully removing the blood-soaked petals from the man's mouth.
"Can't be. But we're going to detain her, in case she has some connection to… Murmur," said August. Barry squinted at the man's open mouth and then his neck. He carefully took out a flashlight and examined the victim's throat.
"Signs of laryngeal trauma. Looks like his windpipe was crushed," said Barry. He turned the body over carefully, examining the back of Kirby's head.
"His skull cracked open. Murmur must have attacked him from the front and slammed his head to the ground here," said Barry.
"Yeah, probably before he stabbed him between the legs," shuddered August. "You think he knew about Kirby's infidelity?" he asked.
"He could have, unless it was just a coincidence," replied Barry.
"Think about it. He knew Kirby would be meeting with his mistress here tonight. Then he quite literally stabbed his penis and stuffed the roses he had gotten her down his mouth," said August.
"Even if he did, how did he find out? Unless he knew him personally," said Barry. An idea went off in August's head.
"What if it's a therapist? Someone who would know this guy's life inside out?" suggested August. Barry stopped for a second, then raised his eyebrows and turned back to August.
"What if both Kirby, Horton and the Drake family had the same therapist?" asked Barry. August's eyes widened as he quickly rushed to Joe, who was speaking with Captain Singh on the other side of the room.
"Sergeant West, Captain Singh, Allen and I may have a hunch about these cases," said August. Barry walked up to them too.
"Well, looks like Mr Allen seems to have taken up detective work too. Maybe that's why there's still so many forensic reports left pending to be submitted at my desk?" remarked Singh, snidely.
"Our idea was that what if each of the victims had the same therapist, or some other confidant? Horton's cancer, Kirby's infidelity, there's no way any random serial killer would know such details," said Barry, ignoring Singh's remark.
"What about the Drake family? What skeletons did they have in their closet that Murmur went after them?" asked Joe.
"Whatever it could have been, it wasn't indicative from the crime scene itself. I'll ask Patty to comb through any similar associates that the victims had," replied August, dialling up Patty.
"Joe, could I talk to you for a second?" asked Barry, walking to the side.
"If this is about what happened with Iris, trust me, I don't need to hear more," said Joe, sternly.
"Look, you can't reprimand her for quite literally doing her job. And she's not a kid anymore, Joe," replied Barry. Joe sighed heavily into his palms.
"It's not about her doing her job, it's about her choosing which thread to follow. She can write about the disappearing middle class, or how the Flash took down Tar Pit, but this? Barry, this guy is a demented son of a bitch, and she's throwing herself into the line of fire," replied Joe.
"Sounds an awful lot like what you do on a daily basis," countered Barry. Joe stopped for a second, then sighed again.
"You know, as kids, Iris and I would sit together every recess and she'd tell me how worried she was for you. Every criminal you chased down, every murderer you brought to justice, it worried her because what if someday you end up on the other side of the gun?" started Barry.
"She never told you to only go after muggers or petty criminals and to avoid cases involving organized crime, kidnappings, and the rest. She knew you were putting yourself in danger, and she was afraid, but she trusted you to know what you were doing. You just… have to do the same for her," he finished.
Joe nodded, and then smiled to himself.
"You know, you're one hell of a messenger, Barry," he chuckled, putting his hand on his shoulder. "And you're right, she is an adult. I should have enough faith in her to do her job the way she believes it to be right," said Joe.
"Yeah, just talk to her about it," replied Barry, smiling at Joe. Just then, August walked up to the two of them.
"Do you guys think Patty is the Flash?" he asked, randomly.
"Uh, what?" asked Barry, taken aback. "Why would you think that?"
"Because she found a connection between all our victims, and we were right, they went to the same therapist," said August.
"Bless her. Who is it?" asked Barry.
"Dr Michael Amar," replied August. Barry's neurons began to fire, trying to remember if he had ever heard the name.
"I don't think I've ever heard about him. What's the deal with him?" asked Barry.
"Well, that's what we're going to find out tomorrow," replied August, pocketing his notepad.
"We?" asked Barry.
"I thought you'd want to accompany me? I feel like I owe it to you for all the days you helped me study in college. Besides, you're a good ass detective too," chuckled August.
"Sounds like a good idea to me," chimed in Joe. "It's about time Barry got out of that lab of his and stretched his legs," he joked. Barry smiled along, then turned to August and nodded.
"Tomorrow morning then, I'll see you there? Text me the address," said Barry. "I'll try and collect whatever evidence I can from here in the meantime."
The Flash rushed down the streets of Central City, preventing a bike from crashing into a car, before running into an alleyway and grabbing the knife from a mugger, then tying him up. He raced away in an orange blur, running up a building onto a roof.
Memories began to flash into his head after the gruesome scene. A blood soaked carpet, broken fish tank, a destroyed chandelier.
And his mother's body lying on the ground with a butcher knife.
Barry blinked hard and wiped the memory, picturing it like a whiteboard being cleaned, or a picture in the sand being washed away by the ebbing and flowing of waves.
Just then, his phone began to ring. Barry breathed a sigh of relief when he read who it was.
"Iris, you're up late?" asked Barry.
"Yeah, I just wanted to say thanks. For talking to dad," said Iris.
"Of course. I'm really sorry he snapped at you tonight. It's just…this whole case has been one rabbit hole into grisliness. He was just really worried about you, you know how he is," explained Barry.
"Yeah, and I'm sorry for getting you in the way of all this. We talked about it, and he's going to let me "spread my wings", I suppose," said Iris. Barry breathed a sigh of relief.
"That's good. I'm glad you guys came to an understanding. Uh, one second," said Barry. He quickly let go of his phone and ran down the building, then past a few blocks and tripped a robber who had stolen a woman's purse.
He rushed back to the building and caught his phone before it fell, resuming his talk with Iris.
"Yeah, where were we?" asked Barry.
"I wanted to check up on you too. I heard the scene was gruesome, to say the least," sighed Iris. Barry took off his cowl and pinched his eyes together.
"Yeah, it was. And I barely got any evidence from the scene. Previous evidence suggested that he's never had a criminal record, and yet everything was spotless," vented Barry, sitting down on the roof. He reached into a small pocket in his suit and pulled out a high calorie energy bar he had cooked up.
"I know it's not really comparable, but sometimes when I'm working on a story, I hit a dead end. At least that's what it felt like at the moment," replied Iris. "Maybe all you need is a change in perspective? Or the autopsy may pull something up?" suggested Iris.
"Come to think of it, August and I did hopefully get a lead towards Murmur. We'll be investigating it tomorrow," replied Barry, finishing up the energy bar in a second.
"Look at you being the world's greatest detective. Take care Bar, and let me know how it goes," said Iris.
"You too," replied Barry, cutting the call. He sighed as he stood up, pulled his cowl back on, and zoomed away. He ran back to his apartment and shut the door, placing his suit in the closet.
He looked around his cramped room and sighed. There was a small single twin bed to the left of it, next to the window which overlooked the city. His desk was to the right, cluttered with textbooks and a microscope. Right next to it was the kitchen stove, and on the opposite side of the room was the bathroom.
Barry walked up to a framed picture of him and his parents, taken just a few days before her murder.
"Sometimes, we tend to repress traumatic memories, especially those in our childhood. After a while, they get so deeply forgotten in our subconscious that it is impossible to recall them," thought Barry, remembering what he had learned from an introductory psychology course he took in college.
And yet, he could remember every vivid detail of the house. The position of his mother's body, the blood splatter, the broken chandelier, everything. But for the life of him he couldn't recall what happened between when he began to run to his house and when he arrived there.
"Screw it," thought Barry, lying on his bed and drifting off to sleep.
"And yeah, next thing I know, he's telling me to clear my desk and be out of the office by the evening. I didn't even know it was happening. That job was all I had, and now it's making me feel worse about myself," said the man sitting on the couch, tears streaming down his face.
A man in a brown cardigan sat across him, writing down on a notepad. There was barely any emotion discernible behind his eyes, obscured by rectangular spectacles.
"Trevor, I know how much that job meant to you. And I know it's especially threatening to your self esteem right now. Did you try the words of affirmation exercise I gave you in our last session?" asked the man in the cardigan, scrawling down more notes.
"N-No. I was too busy in my job and I barely got any time. Dr Amar, I don't know how else to deal with this. I try looking at the positive side and I feel better, but every time it gets worse," replied Trevor.
"You need to rationalize those thoughts. You said you feel positive sometimes, right? When you feel that way, voice record all your positive thoughts so that you can listen to them when negative thoughts arise again. It helps with rationalization," explained Amar.
Before Trevor could respond, there was a knock at the door.
"Excuse me," replied Dr Amar, walking up to the door and opening it. Barry and August were standing behind it.
"Dr Michael Amar?" asked August.
"Do you have an appointment?" replied Michael.
"I'm detective August Heart, this is Barry Allen. We need to question you about some…sensitive matters," said August. Amar thought for a second, then turned to Trevor.
"Trevor, maybe we could pick this up in another ten minutes?" asked Amar. Trevor nodded and walked to the door, intimidated by August and Barry.
"I think I know what you're here about," said Michael, sitting down at his desk. Barry and August sat opposite him.
"There's been a spate of murders happening around Central City. I'm going to read out the victims' names, and tell me if they sound familiar to you. Cecil Horton, David Drake, Elena Drake and Thomas Kirby," said August.
Michael wiped sweat off of his forehead. "I see my assumption was correct. Yes, they are…were patients of mine," replied Amar.
"And between all four of them you're the only connective tissue," added Barry.
"I know how this looks, detectives, but I can assure you I had nothing to do with this sordid affair," replied Michael. August looked around the room, focusing on the framed diplomas behind Michael.
"Graduated from the University of Metropolis? That's pretty prestigious," commented August.
"I double majored in clinical psychiatry and anatomy. My parents wanted me to keep an avenue open for medicine," he chuckled, relieved that the subject was being changed.
"Mr Amar, could there be any personnel that may have access to your notes? Any assistant or secretary?" asked Barry.
"Heavens, no!" gasped Michael. "Whatever happens in this room is strictly under doctor-patient confidentiality, it never gets out to anyone. I take my notes home with me or keep then in my…"
Michael trailed off, as he began to rummage through his desk drawer. He pulled out a yellow binder.
"Here. But again, nobody has access to this except for me," said Michael. August and Barry examined the spiral binder, and that's when Barry noticed something near the spiral margin.
"The perforation isn't symmetrical. A page has been torn off," said Barry, pointing to the margin. A befuddled look crossed Michael's face, as he peered over the desk.
"That means either you tore this page or someone did access your binder and remove something," remarked August, staring straight at Michael's face.
"I arrange these in alphabetical order, maybe I could find out whose page was torn," said Michael, reaching for the folder. However, Barry pulled away.
"Uh, we'll deal with that. We need a record of all your patients whose names start with…" started Barry, looking at the name before the torn page which read "Janice Watson."
"Whose names start with a J," he finished. Michael began clacking away at his computer and opened up a spreadsheet, and August began reading out names.
"Jaden Cross, Jai Patel, Janice Williams, James Jesse, J-"
"Wait! James Jesse," said Barry. "He's the one whose page has been torn off,"
"Dr Amar, what can you tell us about Jesse?" asked August. Michael took off his glasses and sighed.
"Officers, I cannot disclose that information, you have to understand," reasoned Amar. August folded his arms, and Barry cleared his throat.
"Dr Amar, believe me I know where you're coming from. But there are lives at stake here. 4 innocent people have been brutally murdered, all of whom would visit you, confide in you. Someone has been stealing your notes and right now a torn page from your notes is the only lead we have. Please," reasoned Barry.
Michael pinched his eyebrows, before exhaling loudly.
"James is a…troubled individual. He's extremely intelligent, with degrees in engineering and psychology. I haven't yet been able to pinpoint what exactly plagues him, but he has a penchant for chaos, in a way. He's attracted to it like a moth to a flame. He's a genius, no doubt, often rambling on about various adages, Japanese in particular, and sometimes his…issues result in violent tendencies," explained Michael.
"Japanese adages?" asked August, exchanging a glance with Barry.
"Such as "see no evil, here no evil, speak no evil?"" suggested Barry. Amar almost instantly nodded.
"That's the one he repeats the most," replied Amar. Barry jumped from his chair.
"Could you give us his address?" asked Barry, and August nodded. Michael penned down Jesse's address on a piece of paper and handed it to the two of them.
"I truly hope you bring this madman to justice, regardless if it's Jesse or not," said Michael.
"Thank you for your time, Dr Amar. We should get going," replied Barry, leading August out of the office and back to the lobby. Trevor eyed the two of them suspiciously and he walked back inside.
"James Jesse. Violent tendencies, chaotic, and of course, speaking no evil," recounted August. "What are the odds?"
"He sounds dangerous. You sure you want to go meet him on his turf?" asked Barry.
"Element of surprise. We catch him off guard, and he won't have time to make up bullshit answers for our questions," explained August, as the two of them descended down the stairs and out of the building.
"August, wait. I need to tell you something," said Barry.
"I'm all ears," replied August.
"Okay. I know somebody who could help us catch this guy. Fast," started Barry. "And he's more than capable of dealing with someone as dangerous as Jesse seems to be,"
"And who's that supposed to be? Batman?" joked August.
"Close enough. The Flash," answered Barry.
August stared at him for a second, before breaking into a slight chuckle. His chuckling stopped when he saw Barry's straight face.
"You're…not joking," he deduced.
"I'll explain everything, but Flash can go interrogate Jesse. It's unpredictable so he won't be prepared for anything, plus he's more than capable of taking care of himself in case things go south," explained Barry.
"Let me get this straight. You want me to involve a glorified vigilante in a case as sensitive as this? What if it backfires? What if Murmur somehow finds out and feels threatened, amping up his killing spree? What if Flash messes up and Singh gets on both of our asses? We don't even know who he is, how can we trust him?" questioned August.
"He knows what he's doing, trust me. Look, at this rate Murmur is going to kill again and again and again. The Flash is the only hope we have to get this guy as soon as possible and without making a mess," reasoned Barry.
"It's too risky, regardless of his super speed, he's still a civilian. Stuff like this should be left to police officers only," said August.
"I'm a scientist, not a police officer. Yet you're bringing me along in this investigation," countered Barry.
"Because I know who you are, Bar. I've known you for years. I know you're capable, and I trust you," replied August.
"And I trust The Flash. Believe me, August, Flash is our best hope at stopping Murmur. I'll make sure he knows all the details and works by the book," reassured Barry. August took a deep breath, massaging his forehead.
"Alright, but I want to meet him. Tonight," said August, sternly.
"Okay, I'll let him know. I'll fill him in on all the details and have him go question Jesse too," added Barry, as he walked away from the building and out of August's field of view, before zooming away as a streak of lightning.
"Pembrooke Avenue…this seems to be it," thought The Flash, arriving at the location Michael provided. He found himself staring at a rundown apartment building, covered in graffiti and decaying bricks. It was as if the building was built a hundred years ago.
"6th floor," recalled Barry, before doing a thorough sweep of the building's exterior. There was nothing but mortar dust and falling bricks. He didn't even dare to try and run up the building lest he end up turning it to gravel.
Carefully, he made his way up the dilapidated stairs, to the 6th floor. He walked up to the apartment at the very end of the corridor and knocked on it.
"James Jesse?" asked Flash. No response, but he could hear someone scuttling around in the room.
Flash began to vibrate his hand and phased it through the chain lock, unlocking the door. He was met with the stench of rotting furniture and dust, coupled with broken curtains and windows boarded up with wood.
He looked to his left and saw someone hunched behind the couch. He was blond with long, disheveled hair and wore a blue jacket and a hole-ridden orange shirt. He nearly jumped when he saw the Flash.
"It's…you," he gasped. "I thought he had come to get me,"
"Who's they?" asked Flash, looking around.
"Oh, the landlord. The one I pay so much to stay in this shithole," chuckled James. Flash could tell he wasn't entirely sane, but he wondered if he could still extract some information from him.
"Are you James Jesse?" asked Flash.
"Yes siree, that's me!" replied James, pointing both thumbs to himself and jumping up to his feet. He extended a handshake, which Flash hesitantly returned.
"You visit Dr Michael Amar, right?" asked Flash. James' face dropped, replaced with a scowl.
"I used to. For a whole year, in fact. Look what good that did me. I don't have any money, any love, quite literally nothing but my brain anymore," ranted James, walking up to the kitchen. "Sandwich?"
"No, thank you. I'm here to ask you about Murmur," replied Flash. James stopped in his tracks.
"What about him?"
"Well, for one, I'm surprised you know who he is," said Flash.
"Hey, just because I live in a shithole doesn't mean I don't use the internet. I use the neighbor's connection. And yes, I am aware of the horrific things he's been doing, the waves he's been sending throughout the city. It's inspiring, really," replied James.
"Inspiring?" inquired Flash.
"In the sense that he's able to cause so much…carnage. All by doing what, killing a couple of people? That's an average Tuesday by Gotham's standards, but not here," said James.
"Amar mentioned he had a notebook, out of which your page was torn off," said Flash. James chuckled and threw his hands up.
"Guilty as charged! I caught a peek at what that hack was writing about me when he was out of the room for a bit. "Antisocial, tendencies of violence, mania, etc," said James, his voice getting louder and louder.
Suddenly, his anger was replaced with a smile. "Which is why I told that two-faced bastard to shove it. Guess he never noticed that I took the page," said James.
"What about the proverb you keep repeating. "See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil?" What's so special about it?" asked Flash. James seemed to get flustered.
"What does that have to do with Murmur? Come to think of it, what do I have to do with Murmur? You don't think I'm him, do you?" questioned James.
"I have reason to believe that you may be connected to the case, knowingly or not," said Flash. James laughed, before throwing the glasses on the kitchen table to the side.
"So just because that bastard Amar told you I'm a psycho, I'm suddenly Murmur? As much as I WISH I could have as much of an impact as Murmur has had on this city, I'm not him," emphasized James. "But, maybe I do…oh no,"
Flash was getting more and more confused while talking to Jesse. "What are you talking about? You just said you've got nothing to do with Murmur," replied Flash.
"I know who he's going to go after next," replied James. "I saw the pattern way before you did, how each of them were Amar's patients. And believe me, he's thought far ahead of you,"
"How could you possibly know that?" asked Flash.
"Let's just say us crazies know each other. Murmur wants to spread chaos, mania. It's beautiful. I truly wish I got to meet him, just so we could spread chaos together. Well, I guess I might meet him soon," replied James, cryptically.
"What do you mean?" asked Flash, readying himself for any kind of attack.
"I'm guessing Amar told you I extensively studied criminal psychology in my youth? Even had a job as one before being let go of since I was too "unstable and unfit,"" groaned James.
"Cut to the chase, Jesse. What does Murmur want with you?"
"Murmur wanted you to see that pattern. He wanted you to go to Dr Amar and follow the trail to me. He wanted you to find me," deduced James.
"Why go to all the trouble?" asked Flash.
"He wants to give you a chance to get ahead of him for once. Like a cheetah letting a gazelle run a bit, give it hope. Before he rips it apart. He wanted you, and by extension, the CCPD, to find me," replied James.
"And why would he want to do that?" asked Flash, exhausted by the mental rigamarole James was taking him on.
"Because his next target is me."