The Flash: Silent Whispers
Chapter Seven
Barry huffed as he sprinted down the street, turning left from the cul-de-sac and finally on his street. The dark clouds in the sky swirled ominously, while the street lights flickered on and off.
"That's weird," thought Barry, splashing in puddles as he continued to run to his house. The moon was obscured by the clouds, and Barry heard distant thunder while he approached his house.
Suddenly, he heard a blood-curdling scream come from his house. A scream that was abruptly cut off.
"Mom?" asked Barry, stopping in his tracks. He began to run even faster to his house, when something stopped right in front of him.
Everything became a haze, a swirl of yellow and red lightning, but Barry could make out something. As the elements in his memory turned into a tornado, he noticed something in its eye.
A face.
Barry opened his eyes and jumped up, but a huge pain shot up from his side. He clutched at his abdomen, only to realize he was lying down on a couch.
"Easy, easy!" exclaimed Iris, running over to him from the dining table. Broken glass lay strewn about the floor, while bloodstains led to the couch. Iris gently helped him lay back on the couch.
"I-Iris?" asked Flash, completely disoriented. He looked into Iris' worried eyes and things slowly started coming back to him.
"You fell unconscious, so I tried to stop the bleeding and just let you rest here. You stopped bleeding soon enough," she remarked. Barry looked at his side through his torn suit and noticed how blood had already clot over the wound.
"My Achilles tendon…I couldn't move," grunted Flash, now able to move his left foot again. "How long was I out?"
"A few hours. My father- uh, the police sergeant, stopped by. I told him to wait till you were conscious, but he seemed in a hurry to get back to the precinct," said Iris.
"They've got the Trickster in holding…" said Barry. Iris offered him a glass of water, and he drank it all in one gulp.
"How did you know who I am, by the way?" she asked.
"I…read your articles. On me," replied Flash.
"You do?" asked Iris, smiling.
"Yeah. Especially the one where you wrote about me vs Girder. One of my favorites," joked Flash, and Iris chuckled.
"I think I should hold back on those articles for a while though. Murmur came after me because of them. Ugh, my dad was right the whole time," groaned Iris. Flash was finally able to sit up.
"It wasn't your fault, Iris. You just did your job," replied Flash. He instinctively put his hand on her shoulder.
"Thanks," replied Iris, smiling. Just then, they heard police cars approach the building.
"They're here to investigate, you should probably go," said Iris.
"No. I'm part of this crime scene," replied Flash, looking down at his ankle and seeing the cut around his tendon. "When the Achilles tendon is severed, the wound itself takes a long time to heal," he explained.
"Luckily, I've got a friend who's one hell of a forensic scientist. He'll know what's wrong, for sure," said Iris. That's when Barry froze.
"Barry Allen won't be able to show up at the scene if I'm here as the Flash…they're going to think I ditched them," thought Flash.
"Uh, do you mean Barry?" asked Flash. Iris turned around, shocked.
"You know Barry Allen?" she asked, in awe.
"Well, we've interacted a couple of times. Don't tell anyone though, his job would be in danger," warned Flash.
"But where is he?" she asked. Flash shifted from foot to foot, thinking of an excuse as fast as he could.
"He's compiling information about Murmur right about now. Top priority, I'd say," replied Flash. That's when cops began to flood the living room, led by August.
"Iris, Flash, glad to see you both are okay," said August, as Patty followed behind him in a PPE suit.
"We're ready to start a proper sweep," said Patty.
"Uh, about that," said Flash, gesturing towards his ankle. "I might have a clue," he continued, but then he noticed bruises on August's knuckles, as if he had been in a brawl.
"Everything okay?" he asked August, looking at his knuckles.
"Had to make Trickster talk," replied August, while Patty investigated Flash's wound. She raised an eyebrow, taking out a pen and tracing around it, while Barry tried his hardest to stay still.
"He sliced my Achilles tendon, I wasn't able to move," said Flash.
"I can tell, it's a deep gash and yet it doesn't seem haphazard. A clean, sharp blade was used and his technique seems near perfect…" thought Patty out loud.
"A scalpel. He must have used something like a scalpel," reasoned Flash. Patty stood up and nodded.
"Your wound has healed quite a bit so we can't tell much, but the clean scarring and clot pattern indicates a precise, sharp object," agreed Patty. August folded his hands, as if his brain was working a mile a second.
Flash looked around, and realized something.
"Blood spatter!" he exclaimed, rushing to the wall where his Achilles tendon was sliced. Sure enough, there were drops of blood lining the wall adjacent to where his ankle was.
Flash knelt down and analyzed the bloodstain, making mental calculations at the speed of light about the tail of the spatter to calculate the force of the strike, and estimate the precision of the weapon.
"Look at the tail of the spatter, and the distance it goes. And how organized the bloodstains are. It has to have been something like a scalpel," said Flash to Patty, who stared at him in awe.
"You'd be one hell of a forensic scientist," remarked August. "So Murmur uses a scalpel?"
"Seems that way. Looks like we might have our murder weapon," said Flash, folding his arms. That's when something clicked in August's head.
"He knew about the Achilles tendon, and exactly where to strike to sever it. Not to mention he uses a scalpel, he must have some background in surgery, or at least anatomy," reasoned August. That's when it clicked for Flash too, but he stayed silent.
"So Murmur knows about human anatomy, and his way around the scalpel? Anyone with a connection to the victims who knows about anatomy?" suggested Flash.
"Michael Amar has a dual degree in psychology and anatomy…" started August.
"And he was every victim's therapist. If anyone knew about their personal lives it would be him," added Patty.
"We need to bring him in for questioning. I have his address?" said August, almost sprinting out of the room.
"I'll take you there," said Barry. August looked back, then back at the door, and nodded.
"143 Johns Avenue," he said. Flash held the back of August's neck, and in a flurry of orange lightning, the two of them zoomed out of the crime scene.
"I should've known it was Amar. All the evidence points towards him, if I just slowed down for once and thought... dammit!" thought Barry, as he raced through the streets with August.
He came to a stop in front of Amar's building, making sure to decelerate slowly so August's spine doesn't snap.
"This is it," said Flash. August took out his badge and rushed into the lobby, past the guard.
"CCPD, we're going to the 8th floor!" exclaimed August.
"Even him?" asked the guard, in disbelief as he pointed towards Flash. Flash held August and zoomed up the stairs, to the 8th floor.
August went to knock on the door, but that's when he noticed something.
"It's open…" he whispered to Flash, taking out his gun. The two of them gingerly stepped in, only to see the entire living room ransacked. The coffee table was shattered and plates were smashed on and around the table.
"Looks like a struggle," remarked Flash. Just then, he noticed two legs behind the couch.
"Detective," he called to August, gesturing to the legs. Gulping, August cautiously stepped behind the couch, only for his jaw to hit the floor.
"Oh my God…"
Michael Amar was awake and tied up, his tear-filled eyes reflecting fear and horror. Blood pooled around his mouth and face, which had been sewn shut. His tongue was cut out and lay next to him.
"Get EMTs, fast!" exclaimed August, but Barry knelt down.
"He's lost too much blood. He needs a hospital," said Flash.
"My wife, Natalie, is working the late shift. Central General," said August. Flash picked up Amar and ran out of the room, towards the hospital. Thoughts were racing through his head.
"How did Murmur get to him? How couldn't it have been Amar? Was Joe right, is all this just random?" he thoughts, rushing through the hospital doors.
"Get Natalie Heart, he's lost a lot of blood!" exclaimed Flash to the receptionist, who dialed up a number.
In an instant, an olive toned woman with her hair in a ponytail walked down the corridor, towards Barry and Michael.
"Flash, my husband said you'd be here," she remarked, quickly placing Michael on a stretcher.
"We'll try our best," she added, as Michael was wheeled away to the operating theater. He was trying to scream through his sewn mouth, but to no avail.
Flash stood there for a bit, before running out of the hospital and up to the roof of a building.
"DAMMIT!" he shouted, punching through a chunk of the concrete wall behind him. He placed his forehead to the wall and took deep breaths.
"So much for being the fastest man alive, I can't even catch one killer," he grunted. Just then, his phone began to ring. It was August.
"August, I'm so sorry I wasn't at the crime scene, I-"
"Where's Joe?" he asked.
"Uh, I think he's gone back home, I haven't heard from him. Have you?" asked Barry.
"He may have been kidnapped. Trickster has escaped."
15 MINUTES EARLIER
"And wayyyyy down we go…oh…oh…oh…oh…oh…" sang Trickster, softly as he sat in a holding cell. He lightly tapped his foot to the beat in his head, watching all the cops run around the bullpen.
Across the bullpen, Trickster's gear was being searched. A variety of knives, disguised weapons and a jack in the box.
"What's this?" asked one of the officers, pulling out the jack in the box. The box was red and yellow, with lightning bolts running around it. A crudely drawn version of the Flash's logo was on it.
"Oh that? That's my tribute to our very own crimson comet!" exclaimed Trickster.
"Shut up!" shouted the cop. "All your gear is being taken away," he remarked. That's when they found something else.
"Is that a…music box?" asked the officer, holding it up. It seemed old, made with decaying wood. The handle was caked with rust, and yet it looked functional.
"That's…that's my mother's!" shouted Trickster. "She gave it to me, before she…" he started, as he began to sniffle.
"Very nice. You're not seeing it again, hope you've made mama happy," said the officer, ready to put it in the evidence box.
"Wait, please! Could I hear it one last time?" asked Trickster.
"Yeah, right. Go back to sleep, Jesse!" joked another officer.
"Officers, please! It's the last memory I have of my mom. Please could I just hear it one last time, before I lose it forever?" pleaded Trickster, begging on his knees.
The officer rolled his eyes, bringing the music box to the holding cell. He turned the handle and began to play it. The music sounded creaky, but it seemed to go along with "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star."
"My mom would play this all the time…" he said out loud, as the music started to increase in speed.
"Even after I got deathly sick of it, she wouldn't stop…" he continued. The music stayed subtle, but its tempo began to race, confusing the officer. The music started to resemble faint ticking.
"Until I slit her throat!" laughed Trickster. By the time the officer realized what he was holding, the music box exploded in a violent inferno, sending even Trickster flying to the wall.
The smoke alarms began to go off, as fire engulfed the officers' desks. Trickster got onto his feet and reached for the officer's corpse, pulling out a set of keys and freeing himself from his cell.
"I love the smell of barbecue!" he exclaimed, giddy with excitement as he grabbed all his gear and skipped out of the precinct. However, as soon as he ran out, he was met with the right hook of one Joe West.
"That's the last time you blow anything up," started Joe. Trickster got to his feet and began to hop around.
"But why stop now, Sarge! There's plenty more of the city left to burn!" he exclaimed, ducking under another one of Joe's punches, as he took out a syringe and injected him with it.
Everything began to become a blur, as Joe fell unconscious. Trickster began to drag him to a police car.
"And free transportation! Oh, you shouldn't have!" exclaimed Trickster, putting Joe in the trunk before sliding across the hood of the car and starting the engine, speeding away down the street.
"I should have been here…" said Barry, standing in front of the police station. He had already sped through and evacuated any survivors from the raging inferno, while firefighters worked to put out the flames.
Barry clenched his fists, sparks of lightning flying from them.
"Joe…I need to find him," he thought. "But any evidence regarding Trickster is cooked," he continued to think as he paced back and forth, resisting the urge to start running.
"Slow down Barry, think," he told himself. "Murmur attacked Iris as a distraction, that's why she doesn't fit his standard victim profile. Trickster wanted to get caught, but was kidnapping Joe always the plan?" he asked himself.
"And why let Amar live? What are the two of them planning?" he thought. That's when his phone began to ring.
"Hey Patty," said Barry somberly, answering the call.
"Hey, you holding up okay?" she asked.
"3 died in the explosion, and Joe is nowhere to be found, and I wasn't there. Iris was attacked earlier tonight, and I wasn't there," ranted Barry.
"We spoke to Flash, you were doing important work to catch Murmur. It's not your fault, Barry. Don't take all the weight on your shoulders, save some for us," replied Patty.
"Speaking of which, Amar was able to answer some questions," she added.
"Did they get the stitches off of his mouth?" asked Barry.
"Unfortunately, that coupled with the loss of his tongue means that it's kind of risky to remove the needlework from his mouth, so we got him to write down what happened. Murmur broke into his house and attacked him, before slicing his tongue and sewing his mouth shut," explained Patty.
"How's August doing?" asked Barry.
"He's gone to speak to his wife. Between you and me, he's burning the candle on both ends. And so are you," said Patty.
"Patty, I don't need a lecture on this," sighed Barry.
"Just get some sleep, okay? Take care," replied Patty, cutting the call. She pinched her eyebrows and looked through the window of the intensive care room, where Amar was lying on his bed.
She noticed August walk down the corridor, to his wife's office. August looked as if he hadn't seen the light of day in years.
"Nat?" he asked, walking into her office.
"August, we need to talk. I've tried being supportive, I've tried being there for you, but it's not working," she said, running her hands through her hair.
"W-What's not working?" asked August.
"This! I told you, you're pushing yourself too hard! You look like a zombie, you're constantly frustrated, and now it's affecting me too," she vented, covering her eyes with her hands.
"Natalie, before I married you, I told you how life was going to be if you married a detective," reasoned August.
"And you had promises that if shit got bad, you'd attend therapy. Or at the very least, scale back on work," replied Natalie. "And before you say you don't need it, you clearly do!"
"Natalie for the last time. I don't. Need. A shrink," replied August, steeling his voice.
"Goddammit August. I've tried being patient with you, I really have. But at this rate I'm going to go insane too!" she exclaimed.
"Just…take care of Amar for now. Once he's discharged all of this will be out of your hair. We can talk about all of this then," said August, way too tired to argue as he walked out of the office.
He walked down the corridor and towards the stairs, walking out of the hospital to get some fresh air. He found a bench and sat down, eventually allowing himself to drift off to sleep.
Suddenly, his phone began to buzz loudly. He grunted and opened it, only to have his jaw floored. It was a notification to join a livestream.
"Hosted by James Jesse…" he read out loud.
The Flash ran down the Central City Forest, having memorized the path to the creek. It was almost 4 in the morning, and yet he wasn't feeling tired.
Iris being attacked, Joe going missing, Michael nearly dying, Trickster escaping, it was all too much for the scarlet speedster to take at a go.
He came to a stop at a clearing in the woods. In front of him was a river, glowing deep lapis in the moonlight, under the canopy of the trees. Flash made his way to one of the rocks nearby and sat down, taking off his mask.
"Hi mom," he said.
"When I was a kid, we would go hiking together every weekend. You'd always tell me, if I want to be alone, but don't want to feel lonely, just come to the creek," he said.
"Well, I'm lonelier than ever. I can run faster than sound but I can barely spend time with anyone, do anything without getting distracted, or just get anything done in general. Murmur is out there, Trickster is out there, Joe is missing and I…I don't know what to do," he continued.
His words were met with nothing but the soft gushing of water down the creek, lapping against the rocks.
"I need to slow down, I know I do. But I can't. It's a curse that I had accepted, but now others are being affected because of me. No one else can die from my negligence, mom. But I don't know how," he said.
He, of course, didn't expect any answer. But it was as if the weight on his shoulders was being released off of him and into the water flowing. He felt as if no cell in his body was moving, he could feel every muscle stop twitching. He closed his eyes and let the sound of the river wash over him.
He was sitting still in one place, and he felt as if he was able to control every sinew in his body. He slowly opened his eyes, and the desire to move around had subsided. For the first time in over a year, the Flash was at peace.
"I need to find Joe. No one dies," said Barry. Almost prophetically, his phone began to rapidly buzz. He took it out, and found a notification to join a live broadcast.
"The hell?" he asked. But then he read what was under.
'Hosted by James Jesse.'
Barry instantly clicked on the video, leading to a live recording taking over his phone. It was Joe tied to a chair, bleeding from the side of his head. Duct tape was plastered over his mouth.
"Let's see, let's see…Oh! Over 30,000 viewers! I see my broadcast request truly did hit everyone in Central City. Well, those of you who do not know me, my name is James Jesse, better known as The Trickster! And this here…is my bait," he said, pointing at Joe.
"Sergeant Joe West, everybody! As you can see, he's not doing very well right now. And he'll be doing much worse if everyone's favorite red roadrunner doesn't show up!" he added.
"That's right, Flash. I'm challenging you to come save West and stop me, if you can. However, there's a catch! There's a party going down at Central City General Hospital, one you would hate to miss! However, you can't be at both, and if you're not here, at 246 Millington Road in the next 5 seconds, West gets a bullet in his brain!"
Barry began to run, thinking as fast as he could.
"Joe is in danger, but something is happening at Central City General. I need to choose, now!" thought Flash. Did Joe's life outweigh the potential lives about to be lost at the hospital.
Time was running out, but Barry continued to weigh his decision.
"August and Patty have control over the hospital, they're looking over Amar. I need to save Joe. No one dies," he told himself, turning right and sprinting to Trickster's address.
August dropped his phone as he jumped from the bench, and rushed back inside the hospital. He had his gun in his hand while he ran up the stairs, back to Natalie.
"All units, send all available units to Central City General, backup requested!" yelled August in his comms device. Most of the police were understaffed at that moment due to the explosion.
"I need to warn Natalie, before anything happens!" thought August, nearly tripping over himself as he stumbled through the emergency exit door and into the corridor, only to come face to face with his nightmare.
"Oh God…" he eked out, losing his voice.
Michael Amar was standing in the corridor, holding a scalpel to Natalie's throat. Behind him was Patty, knocked out cold.
"Amar, let her go. Now!" shouted August, pointing the gun towards him. Amar pushed the knife closer to Natalie's throat, drawing some blood. Desperately, August threw his gun down.
"Okay, I'm not going to shoot you, just please let my wife go, please," pleaded August. Natalie was shaking as she heard laughter try to escape Amar's sewn up lips.
"Murmur, please," begged August, tears in his eyes. He held his hands up in surrender.
"I've got nothing on me, just let her go. Kill me if you want!" said August, seeing flashbacks to his sister's murder. He blinked hard to get rid of the memory and focus.
"August…" started Natalie, her voice shaky.
"I'm here, Nat. He's going to let you go, it's going to be okay," said August.
"I'm sorry for what I said," said Natalie, crying. Tears began to escape August's eyes too.
"Me too. It's okay, he's going to let you go, okay?" said August, keeping his eyes on Murmur.
"I love-"
Before Natalie could finish, Murmur slit her throat, as crimson began to ooze from her neck, and the light left her eyes. Murmur dropped her there and walked past August, who simply fell to his knees, voiceless.
It was as if two people died at that moment.