There were 18 suspects that Grant, Mercedes and Santana managed to round up between patrols, searches of hacked criminal databases and information obtained directly from police investigations. Now they had to find out if the main witness would be able to recognize the serial killer's photograph. Santana texted Rachel and explained the need for her to try to recognize the "restaurant's customer". The diva agreed. That's why Mercedes Jones was with Santana Lopez's car in front of the building where Rachel lived on a conflicting mission. No one trusted Rachel Berry in the sense that she was capable of maintaining secrecy. Santana, in particular, didn't like knowing that the secret of her double identity was in her theater colleague's hands forever. Even so, the trio needed Rachel Berry to get a dangerous person out of circulation. Worse, the trio, especially Santana, took it upon herself to protect and train Rachel.
The journalist sent a message to the main witness and survivor saying that she was waiting for her.
"Hi!" Kurt came down from the apartment along with Rachel, which made Mercedes uneasy for a moment.
"Kurt, darling." The journalist said with a certain amount of falseness. "How are you?"
"Fine. Rachel said she'd go out with you."
"Yes." Rachel intervened. "I said we'd arranged a girls' night out, and it was none of his business where."
"I thought I was part of the gang." Kurt said hurt.
"Another time, Kurt." Rachel rolled her eyes and got into the car. "Don't make a scene, please. I'll be safe."
Mercedes didn't know what to think of Rachel at that moment. They were all actors, and skilled liars at that. Mercedes waved to her colleague and started driving. Santana's car was old, still without an automatic gearbox. This made it difficult for Mercedes to drive.
"Are you sure you have a driver's license?" Rachel was startled by the third bump Mercedes gave the car due to the poor clutch control.
"In a normal car, yes."
"Where are we going?"
"To Stevenson, 304."
"Really?"
"Did you think it would be anything different?" Mercedes struggled to keep the conversation going and coordinate herself behind the wheel.
"Since this is a matter of interest to vigilantes, I thought we'd go to some kind of bat cave."
"You've been reading too many comic books."
"Or talking to Sam... I mean, Sam Evans." Rachel corrected herself, not wanting to confuse the surnames between Samuel and Santana.
"Really?"
"He texts me a lot."
Mercedes parked the car badly, taking up two spaces. It was a relief, though. Rachel thought she was going to die in traffic. She had never heard so many honks directed at the vehicle she was in, and she feared for her life, not only because of Mercedes' antics, but also because of the insults she received. There were so many crazy people in traffic that this kind of attitude was often very dangerous. Rachel accompanied her friend to the dormitory where was Santana sitting at her desk, checking her computer and typing on an auxiliary keyboard.
"Berry." Santana said without looking at her colleague.
"Lopez." Rachel frowned. "The other day, you called me by my name."
Santana stared at the diva and frowned. She hadn't even noticed the change of names. It must have been because of the different purposes. On that particular day, Santana was on a mission, but in a much more relaxed environment.
"It doesn't matter in the slightest. You're still Rachel Berry, right? So it doesn't matter if I call you Rachel or Berry."
"Do you prefer typing on an auxiliary keyboard?" Rachel approached the desk. "Finn too. I always thought it was weird."
"I do it so I don't break the computer when I accidentally type harder. A new auxiliary keyboard is much cheaper than a new laptop." Santana didn't need to justify herself, but she didn't see any harm in satisfying her colleague's curiosity.
"San, I think it's best to get down to business." Mercedes interrupted the interaction.
"Right, go ahead."
"Wait a minute. Mercedes is also an effective Vigilante?" Rachel widened her eyes.
"Who do you think is the brain, Berry?" Mercedes rolled her eyes. "Please take Santana's seat."
Rachel obeyed and watched as the girls quickly organized themselves. She was already pretty convinced about Santana's extraordinary powers. Rachel also knew about Mercedes' investigative skills. She just hadn't imagined that her great rival on stage was also active in this surveillance business.
"We were able to do some research based on Berry's sketch, and also on what I remembered." Santana explained. "Unfortunately, I'm a terrible physiognomist, and my prime suspect may not actually be the prime suspect."
"Who is your prime suspect?" Rachel was curious.
"I won't tell you so as not to influence you in any way." Santana placed the files in position on the computer screen. "Here are 18 photographs of suspicious people. Take a look and tell us if any or none of them were your attackers. Take a deep breath, take your time."
Rachel began to check the photographs, while Santana and Mercedes waited anxiously for an answer. The police were working with five suspects, including a guy called Brody Weston, who was a model and actor with a criminal record for prostitution. Santana, Mercedes and Grant included 13 other suspects based on readings from artificial intelligence software, on people who were known to them and therefore suspects, and also as a result of a brief survey carried out by Grant and Santana in the bars and restaurants that the victims frequented. Among them was Frank Lennon, the boyfriend of rising actor Blaine Anderson.
"It's this guy here." Rachel showed the photo of the attacker. "I'm sure of it. That's the restaurant customer who always tipped me well."
"Suspect number 7." Santana read the file. "Hunter Clarington, 25, sound engineer, black belt in karate... which is consistent with him being a good fighter..."
"What?" Mercedes wondered. "A good fighter?"
"When I got the guy off Rachel, we fought, but I could only win because I used my strength, and he definitely didn't expect that. This Hunter guy must be like... my partner... who can dominate me in a fight when I don't call on my strength." Santana didn't have much appreciation for the so-called tactical training she did with Grant, which included martial arts moves.
"He's one of the suspects without a criminal record." Mercedes observed. "How did you really find him?"
"That was a referral from my partner. This guy works at the Unique's nightclub." Santana explained. "I don't know what this guy did to make my partner suspicious of him, apart from matching the description in Rachel's sketch."
"Who's Unique?" Rachel wondered.
"Unique is a regular singer at the Divas and Madpeople nightclub, which is inside the Starr Casino Hotel complex." Mercedes explained. "She's amazing."
"Yes, she's almost her twin sister." Santana smiled.
"Isn't Divas and Madpeople a gay nightclub?" Rachel frowned.
"Yes. Have you ever been there?" Mercedes asked.
"No, never. Kurt's been there a few times. But he's never mentioned Unique."
"It must be jealousy." Santana allowed herself a little smile.
"Do you think Unique or Marley could be in danger?" Mercedes speculated.
"Hard to say. I think Unique is out of the question if we look at the pattern of the victims." Santana had many doubts. She wouldn't buy her own theories right now, but she felt it was important to say what she thought. "All the victims had in common that they were young, attractive... except for Berry... and that they were amateur singers."
"Why isn't Unique in danger?" Rachel asked.
"Because, Berry, she's an overweight trans woman who hasn't made the change down there." Santana replied as she took another look at the profile. "I think Marley would be much more at risk than Unique."
"Who's Marley?" Rachel asked again, trying to stay on top of the conversation.
"She's a very pretty nerd who works with computers. In her off-hours, she sometimes sings at a bar that holds open mic nights for these indie singers." Santana frowned for a moment. "Marley lives with Unique... I can't say anything, but it's quite possible that Marley knows this Hunter."
"I don't know... I'm not sure we need to do this. This case has media interest, and the police are working on it. I think we should make an anonymous tip and see if they'll investigate the guy." Mercedes speculated. "That way you wouldn't run any risks, San. All you'd have to do is keep an eye on Rachel to ensure her safety."
"Or we could make sure that this guy is going to be framed before handing everything over to the police. This Hunter isn't even on the police's list of suspects, so we'd have time to investigate."
"San, do you think that's the wise thing to do?" Mercedes pressed. "He could make other victims."
"It's not that I don't trust Berry's identification. It's just that this guy is clever. He leaves no trace. We could file a complaint, Berry could confirm him as the serial killer, but the police might not get any evidence and be forced to release him."
Mercedes understood Santana's point. Rachel, for her part, didn't agree. She thought to herself: "So what? I'm not on that team anyway."
...
"Good. Now breathe more deeply and let the energy flow."
Quinn listened to Mike's melodic voice. The two of them were near the stream that ran through the ranch, among the trees that made up the small native forest. Quinn was sitting on a large mat, in the Indian position, trying to clear her mind while doing breathing exercises. She didn't know if it was all in her head, or if there was some reason for it, but there, in what was the coolest area of the property, Quinn could feel an energy surrounding her body, as if it were a light breeze that walked over her skin from the tips of her fingers to the tip of her head and back again. The micro-entrepreneur had no worries at that moment. Beth was at the ranch cabin together with Elliott, who turned out to be a very entertaining "uncle". Grant and Santana were also at the ranch. Even though there were many questions to be answered, Quinn knew he could leave them for later.
"Quinn, now hold your breath and open your eyes slowly."
As she did what Mike ordered, she found herself in an unexpected and totally bizarre situation. Mike seemed to have a bluish aura around him. It wasn't just that. Quinn had caused a small frost two meters in diameter, and she was in the center of this circle.
"Did I do that?"
"Yeah." Mike smiled. "That's just the beginning, grey eyes."
"Grey eyes?"
Calmly, Mike got out of the meditation position and picked up the cell phone next to him. He took a photo of Quinn and then showed the result. Quinn was struck by the fact that her eyes, which had been greenish brown, were a light grey. She became unfocused and it was as if she had disconnected from the energy.
"Now your eyes are back to normal... what a shame." Mike feigned disappointment, but the truth was that the results obtained with his student were extraordinary.
Mike and Quinn ended up getting close because they both had energy projection powers, and this, in a way, made them partners. Grant had basically mental powers, while Santana and Elliott had physical powers.
"Did I really produce that frost?"
"Yeap. This prompts me to make the following mental note: take a cold jacket when you go to meditate with Quinn Fabray."
"Silly!" Quinn smiled and stood up, pleased with the results. "I'd love to do another round, but I'm just hungry."
"It may not seem like it, but your workout just got heavy. What you've done burns a lot of calories." Mike also stood up and rolled up his and Quinn's mats. "Another mental note: take some cereal bars with you when you meditate with Quinn Fabray."
"You make me look so embarrassed."
"Seriously, how are you feeling?" Mike asked as the two of them walked out of the wooded area towards the cabin.
"Tired and hungry... but I'm feeling amazing. As if, for the first time, everything feels right."
"That's very good. In time, when you've mastered energy projection, you'll feel the need to do it on a regular basis. That's when I'll help you find some activity in which you can employ your power."
"Like what you do in the hospital?"
"Exactly. I don't heal children. I choose those who have undergone surgery to speed up the healing process. There are always two or three in that condition."
"Why children and not adults?"
"Because a child reacts faster than an adult, they heal faster. This means that my actions don't arouse suspicion, and there are no stories about miracles in the hospital. No more than usual, anyway."
"More than usual?"
"Many people attribute someone's recovery to a miracle. People I haven't visited, you know? It's usually people who are more fervent."
"And do you believe?"
"In what?"
"In God?"
"Whether it exists or not, we need to have one."
"Why?"
"So that we have brakes. Do you believe in God?"
"I've had crises of faith at times in my life, but yes, I do believe."
Elliott went to meet them with a crying Beth in his arms. Quinn ran to her daughter, worried about what had happened. Beth had skinned her knee when she tripped at the stud farm while trying to help "Uncle" Elliott look after the horses. Mike smiled at the little girl and put his hand on the wound. A subtle bluish light appeared around his hand, and within a minute, there was no more skinned knee.
"There, darling. The boo-boo's gone." Quinn comforted her and Beth calmed down. "It would be really nice if you were around whenever Beth goes to the playground." Quinn said good-humoredly to her friend.
The quartet stopped in front of the ranch's new headquarters, which was practically finished, with the walls covered, the roof installed, the floor laid, and the electrical and plumbing installations ready. All that remained was to paint it, do some finishing touches and furnish it. Santana and Grant were in front of the building, talking about something that seemed serious, so much so that they fell silent when the others approached.
"Look at Quinn in this picture!" Mike showed the picture of his friend that he had just taken.
"Is this serious?" Santana took out her cell phone and enlarged the image to focus her eye on the details. "My eyes don't change color."
"Mine change sometimes. They turn blue." Mike explained. "That made me formulate a theory."
"What?" Santana became extra interested.
"That people gifted with energy projection change the color of their eyes when their powers are fully active."
"Interesting." Santana stood up and did a quick stretch. She still hadn't told Mike and Elliott about Rachel Berry, let alone Quinn Fabray.
Grant exchanged glances with his vigilante partner, as if to mentally tell her that the two of them would talk later. He then smiled at Quinn. The new member of the group was a sight for sore eyes. Even with his policy of not getting romantically involved with anyone, he couldn't deny himself the attraction he felt for the micro-businesswoman. Quinn was a young woman of singular beauty.
"Mike, are you making lunch today?" Grant asked.
"Sure." He turned to Beth. "Do you want to help me little one? We can make chocolate desserts."
The girl vibrated and provoked smiles from everyone.
"I'll help you, soft skeleton." Santana offered. "Elliott?"
"Okay, let's have a family lunch today."
"Grant?" Santana looked at his companion.
"I think I'd rather ride. Quinn, would you like to join me?"
"Sure! It's been a while since I've ridden." She looked at Beth. "Sweetie, don't give your uncles a hard time."
"I'll take good care of her." Santana winked at Quinn and lifted Beth with ease, placing the little girl on her shoulders.
Quinn watched Santana run with Beth sitting on her shoulders, and smiled at her daughter's squeals of delight, as she was having a great time. Ignoring her complaining stomach, the entrepreneur followed Grant towards the stables. The horses Dino, Grace and Frank were loose in the paddock next to the stable, where they were left to sunbathe, eat and go potty. Grant pulled Grace and Frank, his favorite, leaving Dino for the next ride. Frank was a brown steed who was considered the most skittish of the trio. Grant rode him the most, not least because he was the only one in the group who knew how to handle Frank without the risk of him falling off. He saddled Grace and Frank with an agility that impressed Quinn, and in a few minutes, the two of them were riding around the ranch and out.
"You ride very well." Grant complimented.
"I'm out of practice, but I think it's like riding a bike."
"Did your parents put you in riding lessons?"
"My uncle had a ranch. And you?"
"That was my grandfather's ranch. He was a tough, persevering guy who made money starting from scratch. He wasn't very good at talking to his family, you know? My grandfather was especially tough and demanding when it came to raising my father and uncles. He had little patience with children, but he talked to me. We were able to talk through his passion for horses. This was his favorite place in the world, and when he died, it was a surprise to learn that he left this property entirely to me."
"Has he been dead long?"
"Three years ago."
"I'm sorry."
"Thank you." Grant directed the horses out of the ranch and they took the gravel road that connected the properties in the area. "What about your parents?" Grant asked out of politeness and to make a point, but he knew Quinn's background very well from the dossier he'd ordered on her.
"My mother is a pastor's daughter and my father comes from a traditional, bankrupt family. You know? The old money that lived for appearances. But my father is a very clever man and has managed to earn a good bit of money on his own merits." Quinn said without going into detail, but Grant was satisfied with the answer, because he knew it was the truth.
"What happened for you to end up in this town, running a coffee kiosk at the community college?" Seeing Quinn's closed expression, Grant tried to get around it. "I'm not judging you for anything that happened. I'm just curious. I admire anyone who walks on their own two feet."
"My parents kicked me out, and I had to make my own way in the world."
"May I ask why?"
"I got pregnant by a poor boy, for a start. Only the problem wasn't my pregnancy, but what led me to get pregnant in the first place."
"I don't understand." Grant really didn't understand. That was information you couldn't get from an express dossier.
"Gay panic. I slept with this guy because I fell in love with a girl. My parents would tolerate a pregnant teenage daughter. But they won't tolerate a gay pregnant teenage daughter." Quinn shook her head as she recalled something she hadn't told anyone: "They didn't even suggest I stay in the closet, or send me to one of those weird gay cure places. They just threw me out."
"That's terrible! I'm so sorry."
"All right. It's not that I want to justify myself, but it's not that I only like women. I'd be more suited to the letter B in the LGBTQ acronym. To be honest, I'd consider a life in the closet if I knew what I was going to go through beforehand... in a way, I'm still in the closet."
"What happened after your parents kicked you out?"
"I lived with Beth's father for a while, because he offered me shelter. Until he died in a car accident after we argued about the cost of prenatal care. I was... devastated... I felt responsible for his death. His mother asked me to leave, and I just picked up my backpack and left."
"You didn't look for the girl you fell in love with anymore?"
"Kendra was also in the closet and had things to lose."
"What the fuck!" Grant lamented, and he meant it. The dossier showed where Quinn had been, but the reasons why were unclear. His heart squeezed when he learned the details. "Why did you choose to come to this city?"
"Because I could start again from scratch without people who knew me around."
"Did you have a relationship with anyone after that?"
"Sex is a bargaining chip when you live on the street, Grant. Especially with a baby. I had it... a few times... for food, or a roof over my head. I did it for Beth. To protect her."
"You never thought of giving her up for adoption?"
"More than once. I just couldn't give it to anyone. But Beth and I were separated for a while. A guy I had to date for a roof kicked me out, and I had to find a shelter. The social worker who visited the place took Beth away from me and put her in a foster home until I proved I could support myself and give her a roof over her head. It took a year before I was able to regain custody of my daughter."
"How?"
"I got a steady job working as a cleaner in your father's firm."
"Really?" Grant feigned surprise.
"I worked cleaning in the morning and serving in a coffee shop for the rest of the day. Eventually, I became a barista. That's when I learned everything I know about coffee. With the salary, I was able to pay the rent for a room, and prove that I had the money to pay for my own expenses and a nursery for Beth. So I was able to get my daughter back. The social worker still pops in from time to time."
"And the coffee shop?"
"In the midst of all this, I decided to join a church again and met Joe. We became real friends. One day, I spotted an opportunity and had the idea of setting up an espresso café, but I didn't have the capital. I spoke to Joe and he spoke to his father. Joe's father came in with the money and I with the workforce."
Grant and Quinn were silent for a moment. That group of special people had different backgrounds. Santana had a childhood and adolescence without luxuries, but in a solid and loving family. Elliott is the son of a single mother and has suffered from absence and certain deprivations. Mike and Grant came from well-off families, but with unloving parents. Quinn came from a well-off family, but everything was taken away from her and she had to pick herself up out of the mud. They were all aged between 21 and 26, with Grant being the oldest and Santana the youngest. Grant looked at Quinn calmly riding Grace. Her thoughts were far away for a moment, perhaps still processing the painful moments she had had to go through and overcome.
"You won, Quinn." Grant broke the silence. "I'm happy to see where you are now after understanding what you had to go through to get here. I respect you a lot, and I've come to admire you even more."
"Thank you."
Quinn was surprised by a loud rumble in her stomach, audible even to Grant, and scowled. That's when they both decided to turn around and head back towards the ranch.
"Are you and Joe together?" Grant asked.
"He's just my partner."
"Have you dated anyone else without... survival reasons? Any girls?"
"No... unfortunately I don't have time for that. I haven't done anything beyond the platonic sphere."
"For example?"
"I have a client at the community college. Her name is Rachel Berry. She's not a conventional beauty and can often be quite annoying, but she's cute. Unfortunately, she has a boyfriend." Quinn smiled at Grant. "I've also recently met a nice guy. But we'll have to see how things go." Quinn tried to be enigmatic. "What about you?"
"There's no one in my life, romantically speaking. I don't want to be tied down to anyone right now." Grant sounded a little harsher than he needed to, causing Quinn to look disappointed.
"You've never tried boys?" She said, trying to keep the conversation going.
"I'm not the least bit attracted to the same sex, let alone curious. Even though I have great friends from this community. Elliott is super gay. Santana is a lesbian. Unique is a trans woman."
"Yes, I know Unique very well. She's a great friend, and Beth adores her. You know what's interesting? Your sister and I have never been more than a friendly neighbor. I know a few things about Marley because Unique tells me, like what she does for a living and that she likes to sing. But Marley and I have never talked."
"Marley is not really my sister. I consider her my sister because she was practically raised in my house. Her mother was our cook. I love her like my sister, and I am closer to Marley than I am to my own blood brother. But our lives are very separate."
"I understand."
They arrived back at the coach house, where Quinn got off Grace and went straight to the cabin, while Grant stayed to unsaddle the horses. Quinn came across a routine and homely scene. Mike was finishing lunch, Elliott was setting the table with Beth's help, while Santana was sitting on the couch checking her cell phone. Quinn fixed her gaze on Santana. Ever since the day she saw her with Rachel Berry, she had wanted to ask her a few questions. But for some reason, she found it difficult to approach Santana and start a friendly conversation. So Quinn kept her distance. She went over to Mike, tried some of the food and found it fantastic.
...
"That's it for today, my loves. I hope you all had as much fun as I did. We'll see you again next week!"
Unique said goodbye to the audience, blowing kisses and gesturing that the audience was in her heart. She got down from the small stage and went straight to her dressing room, where she could drink some cold water and catch her breath. Although Unique had a dressing room just for herself, the doors hardly closed. That's why people came in and out to pay compliments, take care of business or invite her to the after-show outings.
The first thing Unique liked to do when she got backstage after a show was to take off her high heels. Then she would take off her wig. Unique's hair was straightened and slightly past her shoulders. Then she would go behind the changing table and take off her dress, or costume, as she sometimes called it. The clothes she wore when she left the theater were much more mundane, but that didn't make her look disheveled. The last thing she did was take off her makeup, apply moisturizer, touch up her lipstick, and brush her hair. That was it!
"Let's go to Voilt." One of the backing singers said as she entered the dressing room.
"I'm a wreck today." Unique sighed. "I just want to get a taxi and go home."
"But everyone's going. Gisele, Karen, Paul, Robbie, Zion…"
"Girl, today is not possible. Even if I found the man of my dreams, today I wouldn't be able to handle it."
"I thought I was the man of your dreams." Hunter joined the conversation. "What's this, Unique?"
"You'll always be my favorite platonic crush." Unique smiled at the nightclub's sound technician and kissed him on the cheek. "Aren't you going out with the gang?"
"No, Alice is waiting for me at home."
"Alice is a cutie. In fact, she hasn't been around for a while."
"The doctor told her not to get too excited because of the pregnancy."
"True! Tell her I sent her a kiss." Unique grabbed her bag and left the nightclub.
The group of friends also enjoyed the end of the workday. The club would turn into a regular pub after the stage shows. Saturdays were always DJ'd, and it was usually the busiest day, as it was associated with a day of hunting for a good fuck. But since it was Sunday, Hunter Clarington's work basically ended when Unique's show ended. He went to the club's management office and picked up his weekly paycheck. The money from the club wasn't enough to support him, so he had another job at a television studio, where he worked on the morning news as a cameraman.
Hunter left the club and headed toward the parking lot with the week's money in hand. He stopped for a moment and had an uncomfortable feeling that he was being followed. He looked around and saw nothing unusual. He got on his motorcycle and went straight home. He lived in an apartment in a modest building in a middle-class neighborhood. Alice was not a fiction. Hunter's girlfriend worked as a secretary in an architecture and design firm owned by two well-requested architects. She was a beautiful, slim woman with red hair and delicate features. Alice was three months pregnant, but contrary to what Hunter made his colleagues believe, there was nothing wrong with her or the baby. It was an absolutely normal pregnancy.
"Hey babe." Hunter kissed his girlfriend. "Still awake?"
"It's not even 11 at night." Alice grumbled. "How was work?"
"Nothing new. Unique sends you a kiss."
"Thanks. I'd like her better if she'd stop hitting on you."
"Don't worry. She doesn't stand a chance." Hunter rolled his eyes and hugged his girlfriend.
What happened the rest of the night in that apartment was absolutely mundane. Hunter took a shower, had sex with his pregnant girlfriend and went to sleep. Outside the apartment, Grant was taking some notes. Hunter seemed awfully normal to be a serial killer. Had Rachel made a mistake? Was she as bad a physiognomist as Santana? Or was there some extra detail that was blocking the conclusion of this case? He quickly checked his notes and thought about what he and Santana could do to find out what was wrong with Hunter. He needed to come up with some strategies.
But his train of thought was interrupted as soon as he saw the police park their patrol cars in front of the building.