Fractured Mirth
part 13
"A box," Bailey Malone confirmed simply, as he randomly threw his hat aside in the empty doctor's office, carefully shrugging out of his coat to reveal a crisp white dress shirt, complete with a black vest, and an equally black tie accompanying it around his neck. He absentmindedly shoved his hands into the pockets of his pants, as he began to quietly pace.
"A box...." Rachel Burke echoed, her features set into a mode of clear seriousness, her brows arched, as she firmly placed a pair of tense arms across her chest.
"A locked box," he emphasized, finally turning to her. "Whatever was down there, they left it in an awful hurry." He nodded a moment, as if to reassure himself. "Our guys found a bed, rumpled sheets, a pair of clothes tossed on the floor. Your average dump, in a manner of speaking. There were also expired articles of food lying around. By the looks of it, whoever fled did it a few weeks ago, at most...'
"That's your conclusion? That's it?"
"Yes."
"Well, I don't agree with it," she said simply. "We saw people there. They were right in front of us, and we've got one of them in our custody. Doesn't that make any bit of difference in the case load?"
"Rachel, listen to me-"
"If it's locked then there has to be some way to still get inside," she murmured, ignoring him. "We could have some real solid evidence here, Bailey. Evidence that the paranormal really does exist, and answers to dead bodies that haven't even begun to have any answers."
"I'm not even sure it was safe to bring the team in on this, knowing the risk they might be up against."
"So then why did you answer my call?"
"You've got Duane, haven't you?"
"Yeah, and a lot of good that's done us. He screwed with us, Bailey. He made us believe he was the master behind the plan- he wanted us to follow those little breadcrumbs for entertainment value again. In the end, there was no motive. Hell, there still isn't."
"You won't know until you talk to him," he reminded her.
"I'm sending John in."
"What?"
"If I go in there, I know I'm going to lose it. I spent a good hour considering it, and since I'm not entirely under obligation, I turned it over to John. I'm not too sure I have myself under control right now, and that's what worries me."
"Albert Kingston?" he tried.
"Cole," she recited plainly.
"Cole is a civilian, Rachel. He's not authorized to conduct an interrogation."
"No?"
"If Albert doesn't crack, Cole won't have the slightest idea how to make him budge. He's dangerous. He'll use violence, and we'll have nothing."
"Which is why I gave him a few tips and sent him in with false identification."
"That's-"
"Smart," she finished. "He never showed his other half when he fought those men, Bailey. He could have, but he didn't. He never submitted himself to it, and that's what has me putting all of the trust I still have into him. He's good."
"So Albert still thinks he's a cop," Bailey surmised.
"Basically," she agreed.
"Okay, I hate to interrupt the intellectuals of this group, but does anyone want to tell me exactly what I'm looking for?"
Bailey offered the faintest hint of a grin. "Grace. How are you?"
"I've seen better days," she remarked hopefully. "Plus, the plane ride was crap. Can't exactly will myself into these things, if I'm still suffering from a severe case of jet lag."
"So you don't have anything concrete yet?" Rachel prompted, her eyes suddenly starting to attention.
Grace pursed her lips. "Yes....and no."
"Which means?"
"Yes and no," she repeated, shrugging. "It's hard to say. The damage done to this girl is just beyond my area of comprehension. It's just like the others, only there's a small defect that wasn't responsive to the human eye before. It's difficult to say what it might be, but it looks like somebody is sure proud of their work. At least, more than they've previously let on."
"Does that mean you've hit a wall?" Rachel tried.
"Not necessarily. With the right expertise working at my side, I could easily have it decoded in under thirty minutes."
"Decoded?"
"It looks like a message scrawled in rather tiny print, quite possibly etched in by a tiny scalpal of sorts. My guess is the son of a bitch carved it in there to revel in what he conceptualizes as beauty. We most likely didn't see it before, because I happen to believe we've got more than one sicko on our hands here."
"Glorified," another voice put in, as the tone warmed up to the conversation without hesitation, the figure shifting pleasantly into view.
"And it's nice to see you too, John."
"Cole," he put forth.
"Excuse me?"
"The name is Cole," he repeated, holding out a hand. "Cole Turner. I'm assisting this case under instruction from Miss Burke."
"Oh, that's right, the John Grant look-alike whose suddenly sprouted horns and an attitude. Welcome to our temporary home of insanity. I'm sure you'll fit right in."
"I'm horn free," he responded lightly, his mouth only curving slightly at the jab. He then shot Rachel a quick glare, slowly raising an eyebrow. "Well, to most people, anyway."
"Hey, whatever works for ya," Grace continued, looking him up and down again. "Either way, I am sensing an awful lot of tension in this room right now."
"You'll have to excuse him," Rachel pressed. "That attitude often lets him speak freely when he should be keeping his mouth shut."
"I'm sure Grace would probably feel more relieved if she had Cole's help," Bailey noted then. "With all due respect, Mr. Turner, I'm sure you'd fare well in interviewing the suspect, but for now, I'm suiting you up to do the dirty work."
"But she's already dead," he objected. "Unless she's going to get up and go dancing, I hardly think I qualify here."
"He likes hand to hand combat," Rachel threw in.
"Let me handle Albert," Bailey sided. "I still need to get myself completely up to date on this mess, and I think this is the best way to do it."
Rachel shrugged. "Whatever then. I've still gotta tag George on those whereabouts yet."
"Whereabouts?" Cole questioned.
"On Phoebe's sisters? Seems whoever these cloak guys were, they've had another hidden establishment in the works for quite some time. Or so I'm assuming. They have to have headquarters somewhere, right?"
"I'm afraid you'll be doing a lot more digging than that," Cole commented.
"And why is that?"
"They're obviously not going to kill them sooner than expected, which is why they've been buying time as innocently as possible. The most common place to start would be another rundown wharehouse."
"Yeah, and contrary to a view in demonology, they're not going to be nearly as predictable."
"You'd be surprised."
"I like him," Grace concluded.
"Excuse me?" Rachel asked her, feeling her eyes nearly bulge straight out of her head, as she turned to the other woman in pure astonishment.
"You can't say he's not dedicated."
"Grace, he's a pain in the-"
"He's giving you information free of charge. That automatically wins him a big gold star in my book."
"I don't believe this."
"Rachel, I'd like you and John to compare notes before you go in there. I want both of you up and ready to see Duane in five minutes."
"Bailey, I know John can handle this. Just give him a chance. He knows this guy's story. He can deal with him efficiently. He's done it before."
"But he wasn't beaten half to death before," he reminded her. "He's still not up to his full strength."
"And when will I be?" the question randomly shot out behind him, as a casually clad John placed himself into viewing range, meeting his stare with an intense one of his own, his eyes narrowed in concentration. "Bailey, I've done nothing but wait around, and it hasn't exactly done me any good. We almost lost Phoebe, and-"
"And that's the responsibility you take for bringing a civilian along on business with you," Bailey stated rather calmly.
"So you're saying this is my fault?"
Rachel immediately clasped a hand down upon his weapon harness, quickly yanking him to the side. "We're going to take those five minutes now," she decided, before impatiently disposing of him into another bare hospital vacancy. He nearly missed colliding with a table full of unidentifiable instruments on his way in, as he forcefully broke free, shrugging himself out of her grasp, his mouth drawn tightly into a fit of anger. Her expression was now just as annoyed as his when she locked the door behind her, his handsome features eyeing her up with careful precision. "What the hell is your problem?"
"Dammit, John."
"Excuse me?"
"You nearly did us in when you made the move you did," she hissed. "Phoebe should have stayed put, John. You can't expect her to be a natural in the field, when she's not even-"
"If it weren't for me," he pointed, keeping his voice low, "Phoebe would now be in the same helpless position her sisters are. Is that what you want? Could you have lived with yourself if it were all three of them?"
"And aren't you taking this personal affiliation with her a little too far?"
"Personal affiliation?" he repeated, obviously amused. "Is that what you're calling it now?"
"This isn't about me."
"Clearly it is."
"John, look, Bailey might have a point, but it doesn't mean you still can't help out here. You have to understand that."
"Well, that's funny, because before you seemed to actually have some shred of belief in me that I might not do so bad. Can't imagine what changed, but then again, why the hell should I even act surprised?"
"And I still do."
He moved dangerously close to her then, their lips nearly touching, as his blues studied her long and hard, the ache in them almost too much to bare. Slowly, a hand that wasn't used to shaking, gently retrieved a piece of loose red hair that miserably fell in front of her pretty face, ever so lightly securing it back in place, as his hand came down over her hair, his grip gentle. "We've both seen each other through times like this before. And I was there for you, if you needed me. I knew what it was like when I lost Kate, and....God help me, Rachel, I just feel so damn lost now. Like...like I don't even know how to behave, how to act....because for the life of me, every Goddamn thing appears to set you off. I don't want to fight. I'd say we had more than our share of that as soon as Sam up and left. Granted, Sam and I didn't exactly have the best of introductions then either, but it's just the same. I was...arrogant, and I was stupid, and I figure if I try it again, I'll probably make the worst mistake of my life." He paused a moment, his lips nearly close to a smile that never came. "I'll stop pretending, if you will."
"Pretending?" she whispered.
"If it helps any, you're the only one I'd ever consider getting drunk with again," he mused jokingly, raising an eyebrow rather curiously when her mouth teased itself into a grin.
"Hate to disappoint you, but that's one thing that's never going to happen again. Ever. I have endured too much humiliation for the both of us."
"Pity," he surmised.
"Look, we still need to figure this thing out. If you want, maybe I could settle for a cup of coffee later."
"A date?" The eyebrow had raised itself again, undoubtably perplexed.
"John, I meant the case file. Duane, Albert, triquetra, syringe...everything. We'll just...lay it all out on the table and see what we come up with."
"With Bailey."
She nodded. "Now that he's back with help, it should be smooth sailing from here on out."
"Ever been?" he offered.
"Huh?
"Sailing?"
"This doesn't have anything to do with the-"
"No, it doesn't."
"You don't sail. You know you don't sail. At least, not that I'm aware of. But still-"
"Then we'll go for some Bean Boy. My treat."
"That's in Boston."
"Never been?"
"Okay, you know what? I worry about you, I really do."
He shrugged. "Knowing you're about to question one of the most disturbing men of our time kind of puts you in that mind frame, I guess."
"Go easy on him."
"Are you serious? I'm nailing his ass to the ground," he added. "Where it rightfully belongs."
"Yeah, and if you don't want him putting a curse on you, it's best to keep it as formal as possible."
"Funny, his profile failed to mention he was a widely versed expert in voodoo." He considered it a moment. "You really believe in that stuff, don't you?"
"Just watch your back."
"Trust me, I've learned to do that a lot more these days."
"Listen," she spoke quietly, still unsure of herself yet, as she mindlessly tapped a finger upon the bare countertop behind her, her composure trying to brave itself for what she was about to say.
"Yes, I'm....listening," he assured her.
"Did you really mean what you said? I...I mean about Bean Boy?"
"I guess that'll have to be up to you," he reasoned, his mouth finally parting in a beautiful smile. "You know, we go way back, Rachel...."
"Yeah, I know."
"And if I'm speaking from a concerned colleague's point of view right now, I think you should also get that cheekbone looked out. Seems our boy Albert did quite the number on it."
She hesitantly touched a hand to the bruise she'd suffered in the squabble earlier, laughing. "Yeah...."
He decidedly ran a finger across it much to her dismay, as she unknwingly began to flush, her face already beginning to take on a profound crimson hue- something that was a true rarity for her to ever have experienced, and a feeling that was oddly new to her. "I care," he whispered. "And I hope I can say this without sounding like a total idiot, but I'm...I'm honestly glad we finally became friends. I mean, that rough patch is past us now, right?"
If you only knew how much, she silently thought to herself, as she forcefully masked that reaction as best she could. "Yeah," she said again.
"Hey guys, you done in here? Because I'm about to take demon boy on a little stroll down to my personal lair," Grace vouched, as she suddenly threw open the door, clearly catching them both offguard. He expression halted a moment, as she looked from one to the other, gently shaking her head. "Make out closet's down the hall," she volunteered brightly, as she took her hand off the knob, her white lab coat swinging in the faint breeze that drifted through the corridor.
"We were just talking," Rachel called after her.
"Yeah, alright. Talking, it is. Guess that's what they must be calling it these days, hmm?"
"And clearly, someone's enjoyed the conversation," Cole mused rather smugly, as he gazed at her from head to foot, his hands shoved casually into the back pockets of his jeans.
"Shut up," she snapped.
"Hey, look, you don't have to worry about me spilling your little secret, okay? My lips are sealed."
"Secret?" John questioned, tagging along behind them.
"It's nothing," Rachel sided.
"Oh, it's something," Cole beamed, apparently getting a kick out of it.
"Quiet," she hissed.
"Were you like this in high school, too?"
"What's the secret?" John continued.
"They work!!!" an excited tone scrambled down the hallway, frantic feet running joyfully onto the bare floor, nearly crashing into a corner, their pace never slowing down for a second. "Oh my God, they work!"
"Phoebe?" Cole inquired, his face an entire mass of confusion, as The Charmed One bounded into view of them, her small hands containing a steady grip on the newly discovered box, her pretty face lit up in a thousand smiles, as relief flooded over her features, alert and refreshed. Jammed into the front of the wooden contraption was the set of kets Cole had retrieved prior to Rachel's little spill in the department store earlier, one of them having executed a perfect fit.
"They work, guys!!! I was just messing around, you know, fiddling with them here and there..." she fought hard to catch her breath, the grief over her sisters draining from her system somewhat, as she dropped the box into his grasp, a hand sliding over her heart, which was now beating rather rapidly, her cheeks rosy from the sprint. "I heard this click, right, and there you have it. It's probably not as old as we thought, considering it wasn't...didn't appear to be jammed or anything."
"Well?" Rachel pressed, her eyes eagerly trailing over the object, as the lid jiggled slightly from the movement in Cole's hands.
"I didn't open it," she told her. "I thought we should all have a look at it together."
"I really like this woman," John commented, hands slanted against his hips, as he received a suspicious glare on behalf of Cole, his eyes quickly averting themselves to the ground, as he silently pursed his lips.
Securing the base with one hand, Cole calmly pulled off the top, easing it back, observing the encasement under the strong metal prongs, the rust creaking slightly with age, as he began to pry into the contents, three eager eyes darting over his shoulder.
"Photos," he sided.
"Photos," Rachel repeated.
"What are you, a parrot?"
"Oh God," Phoebe whispered. "Oh....my God. Those are-"
"Children," John echoed. "Little girls."
"Dead," Rachel emphasized, her insides fighting an inner battle on whether or not to keep her eyes upon them, her stomach threatening to give way on her, as she tucked her slender frame into the wall, letting it support her, as a hand went to her mouth.
"Well over fifty years old," Cole informed them. "All posed in a state of emptiness."
"I don't see the connection," Phoebe finally stated, her eyes watering slightly from the grossly depicted images that forever remained true to life in such a melancholy state, the torn faces almost reaching out for help. "Whoever they were, we can't expect to have saved them. It's almost like it's a lost cause...."
"That's because they were already dead," he offered, his face outlining an expression of curiousness.
"It's a form of photography....or was," John corrected softly. "After awhile it was said to be out of place to capture what the human eye really sees after death- people began to despise it back in the day. We had a guy in custody when I was still working with Lou, and we came across some shots just like those. Well, they were more recent, but some sick individual would get his kicks from photographing elderly citizens in death-like poses."
"He still locked up?"
"Yeah, but I don't think-"
"You can only see what is to be seen," Phoebe added, carefully studying a little girl who lay facedown on her bed, her dress a bit wrinkled, her skin drained of her entire existence, as blonde curls lay spilled out around her.
"Exactly. You can't go beyond it."
"Can your friend George find some more on these? Maybe where they came from?" she tried.
"Unless we can get prints on the box, it'll be hard to pinpoint," he countered. "Seeing as it was taken into evidence, we've already tampered with it."
"Their backs are revealed," Rachel noted, just above a whisper.
"What?"
"John, their backs are revealed in those photos. They still have clothing, but they're also all little girls."
"So I've already stated."
"No. Don't you get it? There aren't any...there's no boys. None whatsoever. They all fit the age bracket, and they're just another piece."
"Piece?" Cole asked her.
"They wanted us to find these. That cult, that magic....whatever the hell those guys were. They meant for us to find it."
"You don't know that."
"I want to find out who took them."
"They're a little too faded to make any kind of-"
"No, they're not. Look at the upper portion of each of their backs. What do you see?" she threw out, as she headed down the hall, her hands resting firmly at her sides, while her entire being threatened to break apart. "What do you see?"
He sighed, his eyes rising to meet John's. "Let me go with Grace. You try to get her to calm down. Phoebe-"
She snatched the box back. "Already on it."
"Good. I'm going to give Morris a call, see if he can dig up some past cases."
John nodded. "Hey, whatever works."
___________
The tall figure stepped over the two unconscious women on the ground, his lips forming a slow smile. It had begun.
He'd been careful, almost precise, and now it was beginning all over again. The victims, the incessant and painful cries for help. The pleading and suffering in traumatic eyes as they were reluctantly brought to their penance in his realm of justice. He could smell it in the air now.
His life's work had resurrected itself once more to show them just what he represented. What he stood for, and....what he wouldn't stand for.
And now he had two of the most precious souls already in his grasp, and the sacrifice would be most pleasing to make when it had reached a lovely three. Convenience was clearly at his leisure, and he was going to take all that it offered. He'd alerted just the right signs, and with that came an even greater honor. The energy was ruthless, and it would consume him in its entirety. It would let him walk the earth among them again.
"The girl," he mused quietly. "Is she dead?"
"They've already found her."
"Wonderful."
"But we have another problem."
"Oh?"
"The profiler. She hasn't quit, nor does she intend to. The distraction was never enough."
"And isn't why they call it a distraction? Your boys had some fun, we had some-"
"I mean, the other distraction."
"It was his choice."
"Yes, sir, but-"
The tone immediately came to an abrupt silence, when a pair of cleverly untolerable red eyes crafted themselves in his direction, their gaze freezing his body in place, as it shook with an ounce of nervousness. A pair of equally red hands, atoned with thick black nails nonchalantly clicked themselves together in a terribly bored gesture. "I've arranged a little trip. You'll leave bright and early tomorrow morning."
"A trip?"
"It appears the children have finally come to free us once and for all. After we take them, this world will be ours, and I'll possess my strength again. In time," he let his gaze roam below him once again, "an even greater strength."