Fractured Mirth
part 14
John Grant let himself into the cramped room, his handsome face failing to hide a fairly obvious perturbed glare, as his blues slowly and firmly settled on the man already seated at a small table, an empty chair hovering just across from him, his hands clasped together, despite the unyielding handcuffs slated across both wrists. His hair had been combed back from his face, his eyes burning into the floor, as he remained entirely expressionless upon the entrance.
"Duane Robertson," he carefully mused. "With all due respect, I sincerely hope our friends at the police department managed to provide you with useful accomodations up until now. Of course, my experience is that a cell is hardly comfortable, least of all when you've got to get all of that pesky sleep to prepare to face the guys you tried to ruin in the first place."
He remained locked in silence, his lips softly curling themselves back in a smile.
"We need answers here. Solid, unquestionable answers, Duane. And you're going to give them to us."
"Your sins prevent me from doing so," he abruptly replied.
"What sins?"
"I wish to speak with Miss Burke. You don't concern me."
"Oh, is that what this is about?" he chided, slapping a folder clean onto the table with a fairly organized sense of control, offering a slight chuckle at the man's expense. "Because if it'll make you feel any better, Robbie, she's right on the other side of that glass. And contrary to what you may or may not believe, she can already see right through you."
"Yes. We have a connection."
John calmly edged him into the chair, blowing out a breath, as he casually wrapped his arms over his chest, his eyes widening rather briefly. "Well, if you're currently in the mood to discuss your specific ties to Miss Burke, I'd really love to hear them. I mean, from one perspective to another, right?"
"They're not for your ears," he sided plainly. "And I'm not going to talk until she's present."
"Yeah, and she's not your attorney or your savior, pal. So get on with it."
"You are foolish, Mr. Grant. You can't see your greater purpose."
"My greater purpose is to help save lives and figure out what those women and children died from. And if you can't find one speck of sympathy in that stone cold heart of yours, you really are as stupid as I thought you were."
"You fail to understand," he countered. "They all do."
"They?"
"Authority, justice? It's all mistaken for that which is not supposed to be seen. His path is a fine one, and he walks it with a song in his heart. A song that can only lead to fulfillment through youth."
"Youth...."
"Rejuvenation."
"Yeah."
"As I said, I would love to talk with Miss Burke. If you can't arrange it, I can't tell you what you want to know."
"She's busy at the moment."
"Yes. Analyzing me, I know. But for whatever reason, she must make the time- I made it for her."
"Correct me if I'm wrong, but you don't exactly have a choice."
"There is always a reasonable choice," he murmured.
"How did you kill them, Robbie? Because if you want to talk sins, I'd say your plate is full."
"I haven't killed anyone."
"Prove it."
"Mr. Grant, you can't prove what you don't believe. You and I both know that's why Miss Paulina is dead. She didn't believe. She was so naive, and unaware of things she had no comprehension of, so someone took things into their own hands."
"Do you always talk about yourself in the third person?"
"It's not my work you're after. It's his."
"His? Your accomplice."
"I had no accomplice." He smiled. "At least no one I was conscious of at the time of their deaths."
"You mentioned the path of the weary."
"Yes."
"Good. We're getting somewhere. What is it, and how did Paulina stray from it?"
"They all did. Each and every one of them."
He rolled his eyes, propping a hand beneath his chin, as he became just a bit more comfortable. "And?"
"I wish to see Miss Burke for that," he volunteered yet again.
"Okay, look. I'm tired of this, alright? You're wasting my time. And if I'm aware my time is being wasted, then I start to get cranky. And when I get cranky....I use violence. Subtle, but violence nonetheless."
"Your point would be?"
"I may not be Agent Burke, but I have a keen understanding of where guys like you come from. You were never happy and growing up you felt closed off from the world around you- a loner. Only, in your case, you somehow sought out harm against women, when it was your father who hit your mother. Duane, your mother loved you. She wanted the best for you, but it was beyond her control. You can't hold this grudge against her for something that was done over twenty years ago."
"My mother was someone you couldn't even begin to know, Agent Grant. She was everything to him."
"And he took it for granted, I know."
"When you mother died, what did you feel?"
He tensed a bit. "I'll be asking the questions here, pal. Just sit tight."
"Was it remorse? Was it a sense of longing? Did you feel like a failure because you couldn't save her from what you believed were your father's intentions?" He laughed low in his throat, his eyes blurring ever so slightly. "Of course you didn't. Because you never knew for sure. You suspected him capable, but you just assumed that changing your name would keep you safe, even if it hadn't done her a damn of good. Sometimes the way life works, isn't composed of miracles, Agent Grant. Sometimes it isn't sugar coated and blinded by the deceit that lies beneath. Sometimes...it's right in front of you. It's in all of us."
"He's toying with him to get a reaction," Rachel whispered on the other side of the glass to herself. "He's deliberately provoking him by targeting his past. Son of a bitch."
"Evil's in all of us," John sided. "We just have to prevent ourselves from choosing it over the good."
"Evil is masked. It always has been. Some of us go before our time, because we bear the mark of it beyond our knowledge."
"Those victims were innocent. They had nothing to do with your screwed up beliefs. Stop the nonsense and feed me some truth."
"And as I said, you don't wish to accept the terms. You almost want to believe, though you'll never fully submit yourself to it."
"Why did you turn yourself in?"
"I already answered that question," he retorted smugly.
"You did her in, and then you gave yourself up. What changed?"
"She kept things from herself. She protected him."
"Protected...."
"I assume you know I'm referring to the perhaps now unreachable Jack Dobson. Clever fellow."
"Does this have anything to do with the men in the cloaks?"
He shrugged. "I know nothing of that. If you wish to bear a sign, you must not hide yourself away to do it. Cloaks are tacky, they're overpowering. They hide from the world what you really are."
"Are you telling me you have nothing to hide?"
"As you wish."
"Sorry, don't buy it."
"You're not an easy man to contend with."
"You'd be right there."
"Yes, I thought so. Tell me, Agent Grant. What is it like being in love with an illusion?"
"What the hell are you talking about?"
He calmly stretched out his legs, his composure already restless from his cramped position, as he continued to eye up his opponent with a vague sense of interest. "You love that which is well out of your reach, yet you unknowingly persist. Why?"
"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean." He gently cleared his throat. "Now. You can either stop babbling like an idiot, or we can take you right back into that cell to rot away for the night. It's up to you. Frankly, I'd go with one over two if my life depended on it."
"I think she feels the same way. In fact, I'm almost sure she does. I've seen the way she looks at you, when you have absolutely no idea that she's watching. I've seen the way she wants to tell you each and every minute, but can't. I've seen how her eyes go soft every time she's worried about you. I've seen to the true heart of her- behind the cool exterior. You can't deny what's inevitable."
"Yeah, and if I knew what it was, I could tell you. Unfortunately, you seem to like roleplaying a little too much for your own damn good."
"And you desire me to come clean....Agent Grant?"
"Why don't we start minding our own business, hmm?"
"But it's so dreadfully boring when you have such lovely subjects for entertainment value," he proclaimed, lightly grinning.
"So you like to watch."
"Oh, very much so."
He nodded, reaching for his folder, as he carefully removed a few photos from the box Phoebe had opened only a short time earlier, his expression never wavering in concentration, as he laid them flat on the table. He calmly and collectively awaited a response, his head titled to the man in question, as he raised a thoughtful eyebrow. "Recognize these?"
He fingered one rather hesitantly, his eyes void of all emotion, as a thumb ran itself over the glossy texture. "I don't specialize in trick photography, Mr. Grant. So, with all due respect, you appear to be barking up the wrong tree again."
"Really? You sure about that?"
"Whoever took these, wanted the recognition. They wanted the stardom, the pleasure. No games. As I hope you can see by now, I want none of those things. I know none of them. And...well...what can I say? Games amuse me. They keep things interesting."
"And the mark?"
"Why, yes, I do believe it strikes a familiar chord. Would you perhaps like a history lesson in the process?"
"Just the facts," he stated rather bluntly.
Duane nodded, understanding him, as he lightly scratched his cheek. "It's a triquetra."
"Yeah, see, that's already filed and waiting up here," John added, tapping a single finger to the side of his head. "What I want, is the reason behind it. Can you take five damn minutes out of your stubborn ass to give it to me, or do I-"
"Your threats aren't valid to me," he mumbled. "Either way, they were being prepared. It's a test, Agent Grant. They must have stepped off the path, and therefore they failed. Shame, isn't it? They were so young, and clearly respectable young ladies." He sighed a moment. "I'd like to see Miss Burke now."
"What kind of test?"
"Obviously whatever it was, it was before my time."
"Obviously," he retorted, gritting his teeth in annoyance. "And obviously, my patience is tiring with having to listen to you ramble on and on, about exactly what I don't want to know."
"How can I tell you what you wish to know, if I haven't the faintest about it myself?"
"You're avoiding the damn questions like the plague, that's why!" His voice rose before he could stop himself, as the rage rose up into his eyes, just as quickly subsiding, as he braced a hand to the back of his neck, his nerves nearly shot.
"Ah, but as you can see, the trend continues."
"What the hell do you-"
"It was the same person," he concluded. "That much I can surmise."
"I know that. I'm looking to find a connec-"
"You have," he interrupted again. "You just can't place it because you tire of certain notions you'll never comprehend."
"That's because you're taking me right back to the beginning."
"Precisely. It started with the beginning." He laughed. "Think about it. Adam and Eve, and a harmless serpant who tempted the one woman who would see her paradise crumble. It's common knowledge, Agent Grant. That serpant, that clever little being that was able to con her into the forbidden, is the source of your deepest and darkest fears. Once you give in, you simply can't go back. You can fight it, but once he's got you, you belong to him."
"You're crazy, you know that?"
Duane picked up a photo of a small brunette, her hands curled into fists at her sides, as her face angled up at him from her right side, her eyes never quite reaching the peace they intended to. Her mouth hung open in a shock of pure terror, the horror having taken her over to the point of no return. Her skirt was rumpled, her dress shirt parted at the upper portion of her back. Her feet were bare. In the lower left hand corner, in hardly legible print, it read 'Jennifer McDonald, 6.' "Do you see her? Do you really see her?"
"I see a girl who was scared enough to fear for her life."
"Exactly."
"Look, whatever you might be implying, you're not making any sense."
"You never look that way unless you see him," he explained. "He comes to you before you see the light."
"You keep saying him."
"He looked at her, Agent Grant, and he literally-"
"Frightened her to death," he then whispered, the full realization sinking in.
"You're not too late."
"You were a part in this, weren't you?"
"Agent Grant-"
"You son of a bitch. You sold your damn soul so these young women and children could take the fall. You deliberately set them up."
"How could I? The photos date back-"
"Rachel was right."
"He needs them. You know that. You've known it since you got me in here. And you know it even now."
"You drugged them, and you- God knows what else you did to them."
"You don't under- look, he still needs an Eve. If he doesn't have her, his crusade is hopeless."
"A what?"
"Paradise lost? Once he gathers himself and his-"
"You're lying. You're just saying this because you know magic irritates the hell out of me. There's no such thing as the devil, Duane. If anything, you damn well fit this profile pretty good, and I'm going to see to it that you spend the rest of your life in prison before I so much as let you speak to a judge."
"Grant." Darryl Morris' voice cut into the silence, as he poked his head into the room rather abruptly. "Rachel needs to see you. Says she's got something."
"Yeah," he breathed, clearly exhausted. "I'll...be right there."
"I've got your back," he noted, eyeing up Duane, as the man continued to smugly occupy the chair.
"She say what it was?"
"Nope. But she was pretty sure you'd be interested in it."
"Gotcha. Can't be any worse than what I've been dealing with in here, that's for sure. That? That right over there? Scum. I quit for the day."
Darryl only nodded, watching as he exited, both hands now clasped tightly behind his neck.
But he never heard the screams, as the door shut securely behind him, a dark red splotch of blood emerging from the visible crack beneath.