Fractured Mirth
part 20
"I'm sorry, what did you say?" The young female tour guide turned rather suddenly, her gaze clearly dumbfounded, as she let it wander to the man who'd posed the question, her arms nervously going across her chest, half of her still believing she'd quite possibly heard wrong. She halted abruptly, standing stiffly in place, her mouth set in a tight line, her nostrils briefly flaring without her knowledge. Her blonde hair was bound by a large clip, strands of it threatening to cloud her vision as they tumbled carelessly into her face.
Cole Turner took a single step forward, his scruffy visage no more than an inch away from her short, round face, as he calmly pursed his lips. "Satan," he told her quietly. "Or in simpler terms- Boogeyman? Scary monster?"
She cleared her throat, struggling to make sure her vocal chords were still in tact. "I was under the impression you signed up for this...." She paused, shutting her lids a moment, as she gritted her teeth. "You've obviously come to the wrong place."
"He may be a myth to some, but I figured all historical locations would be well pronounced concerning his behavior. It's not that difficult if you learned your scriptures, is it?"
"Sir..."
"Turner. Cole Turner," he volunteered eagerly. "And it's definitely becoming that needle in a haystack."
"Mr. Turner, the only reason anyone in their right mind would even think to request such a dark story, is to further placate those fears on others for nothing other than sick, guilt-ridden humor."
"Daguerreotyping."
"I'm sorry?"
"It's an art composed of- in this case....depicting small children in weakened states of emotion. Preferably death, and females remain a primary focal point."
"Are you a cop?" she snapped, somewhat roughly.
"Do I have to be?"
"Look, whether or not we actually specialize in showcasing that particular art, is besides the point. I was informed this tour was to discuss-"
"And with all due respect, I'm really not some college professor looking to tie down another lecture."
"Then why-"
"Would it help if I said it might save some lives?"
"You've gotta be joking."
He merely stared at her, his blues completely unyielding, as he purposefully leaned his tall frame against the wall.
"Technically, he's known as a demon. But I...guess you probably already knew that." She nearly smiled then. "And I'm sure you probably also realize that what we're dealing with here is beyond even my comprehension. If my superior finds out I'm talking like a crazy person to the locals, I'd really be in for it."
"The only crazy person, is the guy who continues to do nothing about it while innocents suffer for sins they haven't committed."
"And the accounts are mixed," she tried, whipping her fingers about, as she gestured. "All over the world. If I'm going to narrow it down for you, how are you going to be sure it's even entirely accurate?"
"Daguerreotyping," he said again.
"Look, all of the artists that have been donated here under that cause do not depict anyone dead in their work. In fact, just because the subjects depicted are far from being lively in appearance, they still retain their own unique form of life. I'm afraid I can't help you, if you're-"
"What's your name?"
"Ugh. Did you even bother reading the tag? The tourists are required to read the tag and become familiar with their guide as soon as they enter the building. Failure to do so, only stands to reason that they're probably not even paying attention to the required tour."
"No, but I think you already figured that out." Craning his neck, he pinpointed his vision upon the gold plate that was pinned to her chest, reflecting rather nicely off the black and white of her uniform. Clasping his hands together as naturally as he knew how, he shut his eyes. "Charlotte."
"Char's fine," she mused. "I never really cared for the whole thing, anyway."
"So what else do you know?"
"God created us all," she brought forth skeptically, laying her hands upon a display case, as they entered another room, her young complexion radiating only mild annoyance now on his behalf. She calmly crossed one foot in front of the other, quietly pursing her lips. "He created the demon which you know as the likes of Satan, or so some are led to believe. But...in the grand scheme of things, the demon itself is what chooses to be evil. That being makes the choice on its own, despite having been originally conceived from the power of good."
"Yeah, and in all likelihood, nobody's ever gonna get this guy to go back. He's too far gone already. So if we could just save a little time here, judging on how your proposition is no longer an option, that'd be really great."
"You walked in here," she snapped, "not to mention successfully....purposely-" she raised a fine eyebrow, "losing the other people you came in with to get me alone and talking about something that's way outta my league here, buddy. If your impatience is holding you back, why wait?"
"They were created by innocence, and destroyed themselves by their own means. And once you fall, it's over. There's no redemption."
"Right. Whatever this guy is trying to reclaim with those pictures you talked about....maybe if you have some with you, I can-"
"But he could have another face," he interrupted.
"Meaning?"
"My associates and I....were discussing the possibility that he could present himself as one thing, but underneath it all, he could be another."
"Hey, I'm only part time, and what I do know-"
"And an angel is a messenger, isn't he?" Cole whispered more to him himself, than to her. "And if the angels never sinned, maybe we wouldn't even have the common man. But at one time....Satan did exist in a form of his own innocence. Maybe he wants to get it back. It's not just a matter of rebuilding, it's a matter of honor, of reclaiming what was his. Rightfully his...a birthright."
"Um...huh?"
"You'll have to excuse him," a voice rang out, immediately snagging his arm, as she roughly pulled him away. A steady pair of brown eyes bore neatly into his, as he broke away, unraveling his sweater sleeve from her grasp, as he angrily gritted his teeth. "What now?"
"You can't keep doing this."
"Can't keep doing what? I was getting something out of her."
"No," Phoebe Halliwell stated matter of factly, jabbing a single finger into his chest. "You were getting your own thoughts out of you, while using that poor defenseless girl as bait to do it. Cole, we talked about this. Just because you don't want to be here, is no excuse for-"
"Phoebe, listen to me-"
"We can't rush it. You and I both know if we slip up even once, someone else could die. It's not exactly something to juggle around, when you've seen this guy's work firsthand already. And I know you have."
"She knew more than she was saying, for your information. And I might have just gotten it from her, if you hadn't-"
" 'God spared not the angels that sinned.' I give you St. Peter. Think about it. There is more than just one of him. And he's probably already got an entire army out there waiting for us. You can't just invite some stranger into this, and expect her to- bottom line? All of those who fell, experienced a punishment of some sort, are probably all looking for payback."
"Yes, but he's obviously running the show. You saw that for yourself. And correct me if I'm wrong, but it wasn't exactly my idea to come here."
"And that's exactly why you ditched us, and tried to torture that poor girl."
Cole stole another glance at Charlotte, who had moved on to an elderly couple eyeing up a nearby exhibit, her eyes shooting suspiciously in his viewing range, as she placed a hand upon the woman's back, urging her forward with a friendly gesture. "I told her it was for an assignment," he mused, shrugging, as he randomly tossed a hand out. "That I was a student on a mission."
"An assignment, really."
"He's not here," he surmised. "No matter how you look at it, no matter what you try and search for, you'll find no trace. No pictures portraying his art are going to lead us anywhere but dead air around this place. And you of all people should know that to find the answer, you have to go directly to the-"
"Source?" she quipped.
"Yeah, well...look- you know what I mean, alright?"
"And he's not a ghost. He's flesh. There has to be something."
"They didn't find anything on Duane though, did they? Nothing. No solid evidemce, no minor clues...not a single hair. Whatever he may have shown himself as, he was never really human."
"Then we're wasting time, aren't we?"
"Where's Rachel?"
She rolled her eyes. "Beats me if I know. We kind of split up after you went off on your own. I think I saw John going after her into the Ice Age exhibit."
"Oh. Well." He shot her a big smile, throwing an arm gently around her shoulders. "I think that suits her just fine then, don't you? An ice queen doesn't exactly flourish in any other habitat, does she?"
"And you're still upset with her, because she brought you here," she reasoned, slowly nodding.
"If we'd left for the camp already, we'd already have more leads," he concluded. "It's a simple deduction."
"Yeah, except she doesn't work for Supernatural, Inc."
"Funny."
"She doesn't see things the way you do."
He tilted his head a bit. "No, but I'd say she's starting to."
___________
"We need to talk."
Rachel Burke slowly turned around, regathering her composure, as she placed herself no more than five feet away from him, her eyes fairly blank and unrevealing, as she let a hand wander to the glass case to her left to steady herself. Her lips were slightly parted, and she perched her remaining fingers lightly against the hip of faded jeans. "So talk."
"I thought I was pretty clear the first time," John Grant offered, trying a slow smile, as he placed a hand out directly in front of him. "And be that as it may, you've seriously been avoiding me ever since we got here."
"I'm not avoiding you," she snapped.
"No?"
"I'm here for answers. I thought I made that pretty clear last night."
"Yeah, you made a lot of things pretty clear last night," he started, calmly arching his eyebrows, as he took a single step forward.
"John, we didn't sleep together."
"That's not what I meant, and you know it."
"Oh please. This isn't going anywhere. I'm doing my job now, and I don't have time for....no, you know what? You made the first move, so I say you explain what happened between us last night." She took a deep breath, ignoring the slight flush that was slowly creeping over her cheeks, spreading itself out in a crimson-like hue.
"You're scared, aren't you?"
"Scared? Why the hell would a kiss make me-"
"I thought you felt the same way. Maybe...." He thoughtfully bit his bottom lip, as he tightly clasped his hands in front of him, as if to execute half a bow in the process. "Maybe I was way off, but you can't honestly tell me you didn't enjoy it."
"You're unbelievable, you know that?"
"It felt right, okay? Is that what you want to hear? It felt so right, that I completely gave myself to the moment, because I felt you responding to me. I felt something, Rachel, and you can't deny that. Not even to yourself. You can try, as much as you like, but it's not going to erase what happened, and I'm not going to pretend I never did what I did. It's over, and it meant something. So deal with it."
"Yeah, and look at your track record. You haven't exactly been Prince Charming in your past endeavors, have you, John?"
"That has nothing to do with it," he snapped, obviously stung. "Goddamn it, it's different with you."
"How? How is it any different, when months from now, we'll have broken up, and you'll be-"
"So does that make us an actual couple, or are you just speaking hypothetically?"
"I'm not mad. Truth of it was, I was going to do it myself if you hadn't."
"Then why-"
"I panicked. This morning, I got up, and I thought- gee, Rachel, what if it doesn't work out? What if this case is over, and he regrets what he did, and decides he's better off without me? That he just wants to be friends...associates? What if he just decides that all of these feelings that built themselves up over time were nothing more than a minor concern for my own personal safety, because he tells himself he's looking out for me? What if he's only looking for something temporary to help himself through this? God, John, I could think up a million other things, and I'd probably still be right back where I started."
"So you don't, and you take the next step."
"The next step."
"It's not half bad, when you just admit a possibility to yourself and roll with it."
"Are we a possibility?"
He stood silent a moment, running a hand through his dark hair, becoming slightly annoyed by the stubble that had continued to grow around his face. "I'd like us to be," he stated simply. "But in the end, I guess that's up to you."
"And if the devil gets the upper hand and kills you by the time this case is over, then where will we be? Hmm?"
"You really shouldn't get ahead of yourself on that one," he sided, offering her a bright smile.
"Look, I'm sorry I ignored you this morning. It was wrong, and....I'm sorry, okay?"
"Think maybe you should say it a couple more ways, just for good measure?"
She laughed, in spite of herself. Finally taking the courage she'd needed to guarantee herself all along, she walked up to him, placing a slender hand on his face, as she trailed her fingers cleanly over his jawline, her lips creasing into a smile all her own. She felt a strong hand fall against her hip, as he pulled her just a bit closer, her lips finally meeting his again, as she threw herself entirely into it, the much needed relief gently coating her system with his touch. She sighed, closing her eyes, as she prepared to lose herself for yet another time, taking another chance on the man she just couldn't get the hell out of her thoughts since the case had begun.
"Yep, I think she's melting," an amused tone uttered in the doorway, as he casually leaned his tall frame against the wall.
Phoebe merely pulled out her elbow, successfully jamming it into his ribcage, as she threw a grin to the sight before her, neatly folding her arms back over her chest.