Fractured Mirth
part 24
2 hours later
"Is this the only active camp within a radius of a few miles?" Bailey Malone asked, his brown eyes carefully surveying the commotion around him, as he strived to make himself heard over the ferocious burst of noise. Children milled about him, going every which way, clad in the prescribed uniform of choice, an emblem sewed neatly in the upper left hand corner of small white polo shirts, alongside crisp blue shorts. A couple of boys were ruthlessly teasing a small girl to the far right, and a group of girls had since stepped up to take matters into their own hands, confronting the boys with menacing glares as they proceeded to approach them. On the other side of the room, another mingling of kids sat and sang songs, as they randomly tossed small pebbles into what was most likely an imaginary fire, their voices eagerly reciting verse after verse.
The camp counsellor nervously offered the slightest of nods, as he met his gaze, a hand running through his faded mane of blonde hair. His green eyes widened just as rapidly as they declined, and he neatly began to tuck his arms beneath his chest and out of view, struggling hard to maintain his overall composure. He was dressed in the same attire the children wore on their tiny frames, and had a hidden case of deep perplexity written all over his young features. "Yes, sir."
"Yes, sir...as in you're the only camp for a good-" John Grant started.
"Yes," he emphasized, immediately cutting him off. "And while I'd really love to cooperate to the best of my ability in your investigation, you still haven't told me what it's about. So if you, like, haven't got a warrant-"
"Can you believe they actually refused to make this guy a boy scout?"
"John," Bailey advised.
"We've hit a dead end again, Bailey. He's not here and he's not gonna show. He's onto us."
"He might be," Phoebe Halliwell noted, "but we've still had no contact with Cole or Rachel, so it stands to reason he's waiting for the cavalry to show up."
"Wait, whoa, now...now hold on just a minute here, guys," the counsellor protested again, holding up a hand in front of him, as his mouth formed a rather tight line, his complexion starting to void itself entirely of color. "Cavalry? Showing up? Here? What is this, some secret government op? Because if it is, you have to have clearance to-"
"Did anyone ever tell you that twenty questions is just a game?" John prodded. "And that's it's incredibly annoying to have some pathetic nitwit try and undermine the safety of these kids?"
"These kids aren't in any danger!" he protested, his voice rising a good octave. "We take precautions here every single day, Agent Grant. It would be impossible for anyone to get by without-"
"We had a potential suspect behind closed doors and this guy still got to him. Ripped him to shreds, and laid the bloody details out in all their glory. You wanna prolong this investigation, we can personally have you placed under protective custody against your will while we deal with the real targets here. It's you choice, buddy. And quite frankly, if you're anything like that woman who once told me she saw Elvis, I'd say you're going to need bigger help than these children do."
"Elvis?" he squeaked out.
"We're bringing in the Knights Of the Fallen Order," John prompted, "or at least, Cole is. If we don't-"
"You what?" Bailey cut him off, his tone immediately slashing clear of the atmosphere like a cold-bladed knife, his eyes narrowed to tiny slits, as he forcefully took a single step forward.
"Cole seems to think they can help us, and as of right now, I'm surprisingly inclined to agree with him."
"You left our backup to a demon-"
"Half demon," he pointed out, "and strange as this might be, I think we might find some real help in these guys, maybe even live through this thing. I'm not the first one to shout out voodoo at someone else's expense, but it's the least we can offer these kids with a Goddamn monster on the loose."
"I had Albert locked up for a reason," Bailey started, his voice rough and piercing. "I had him locked up because he wouldn't talk, John. Given your expertise in the field, not to mention your expertise as a detective, I thought you'd have more common sense than that. Cole's tampered with a suspect in these crimes- crimes that cover a damn good amount of distance, and that's going to come back on the both of us for your lack of direction. You can't just take matters into your own hands, when there's no way out of this, but to screw it up more than it already is!"
"Bailey, we can trust him-"
"It doesn't matter, because you should have told me."
"When I already knew it would get this kind of a reaction, regardless of the morals I believe you had at the start of this case?!" John countered, as he felt his blood begin to boil, a hand forming a quiet fist that lay out of reach at his side. His other hand had braced itself eagerly upon the strap that held his weapon, his fingers tightening themselves around it, as they grew slightly red from the fierce impact.
"Are you questioning my authority?" he demanded.
"Maybe it's time someone did. If it weren't for Cole and Rachel's determination, we probably wouldn't even be this far by now."
"You'd be wise to take that back," Bailey recited rather slowly, his eyes locked on the other man's without the slightest hint of compassion in them.
"Bailey, I nearly got my ass kicked in an alleyway, left for dead in some Godforsaken dump, while the bastards who did it are still out there at large, doing what it is they love to do best. I've been-"
"You've been weak," Bailey stated matter of factly. "The reason I haven't-"
"The reason you haven't let me in on all of this as much as you should have, is because you feel sorry for me," John finished.
"John."
"I know it, and I've more than dealt with it. But if you're going to question the methods of a woman who respects the man she loves, then maybe it's time you reconsider your worth in this investigation."
"These Knights were harboring evidence," he noted. "I hardly think we can trust them, if they never bothered to mention they had this said evidence in their possession."
"So now we're getting professional again. Great," John muttered, randomly shrugging his shoulders to relieve some of the tension that had built itself up there, "just what I need to round off the day where I might actually get killed and very, very, dead out in the woods."
"You've turned your badge in on more than one occasion, and yet you've always-"
"I've stood for what the VCTF stands for," he interrupted. "I always have. If you're questioning that now, if you don't believe you can put your faith in me, then I guess I need to know about it. Because whether you like it or not, I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere. While you might have my ass in a sling where my job is concerned, I hardly think it qualifies towards righting the wrongs in this case."
"Guys," Phoebe said softly.
"We're dealing with a different kind of perpetrator," Bailey began. "The risks in this case far surpass any we've ever taken under our unit."
"Don't you think I know that?"
"Guys," Phoebe pleaded again. "Look. We're not going to solve anything standing here arguing. Mr. Satan-On-A-Killing-Spree could be out there right now, tearing out the-"
"Satan?" the counsellor spoke up then, his eyes nearly popping straight out of his head, as a hand brushed itself shakily across his chest. "And you were comparing this guy to the likes of Elvis? Whoa. Dude, that is just so seriously damaged, I don't even know where to begin right now."
"You can start by staying out of this conversation," John quipped, shooting him a quick glare.
"You guys aren't, like, worshipping the wrong side of the earthly plane, are you?"
"Quiet!" Phoebe snapped. "We'd be a lot better off if you just take those kids and find them a safe location."
"But if he's looking for the kids, why would he want to stop by and chat with you?" he demanded, raising a thick blonde eyebrow. "And if he's a serial killer, wouldn't that even put him into, like, CIA territory?"
"What the hell does this guy watch on television?" John pressed, throwing a hand to his forehead, as he quietly shut his eyes, giving his head a good firm shake. "Because somehow I doubt it's America's Most Wanted."
"I think the more pressing question, is where did he come from?" Bailey added, throwing the young man a look of pure and utter disbelief.
"Well, you know what they say," Phoebe muttered. "Anyone can get a job in just about anything these days, even if you're hardly qualified."
"Just what are you implying?" John responded, as he focused his blues on her, calmly tilting his head.
"And you're doing yours just fine," she murmured.
"Considering the circumstances," he added.
She just smiled.
"And the circumstances, as we know them, basically tell us that we're screwed," a deep voice proclaimed, as two shapes visibly shimmered into view, taking solidified form right beside her, the taller of the two gazing at his girlfriend with the briefest of winces, a hand fretfully touching the lower part of his back.
"Where the hell have you guys been?" John snapped. "You were supposed to be here over thirty minutes ago."
"Something came up," Rachel put in, moving in to take the floor. "Cole's injured."
"Mildly," the half demon professed. "Nothing to worry about, really. Matter of fact, I've seen worse. We're not even talking Belthazor flesh here."
"What happened?" Phoebe whispered, immediately going to him, her big brown eyes cased with fear, as she quickly laid a protective hand over his wrist, pulling him toward her. "What happened to you guys back there?"
"Had a brief chit-chat with the man himself...heart to heart if you wanna get all sentimental about it, and then we met a big vampire bat of demonic origin on the grounds of Paulina Dobson's property. Didn't make much with the small talk, but he did launch a full blown attack...the bastard. Oh...ouch." He cringed again, as he felt a sharp pang slice through him and his skin literally prickled from the sheer impact against its layers.
"A what?"
"There are some bats who continue to grow well beyond what their usual life span allows," he explained. "One of them attacked me, caught me offguard. I was going to-"
"He saved my life," Rachel tried. "It was going after me, and he intervened to...save me. My guess is that son of a bitch sent it after us- thought he could and would eventually cut us off."
"Goddamn it, Rachel-"
"John, not now," she advised rather sternly, silencing him. "Turns out this guy is after me. No matter how you want to put it, he's after me. I spent all this time profiling him, and he wants me to be his Goddamn queen. He cornered us at the museum, and Cole later told me he already knew he was coming. He had his suspicions, and these only further chose to confirm them." She stopped to take in a beath. "He needs life, but it appears he's also in need of a rather twisted version of his own personal paradise."
"And your profiling never saw this one coming," he concluded rather coldly, a deep worry having nonchalanatly etched itself onto his features without his knowledge, his blue eyes shutting themselves as he breathed a tight sigh, smoldering beneath lids that now hung heavy against his skin. "Brilliant."
"I know how to defend myself, John."
"That's really not the issue here."
"I beg your pardon?"
"You put yourself in harm's way and you did it fully aware of the consequences, Rachel. I don't know about you, but that says something to me."
"I stand corrected," Cole mused, a grin flitting mildly across his beautiful unsahven face.
"Wait." Phoebe held up a hand, nearly laughing out loud to herself, as she pintpointed him with a hard, unrelenting gaze, her grip tightening itself in the process, as she set her mouth in a firm line. "You deliberately brought him to you, without backup? Are you out of your mind?! Cole, this is not the time to be playing around, least of all some stupid half-witted game! You could have gotten yourselves killed back there. You could have-"
"Dammit, Phoebe, I had to see if I was-"
"You had to see if you could take this all on by your big manly self, while I sat here helpless, not even knowing where the hell you still were," she insisted. "It was dumb, Cole. Real dumb. In fact, it's about as dumb as you can possibly get."
"Which means his next move might have taken itself out of our reach," Bailey interceded.
"How bad are you hurt?" she continued, her eyes still not leaving him.
"It's nothing."
"Cole."
"Nothing you have to-"
"Let me see."
"Should...should I, uh...should I call the doctor we have on board here?" the counsellor asked her, his eyes nearly coming close to throwing themselves out of his head again, his hands beginning to sweat, at he absentmindedly wiped them onto his shorts. "We've got somebody who can help, if that's what you need."
"Who the hell is that?" Cole questioned, shooting the lanky man a brief once-over, his gorgeous complexion knitted in a state of perplexion.
"No one you need to bother with at the moment," she assured him. "C'mon, I'll go patch you up."
"But you haven't even seen-"
"Restroom, now," she urged.
"I'm telling you, it's fine. Would I really be up and walking around if I wasn't? I would even be able to move my limbs."
"And you won't, if I need to resort to violence to rectify the situation," she roughly reminded him.
"He said it was healing itself," Rachel told her. "But given the depth of those claw marks, I doubt he'll be good to go unless we get something on there, and fast."
"I'm already good to go," he murmured, shooting Phoebe a small smirk, as his expression quietly lit up with a small amount of mischief.
"She doesn't mean the bedroom," Phoebe hissed, as she gently gave him a friendly shove, continually urging him forward.
"Phoebe."
"Joking," she muttered.
"Paulina Dobson had a book in her house," Rachel informed them. "When I talked to one of the uniforms earlier, he mentioned a book about some kind of art or...or hobby that included depicting the human body at various stages. It was all thoroughly searched, and given her state at the time we found her, I figured it might have told me what she was into- how she got that way. It doesn't...I'm betting it belonged to the missing husband."
"It's called murder," John added. "And if you ask me, it was as clear as day."
"But like I said, something drove that girl to desperate measures. She didn't just wake up one day and decide that she was ready to die."
"Maybe not," he agreed. "But she bares the mark of a monster. A true killer, who doesn't need a book to master his craft."
"No complaints here," she added.
"He made a choice for her. Duane kept-"
"Duane's dead," she cut him off. "And we need to start spreading out." She turned toward the counsellor then, her hands set fondly against her hips, as she calmly tilted her head back to look up at him, noting he had a good two inches on her. "I want these kids on a bus, and transported out of here in less than fifteen minutes. I don't care how you do it, or what strings need to be pulled, just do it. How you take care of yourself, will be strictly up to you, but if I were you, I wouldn't want to hang around for the fun to start."
"The sisters might be within range now," Bailey suggested. "There's actually a pretty good chance, if he's already set up shop. Could've moved them, if they haven't already managed to-."
"Right." She nodded, her blues eyes flicking a single glance towards John again, struggling to wipe all emotion clean from it, her lips pursed. "Do you and Cole understand what you've gotta do?"
"The last thing I want is to be treated like a child," he told her. "You do your job, I'll do mine. It's what we've always been good at, isn't it?"
"John, you don't- just listen to me," she pleaded. "It doesn't have to be-"
"What would be the point? I'd wager that once Rachel starts pulling the strings, John no longer calls the shots."
"That's absurd," she scoffed. "You know I don't want to- dammit, this isn't a power struggle."
"You don't, but you do," he emphasized. "It's always been your way."
"Excuse me?"
"But maybe you shouldn't be so quick to give orders if your failure to get here on time nearly ended in Cole's death."
"I was trying to find a link for us."
"When you knew he was already after you. Smart," he commented, his eyes burning into hers.
"Does that bother you?" she snapped.
"I'm in love with the one woman I couldn't stand, prior to watching her exert her entire influence over the VCTF and argue with me over a damn goat. And now...now when I can finally tolerate her in the same room, she'd rather just up and forget about me."
"It's not like that, John."
"Oh no?"
"No."
"When this is over," he said softly, "I'll hold you to it."
"Bailey, let's start rounding them up-" The last thing she saw before she crumpled into an unconscious heap upon the floor was a hand coming down hard on her back, tossing her off balance, as her frame of vision spilled into a vast nothingness, consumed of pure black, allowing the stench of darkness inside, cloaking her quietly beneath its veil.