Faded Fragments
prologue
"Has everything fallen into place?" the large man questioned, leaning his back against the comfortable chair, as he calmly intertwined a pencil through his hands, briefly clearing his throat in response to the lanky man residing hesitantly near the doorway to his glass office. He carefully proceeded to jot down some mindless chicken scratches on a thick notepad in front of him, recognizing his reflection through the clear surface below, pursing his lips in a troublesome gesture. His shoes had been kicked absentmindedly onto the ground at his feet, his tie loosened at the neck. Nervously, he tossed a hand threw his great mane of blonde hair, as his green eyes tainted themselves with a trace of impatience.
"Not quite," his opponent sided, as he quickly wiped his balding head with a dark blue cloth, blinking a few times, before he found the courage to walk a few steps further, his gaze now glued to his superior with trained and well-guarded precision. "When we made him the offer, he didn't seem even the slightest bit interested."
"No," the other shook his head, a lock of hair falling into his face, as he immediately pushed it away with little thought, his attention suddenly preoccupied. "But Celia's gone, and we no longer have an informant with which to depend upon. You do realize that something must be done about that."
"Yes, Mr. Kellerman. But perhaps it is more difficult than either of us know?"
He took a quick gander at his watch, the numbers lighting up with a deep glow at the touch of a button, the darkened room allowing itself an ounce more of light, while he began to carelessly tap his fingertips on the glass, his free hand drumming up a rather catchy tune, as a small smile creased itself over his thin lips. "You underestimate us, friend."
"Do you wish for us to pay him another visit?" he prodded, with a rather nonchalent shrug of the shoulders.
"He'll already be expecting us. Merrick has done well in opening his big mouth, and because of that minor discrepancy, we no longer have a case. At this phase, it could be beyond our control, should we be unable to formulate backup."
"Backup?" he questioned. "Meaning, we should kill Merrick and lose the body so he can't-"
"You idiot, the damage has been done. We are about to step up to the Goddamn plate and find ourselves in ruins, Patrick." He tilted his head back. "I'm not about to see our business perish like our late associate's."
"She was foolish," Patrick murmured. "They often are."
"She was defeated by love," he whispered. "Can you imagine something to intangible, so fragile...so powerful, being able to outwit evil so very easily? Times have changed. They're no longer what they used to be."
"And what do you propose we do about that, Sir? We can't exactly banish love from the world, when so many humans need it to survive."
"Don't you think I'm already well aware of that?"
"We could make Jackman, Carter, and Klein an offer instead," he suggested. "We could make a trade."
"A trade? That's preposterous," he drawled. "And much too tacky for our taste."
"Think about it, Mr. Kellerman. We pay them off, give them a little hush money...recruit Turner into our league without a choice, and we've got it made. Sealed, done, victory dance. We'll torture him for an eternity and it'll become pure bliss. Smooth sailing... The possibilities of what we could subject him to are endless."
"But not endless enough. It wouldn't work. He's smart, careful. He knows how men like us operate, Patrick."
"A hundred years and counting."
"It's his love that's weakened him for what he believes to be a greater investment. The little witch. She wouldn't be so much as a speck on this damn planet if I had my way."
"Then why don't we move in and start-"
"Because we need to be smart now. We need something that's going to show him just what he's been missing out on all this time."
"And that's funny, Sir, and if you'll kindly forgive me- I really don't think he gives a rat's ass anymore. You saw what happened with the Brotherhood, Raynor's fate- I don't think you want to meddle in his life, particularly that way...."
"No. Clearly he doesn't," Kellerman reluctantly agreed. "But it can't mean we would still fail in a heartbeat without even trying."
"But....you can't love a life that never was," Patrick mumbled slowly. "Can you?"
"I'm listening."
"We could conjure up an alternate playground," he recited simply, placing his long fingers along the glass wall, shivering slightly at the cold that greeted him.
"A different reality?" he mused. "Interesting. Go on."
"Phoebe Halliwell was never his, nor would she ever be."
"But Miss Halliwell knows these things. She would-"
"No," he pressed, laughing softly to himself. "She wouldn't. She wouldn't even know he existed, much less that she ever honestly had real feelings for him. We would leave her in this world, while he still believes that he's entirely in ours."
"The Source tried that with the other sister. It never worked. Cole...saved her," he mouthed, obviously disgusted with the entire concept, as he lifted a short glass to his lips, taking a slight shot of liquor.
"The Source wanted their powers. We're using him to get to them. So as you see, I observe absolutely no harm in it in any way, shape or form, Sir. In fact, it's perfectly logical."
"Logical, is what got The Triad killed," he murmured. "Again."
"Yes, but The Triad had a great fault, as did the others who have tried to stake their desirable claim on him."
"Scheme all you like, Patrick. What we need, is something more than just a fictional reality where birds chirp and children sigh. Right now, we need a miracle."
"And we both know evil isn't granted miracles, Mr. Kellerman."
"We take his little girl. That ought to be more than-"
"It's been done," he argued. "She tried, she lost, she plummeted to her own doom."
"You misunderstand."
"How's that, exactly?"
"If we devise this situation of yours to resemble a slice of life, there's no reason he should love her, if his wife never loved him."
"I'm not complying," Patrick protested, his expression indicating risk.
"Celia was nearly there. Had Mr. Turner actually been consumed by Wosret's spirit, Wosret could have been able to take him, to willingly bring him to our side."
"And we would have struck pure gold, had he still contained Belthazor," he pointed out roughly, throwing his hands quietly into his pockets, as he finally grabbed a seat near the desk.
"So why wait years into eternity to bring him down?" Kellerman countered. "We've had our eye on him much too long."
"We stick with my plan," he urged. "It's simple, it's efficient, and it may give us unexpected success."
"But all you're basically executing is grief on his part. You won't be able to take measures through the undying bouts of tragic sadness."
"Maybe not. But he'll be so moved to the despair, that he won't prove too swift. We give him a limited time....days go by...nights alone....once he realizes where her true motivations lie, he won't question taking us on in that official capacity. He'll be taken by revenge, by destruction. The sadness will drift into madness."
"That's all fine and dandy, but we don't really take pride in the employees who battle with the forces of insanity on a daily basis," he quipped, tightly shutting his eyes.
"How about if you show me your true face, I'll show you mine?"
"Turner is a mortal. He's got nothing to show for himself. Surely, you've been well adjusted to it."
"Turner is as good as dead right now. Maybe we'd just be better off killing him and disposing of the body under his former betrayal."
"And if the Underworld should become alerted to that standpoint, I'm not entirely positive we'd fare well against the insults. Violence would ensue...chaos."
"Which is precisely what Celia chose to bring about. Moreover, we let her."
"Let me get this straight." Kellerman offered him a suspicious gaze, while he finally folded his thick fingers in front of him, clucking his tongue, as he raised two well-manicured eyebrows in his direction. "First you want to get rid of Nick...a completely unnecessary threat at this point- with all due respect, Patrick. We let the man go. Half the people in this damn city still believe he's a loon. If we-"
"Did you also happen to get word that Nicholas Merrick has in fact aligned himself with The Charmed Ones, and was said to have been romantically involved with one of them?"
"Not prior to my knowledge on this matter, no."
"Then you might want to put that front and center before you think it rash to knock off both Turner and Merrick."
"Keeping things in perspective can be the worst downfall of time," he mumbled.
"It helps me to get through the day," Patrick insisted. "Which is...obviously more than I can say for you."
"But our alliance with him doesn't even have to be focused on our area of expertise. To get to him, you have to be good," he mused. "In the literal sense, of course. I mean, it does sound plausible, doesn't it?"
"Not nearly plausible enough." Patrick nearly choked as he looked up at him.
"Why, we're merely bestowing upon him the same courtesy he showed The Charmed Ones when he wanted their heads."
"This is different. He's more prone to suspect."
"And so are we of him. Which means we need to be ready."
"Do you wish me to assemble someone from the local branch?" he asked, lowering his voice, which strangely still remained coated with a deep-filled skepticism.
"No. Because you're elected."
"I was only organizing-"
"If you have some vengeance to spill, I expect to see that vengeance at my door in the form of Cole Turner the next time you step in here. Is that clear?"
"I can't mingle, Mr. Kellerman. I refuse to let myself be a direct part of-"
"But you just put yourself in that position, Patrick. The playground was your idea."
"Yes, but-"
"I wash my hands clean," he randomly replied, shrugging. "Take care of it."
"Yes, Sir."
"Oh, and Patrick?"
"Yes, Mr. Kellerman?"
"Target the youngest first. I'm a firm believer in tracking the footsteps of my potential colleagues, and if Turner is to become one, we need his motives."
Turner residence, early morning Phoebe Halliwell quickly blocked an oncoming fist from her opponent, catching it just in time with the bone of her slender arm, as she pushed him a safe distance away, a small grin forming on her pretty face, her long brown hair tied back into a loose ponytail, a pair of sweatpants, sneakers, and a sports bra defining her petite frame. She fought back with surprising ease, as she managed to take a jab to his firm bare chest, allowing a short spot of laughter to enter her system when he winced slightly, fully aware that she now had the better claim, his blue eyes narrowing briefly, as he shot her an intent look.
Cole Turner attempted to trip her, as he let a sneaker of his own run beneath her stance, his gesture failing miserably, as he successfully reached out and redirected her next move- what could have been a near clear cut to his jawline, almost catching him completely offguard. He gave her a smile of his own, his utterly gorgeous profile containing a trace of a five o'clock shadow, his muscles tight and ready for her next maneauver. He was shirtless, his chest revealing dark hair and the very definition that kept men of his stature in shape. He wore a pair of track pants, the zippers slightly undone to let in the air of the room, caused by the sweat the encounter had drummed up. His hair still sat neatly above his head, having been cut just right, as the beads of perspiration began to fall down his forehead, unnoticed. "Getting tired yet?"
She smirked once again. "I haven't even gotten started."
"Good," he murmured, as he finally pushed her up against the wall, an arm gently remaining against her throat, as he gazed at her with playful amusement. "Just for the record, forceful acts of violence are entirely overplayed."
"You think so?" she murmured, as she quickly threw out a leg of her own, knocking him to the ground with little to no effort at all, as she stood above him, relishing in her sudden victory, hands perched against her hips. "And he's down, ladies and gentleman. The crowd goes wild."
"Oh, you think so, do you?" His reflexes were fast, as he caught her above him, bringing her down to the area of defeat, her protests weakening, as she squirmed a bit in his grasp, heaving a short sigh, their faces meeting, their lips only inches apart. She quietly let a hand move across his stubble, as she planted a small kiss at the tip of his nose.
"And why is it, Mr. Turner, that you somehow cease to end up on top?"
"Were you expecting an intellectual explanation?" he teased, tickling her softly in the ribs.
Her cheeks lit up. "You're tired, aren't you?"
He studied her a moment, carefully brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. He considered it a moment, revealing a wide smile. "Why is it that I always seem to lose myself in you?"
She pursed her lips. "Mmmm...just lucky I guess."
"Want to try it with the swords?"
"Kind of beat myself," she admitted, lifting herself up, as she crossed her arms over her chest, keeping an eye on him, as he got to his own feet, throwing a white t-shirt casually over his head. He reached for the bottled water that sat to his right upon an undisturbed wooden chest, taking a few lengthy sips, as he grabbed for a towel, slinging it over his shoulder. "Leave you breathless, do I?"
"All the time," he whispered, as he applied a tender kiss to her cheek.
"You know, I almost forgot that the holidays are going to be here soon," she remarked carefully, tugging a bit at her lower lip. "Been thinking about buying Prue a house."
He immediately titled his head to the side, staring at her rather oddly. "Wait a minute. What?"
"You heard what I said."
"Um...honey, you...don't exactly have the finances ready for a house. You'd be in debt up to your eyeballs- literally." He paused a moment. "But I could throw her out if you like. I mean, the weather's warm and she could build a nice little hut outside or something."
She frowned. "Cole."
"It was worth a shot, wasn't it?"
"I'm not blind, you know. I get that she's been getting on your nerves. We'll work on that."
"Hate to break this to you, but it could just take more than even a millenium to make that decent again."
"It's just that it's getting kind of packed in here. I can't even use the bathroom when I want, or...or brush my teeth when I want."
"Isn't that done in the bathroom too?"
"Huh?"
"We can always add on. It's not that big of a deal," he added, shrugging, as he took another sip of water. "An extra bathroom. Sounds sufficient, and my salary could take it."
"And this wouldn't be just another excuse for you to take longer in the shower?"
"But you're with me ninety-nine percent of that time," he reminded her, shooting her a smile.
"Point being, there are way too many women in this house."
He gave her his best serious expression, the corners of his mouth threatening to twitch and give himself away. "Something must be done," he managed in his best heroic tone. "We must take action and defend ourselves against the struggle for domestic survival."
"Okay, if you're going to just stand there and take me for a joke today, I have half a mind to take you up on that sword offer, and point it where the-"
"Alright," he conceded, holding up a hand in defense. "Since I do....hereby fear for the manly parts of my anatomy, I'm going to have to take a raincheck on that insult."
"Look, either way, I'm thinking about swinging by the mall a little later. I still have to get Alex's gift and I thought it might be good to see what I can cook up for the twins as well."
"And if we have more, you might need to spend an entire day there."
"I'd like you to come with me," she pressed. "We hardly even get to spend time-"
"I know," he murmured, cutting her off, as his blues surrendered. "That's why I was kind of hoping to get you alone tonight."
"Hate to break it to you, but I don't exactly think the mall fits your definition of alone," she sided, her features shifting into a brighter smile.
"I meant-"
"I know, and I'll try."
"Hey, and do you by any chance think we could talk Paige into decorating the tree, instead of being so childish over Nick Merrick?"
"She likes him, Cole. You can't judge her on-"
"Likes? Hardly. It's too strong a word. How about post adolescent high school crush?"
"Is this your way of trying to get me to go all googly-eyed over you, so I can attempt to worship you?"
He placed another kiss in her hair, his smiles lighting up the room. "Now that doesn't sound like a bad idea. I've got some photos, if you want to build a shrine."
"I don't need to build a shrine. I've got the man I love by my side right now, and I know for a fact that he's not going anywhere."
"Well, actually I am. I have to get up there and fix myself some breakfast. But if it would make you feel better, you're more than welcome to join me."
"Big yes," she whispered, as she began to follow him up, his hand perched gingerly upon the small of her back.
The basement was cluttered with a few loads of unwashed laundry, sitting in mindless heaps upon the bare floor, a few pieces already hanging out to dry on a few tired clothes pins that were barely hanging on. A couple of unread novels sat perched upon the stairwell to the far corners, a random newspaper lingering over the top of one of them, its pages yellowed and slightly crinkled. Loud, upbeat music belted out its heart in the background, a small radio turned up to its maximum capacity, the tune reciting the same verse in lyrics over and over again.