City of Angels
chapter 3
by Krystal
Hmm... well it looks like I only posted parts 1-3 an not even all of three got up.... gomen for taking soooo long to come back here I was trying to graduate demo now I have and err... well more time!
With out further ado___ here is part three again :refresher:
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Part 3: Pieces 3/15/00
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Quatre "hmmed" to himself, absently leaning forward over his tea while holding a pen in his mouth and playing with the green highlighter he had poised over some notes. Twirling the highlighter through each finger, Quatre picked at some more printouts that were scattered carelessly across the kitchen table.
It was still early morning. The sun in New Los Angeles had yet to rise, but pale shades of gray were already beginning to streak across earth's seemingly endless sky. Sadly, however, the young ex-Gundam pilot seemed oblivious to the pinkish almost red rays filtering through the partialy open blinds. The colors, growing in intensity, almost seemed to take form and drip onto his little table. He didn't even notice the music that suddenly spilled forth from the radio by the sink.
So engrossed into his work was Quatre that he failed to notice Wufei sneaking up behind him, Trowa standing there with a digital camera, or Heero casually leaning up against the entrance to the hallway. Heero was fighting desperately not to show the gathering anticipation or the uncharacteristic sparkle in his eyes at Quatre's soon-to-be response at being doused by the very Cheerios he had so carelessly left by the microwave.
/There. Hmm, now lets see. . . ./ Quatre thought to himself, absently chewing on the end of his pen, the highlighter laying forgotten atop a discarded pile of weapons' schematics. He was, at the moment, intently reading a decoded mission's assignment sent to them by Noin, when suddenly he noticed the raining Cheerio's.
In a misguided attempt to save his tea, Quatre jumped up, hitting his head on the over-turned box even as he managed to knock Wufei back, and sending the evil little box spinning across the room toward Heero. Heero of course managed to deflect the box with his right arm, giving himself a rather undignified little bruise in the process but getting the job done none the less. Meanwhile, Trowa, who was still snapping pictures with his digital camera, noted that the offending box had bounced back at the table and was now going straight for the tea cup.
Quatre and Wufei ended up in a heap sprawled across the kitchen tiles, a few muffled curses making way up through the impossible mound on the floor. Teacup flying back toward the window, Trowa dropped his camera, lunged for the cup, and caught it in mid air just before it could shatter the poor window.
While all this was going on, the four ex-pilots failed to notice the small girl standing in the middle of the living room. The child was slight, had bright chocolate brown eyes set in a rather small, round face, and had big black pigtails. Currently the child's hair was ridiculously bobbing up and down as the girl giggled uncontrollably.
Four heads turned in unison staring in astonishment at the grinning six year old. She was the embodiment of cute. She had on a flower patterned light blue sun dress a multicolored plastic beaded bracelet set on one wrist and light blue ribbons twined into her hair- tails completing the ensemble. Innocence on a spring day.
"Hi! My name is Mary an' my mom went to work. She told me not to leave, but uncle David is passed out drunk on the couch, an' mom told me to stay but I was sooo lonely. An' scared too! An' uncle David just swatted at me--" The child's words seemed to almost take on a desperate tone while tears welled in her bright eyes.
Quatre was the first to crumble. He was at the child's side like lightning, comforting her and telling her that everything was going to be alright. Wiping at her tear-streaked face with his thumbs, he even told her that she could stay with them until her mom got home from work. *Anything* to get the kid to stop from crying.
"Really?" the child asked, tears threatening to break free again.
Quatre bit his lip and inwardly winced as he realized the searing glares his turned back were most likely being received at this point for being so weak. "Really," Quatre choked out, throwing a questioning glance back over his shoulder. After looking at Wufei's scowl, Heero's look of 'I want to kill something' and Trowa's slightly upturned mouth, Quatre quickly looked away. "Yeah, kid, but only for a couple hours. We've, ahh . . . got to leave in a few
hours," Quatre replied, smiling while absently messing the child's hair.
No one even considered asking *how* the child could have disarmed the light security system, or how the dead bolt and handle locks were picked--a grave oversight that would soon prove to be their downfall.
*****
Duo didn't quite know where to go or what to do, but he'd defiantly been right about his earlier assumption. It *hadn't* been pretty. He was once again out in the foyer, and after retching he stumbled his way back inside.
Now he sat on the floor, knees drawn up against his chest, violet eyes gazing out at nothing. Duo had to think, but the pounding in his head had to stop first. He took a few deep breaths, trying to clear his mind. It was a futile effort because once the air hit his nostrils he could smell that sickeningly-sweet smell of blood--*fresh* blood.
Still seeing spots, Duo stood up and, leaned heavily against the wall, and began to make his way toward the stairs. He winced at each strained step as his head tried to turn itself inside out. If he could just make it to the upstairs bathroom he'd be okay. He just needed to get his pills and everything would be all right. Straining to see straight, he found the banister and used it as a guide as he began to ascend the stairs.
/Think, Duo!/ he screamed at himself. He knew this wasn't the first time he'd ever seen a dead body. He wasn't sure how he knew; he just knew. He also knew that someone had done a really shitty job at a double set up.
Duo closed his eyes at the all too-ready image of Lindsey's body that filled his mind. There had been so much blood. She hadn't just been murdered; she'd been *tortured*. Small, paper thin cuts had tinted the whole of her body an almost pinkish color. The bruises on the upper part of her torso had been caused by hands; very strong, very angry hands.
Dimly he became aware that he'd made it into the bathroom and was now starring at his image in the mirror. Tears threatened to invade his clearing vision as he searched the cabinets with hands that just wouldn't stop shaking. /It was a set up./ Lindsey's body was down stairs covered in blood, but Jarod hadn't done it; he was sure of that. /It was a fucking set up!/
What had *really* happened became more and more obvious as Duo began a once over of the premises. Viscously Duo scrubbed at the tears that threatened to invade his vision, and hopelessly bit back sobs in a futile effort to contain his emotions as he moved from room to room with an odd sort of detachment. Much to his astonishment, it became more and more apparent that the raging flicker of these confusing emotions wouldn't break him. He hurt. Oh, god, it hurt, but . . . It helped to think of it as more of a job; somehow it was just less real that way. It helped him to deal by pretending.
As Duo began to pack, he also started mulling over the situation, rolling it around in his head until he felt slightly sick. At first he'd believed that it had been only a robbery; but . . . Well, somebody had done a purposely poor job of making it look like Lindsey had simply stumbled in upon *that*; nothing more than accidently walking in on a robbery-in-progress.
Secondly, it was designed to make it look like murder--a murder carried out by Jarod. Duo had found evidence of that via the trash, and the smell of liquor spilled all over the living room carpet had only furthered his suspicions. /A crime of true passion,/ Duo mused to himself. Jarod would never have killed Lindsey, let alone have tortured her. No, someone had been here and they had wanted information. Whether it was about Jarod or himself he just wasn't sure.
Duo finished packing. So that the police would not be able to pin his ever having packed in the first place, Duo left clothes all over the floor, scattering everything as haphazardly as he could. It would be obvious that Duo was missing, but if he played this thing right they would never even know he'd made it through the front door.
/Also missing, but not dead./ Duo smiled. Jarod wouldn't be the only suspect. The problem was that the authorities would be looking for a man who had forgotten his past and taken on the name Heero. No last name, but it didn't matter; he had a clean slate and the cops would have to settle for a description--a very vague one at that. Then again they *did* have his picture on file. /What else do they have?/ Virtually nothing. They hadn't been able to track
his identity two years ago, why would it be any different now? What with everything Duo had read about the war, there were just too many people left unaccounted for. That would help, but he had to concentrate on the problem at hand.
There was something about *this* that Duo just didn't like. /Why on earth would anybody wanna set up Jarod?! And just how the hell do *I* know what I'm doing? I don't! It's just natural for anybody to wanna get the hell outta here especially when they suspect fowl play. Yeah, that's right; it's just natural./
It was more than obvious that the killers had known what the hell they'd been doing. It would be scenario number two the police would take, it *had* been Jarod's .38 special used to put that hole in Lindsey's chest--the very gun Jarod believed Duo knew absolutely nothing about. The kitchen knife carvings hadn't been done out of mutilation. No, each cut had been precisely made to cause the utmost amount pain without bleeding the victim to death. It was a great method of torture because they could have kept her alive for months if need be, slowly cutting her flesh square inch by square inch.
Duo grimaced as he realized that he *could* take on an objective point of view. /Shouldn't I be upset? Running around in hysterics? Gibbering like an absolute moron?/ But no. . . he was calm, silent--almost like death was a second nature to him. And that bothered him, upset him more than anything he'd seen today that he could take in such a scene and not be completely devastated. /I must be crazy,/ he mused to himself.
The killers were professionals; of that much Duo was positive. He smiled grimly at his progress as he made his way to the old POS jeep Jarod had been keeping in the garage forever. There were holes in the sides where the rust had eaten away at the metal, and thin white splotches of primer marred the sun-faded attempt at a blue paint job. It sure looked like hell, but all that mattered was that it would run. Jarod had slowly been fixing the thing up, and he and Duo had gotten it purring like a kitten in the last six months. All that had been left to finish the job was to make it look good.
Sighing to himself, Duo threw the bags in, jumping in himself as he gunned the engine and sped off. The sooner he could leave this place the better. He would leave an anonymous tip just as soon as he could get away--as soon as he knew that he was at least somewhat safe.
Duo pulled over on to the highway no less than two miles away from the place he'd called home for the last two years. He was sad to see it go, but . . . he *had* to find Jarod; he had to know the truth. Besides; Jarod was the only family he had.
As he drove, the more Duo thought about the situation, the angrier he became at the killers. They'd used dirty kitchen knives, and then left them right there by the body. And now Jarod was conveniently missing. /Damn it! Where the hell are you, Jarod?/ The only other person they could pin this on maybe would be Duo. He didn't have much of an alibi, and Jarod was missing.
He had known ever since he set foot in that old house, not less than an hour ago, that he would be leaving probably for good. He wasn't trapped in a meaningless life anymore. No . . . now he was trapped in hell; a hell that hurt far worse than he ever could have imagined. Half of his new family was missing, the other half dead.
Duo closed his eyes sucking in a deep breath. The horror he could handle, but not the emotions. Tears began to fall free from thick lashes, spilling down Duo's all too pale face.
He would leave to find Jarod, even though he knew things would never be the same. If he could only find his adoptive brother, his only living family . . . He needed something to cling to, some tiny hope that Jarod was still alive.
Duo sighed as a light, warm spring drizzle began, the rain soaking his shirt, making him feel cleaner. The cold beads of water running down his back made his shirt cling to him almost like a second skin. The soothing water seemed to wash away the tears, reminding Duo that even if things would never again be okay, in a way they would--because no matter how bad things got, he would somehow live through it to see another day.
Resolving that feeling sorry for himself wouldn't help any, Duo leaned back against the cool, wet seat. Flipping on the radio and cranking it as high as he could, he decided that 'what would be . . . would be.'
He smiled at that; the first *real* smile he'd had in a long time. It wasn't even noon yet and Duo was already ass deep in alligators. This *had* to be some kind of record or something.
Maybe he would find some answers in New L.A. Then again, he might not.
*****
Wufei winced as he peeled the clean, sweet-smelling sheets back from his small bed, breathing in thoughts of a very promising rest. He placed another pillow toward the bottom for his poor, much abused ankle. He'd just fumbled his way through a rather uncomfortable shower, ankle protesting with each movement. /Damn that Quatre./ He'd had to work serious overtime last night trying to convince the *informant* to help, then had ended up fighting off a gang of would-be rapists, only to have his efforts at getting back at Quatre for setting up the whole charade squashed with his undignified fall in the kitchen and a wonderfully twisted ankle.
"Figures," Wufei mumbled to no one in particular. And now Quatre had taken in that little deviant. /Damn, that kid is energetic./ Wufei smiled to himself. She'd kept them busy all morning, carelessly flitting to any activity that popped into that quick, little mind of hers. If Wufei didn't know better, he'd have thought that she was trying to wear them down on purpose.
At first they had all agreed that Quatre should have the burden of watching the little firecracker, in a sort of 'you took it in . . . you take care of it' train of thought. That idea quickly wore off, however. Heero would never admit it, but Wufei thought he had looked slightly entertained when the girl kept pestering him 'cause he wouldn't come out an play.' Even Trowa had helped by volunteering to make her some hot cocoa. But now the kid was fast asleep atop an endless supply of pillows and blankets that he himself had drug out from the hall closet.
He smirked, leaning back against the pillows resting his eyes. Once the kid had finally closed *her* eyes, Quatre had filled them all in on their new mission details. Wufei would be leaving with Quatre later this afternoon, while Heero covered their tracks. Trowa would go to set things up in a new district and await further instructions. Then Heero would meet Quatre and Wufei at another designated safe house in the same district. But first Wufei got to sleep.
Still, Wufei wasn't too happy with his latest mission. He hadn't been able to obtain any solid confirmation of the Outer Colonies reaching Earth, but even the space ports were still too close. There had been only a few all-out attacks along the rim in the last few months, but they still didn't even know who--or better yet, what--they were fighting. They hadn't even known *who* until the thought-to-be-lost Outer Colonies started sending transmissions to the farthest space ports, and a few ships picked up the emissions.
/Hn . . . always hunting./ Wufei sighed, burrowing deeper into his covers, absently kicking at the ice bag covering his ankle.
Two years. It had only been a little over two years. Wufei bit down hard on the sob that threatened to break through the silent barrier that had settled over his room. /No! For Maxwell, no tears shall be shed. I will *not* weep for Duo! If I couldn't sentence him to a pain worse than death, I'll be damned if I will do him dishonor with such pitiful displays of weakness!/
Wufei closed obsidian eyes, thick, dark lashes catching the teardrops that threatened to annihilate his restraint. He shuddered at the memories of a subdued Duo; a Duo from the past that was gone. The Outer Colonies . . . salvation . . . a vendetta of retribution . . . justice . . . This was their only chance for repayment on Duo's behalf.
Wufei sighed, letting his body claim the oblivion of exhaustion. As the last tendrils of consciousness slipping away, he couldn't help thinking, /If only. . . /