DISCLAIMER: Very few people in this belong to me. If you've never seen them in the comics, the they are mine, ask before using, please. All others belong to Marvel. But this world actually belongs to me... sorta... uh, part of it anyway... I think... okay, on to the story.
Remember: Feedback to writers is like water to flowers, so water a writer today! <G>
Darkness Surrounding
5:46 PST; September 29; Police Department and Jail; Charlottesville, VA
The sun sank slowly down behind the mountains, casting some of the most beautiful colors on the few clouds left from the day's rain. The moon wouldn't be coming out tonight, but maybe it would still be a good night to go outside and set up the telescope to look at the stars. There wouldn't be many more nights like this--cool but not cold--until after the winter months had past.
But right now, standing on the third floor of the Police Department, the Homicide floor--where all the walls were made of windows-- Detective Remy LeBeau wished, more then ever, that his wife was right there beside him watching this sun set.
He could almost see them now, on the deck of their ranch-like house, their arms around each other, holding on, emitting love from their every pore; just watching something as simple as the earth completing its full turn yet again as it did every day. Knowing that, as the sun was setting here, somewhere it was a whole nother day where a couple just like them was watching the sun rise together.
After awhile, when the sun was gone and only a little of it's radiant glow lingered on behind the mountains in the distance, he turned away. Yet another beautiful sunset he hadn't been able to share with his family, not that Ororo or Kyla, their daughter, were home anyway. Kyla at school in Richmond, and Ororo always faithful at the First Lady's side, even though right now that meant they were in Australia spreading news about Mutant rights.
It was a wonder, really, that they had even had a chance to make the baby now growing inside Ororo, and Remy's only hope was that she would take time off so that they wouldn't lose this one, as they had the last three. He'd even asked her not to go, to stay so they wouldn't lose this baby.
She'd gotten angry at him, and left that way. And now, she was some thousands of miles away, on the other side of the world, and all he wanted to do was hold her and tell her how much he loved her...and watch the sun set with her.
He'd give a thousand dollars just to be able to spend one quiet night with his wife without getting into a fight. One night when neither was angry with the other. Just one night they didn't have to send their daughter away so she wouldn't hear them yelling at each other.
He sighed, and sat down on the edge of his desk that stood in one corner of the room. He didn't have his own private office, and the room around him buzzed with talk, heavy footsteps, telephones ringing, and someone typing on a keyboard, the background noises that filled all of his days.
He picked up his coffee mug from his blotter on the desk. It was one Kyla had given him for Father's Day when she was five, and it read "The Best Daddy In The Whole Wide World!" It was in childish hand writing, and until 'Ro had told him differently, he had thought they had bought it that way. Kyla had learned to write those eight words and Ororo had taken them to a shop where they put it on the mug. It was the best gift, next to the birth of his daughter, that he had ever gotten.
He smiled and put this mug up to his lips, taking a sip of the coffee in it, then spit it back out making a face.
It was cold.
He sighed again, and looked at his watch. It didn't matter, he'd get a cup at the diner when he left work in five minutes.
With that in mind, he dumped the cold contents of the mug into one of Kurt's old plants beside his desk, and set it back down where he wouldn't forget it. Getting off his desk, and sitting back in his chair, he gathered up the loose papers and shoved them back into the file folders they belonged in; putting them in a pile so he could take them home to work on them some more.
It was going to be a verly long, lonly night.
While doing this, he only half-realized that Captain Logan Garington was heading his way. The captain was a short, stocky fellow, who almost always had an unlit cigar in his mouth or hands. He looked like a very dangerous man, even his past suggested it; ten years working as an army Ranger, twenty more working for the government at things that were kept in closed files. He looked like he was in his mid-thirties, but claimed to be much older.
He had one very striking feature, his eyes. They were the only thing about him that didn't seem to scream "Danger!". Well, that and his humor. He'd never make it as a stand-up comedian, but he did know how to throw a good joke into any conversation every once in a while to liven things up.
He had the trust, and, more importantly, the respect of his people. Without that, this wouldn't be a good division, and this was more then a good division, it was a great one.
"Rem," the captain said, coming up beside his desk. Rem looked up, noticing the man standing behind the captain for the first time. He was a good looking kid with brown hair, blue eyes, and a cocky grin on his face as he looked around.
Rem hid a grin, with the way the kid was looking around, he must have been a homicide rookie. But looking at him, Rem decided that he already liked him, he just had an air around him that made people want to like him. "Rem, this is Detective Lieutenant Robert Drake."
Rem nodded curtly. "Nice t' meet you."
"The same." Bobby held out his hand, and Rem shook it. You could tell a lot about a cop by his hand shake. Robert Drake's was firm, confident, Rem liked him even more.
"Bobby, this is Detective Lieutenant Remy LeBeau, our finest. Th' best detective we got. One of the smartest too. He also does freelance for the B&E department once an' a while. Been known ta give counselin' ta ‘bervics’ too."
Rem's eyebrow rose, Captain Garington didn't butter people up like that unless he wanted something from them. He sighed and sat back in his chair, waiting for the ball to drop.
He didn't wait long, because the next words out of Garington's mouth were, "Rem, Bobby here is yer new partner."
"I 'ear you right, Cap?"
"Yeah, ya did."
He sat up, putting all four legs of the chair back on the ground. "Oh no. Non, no way, out o' de ques'ion. You wan' me t' 'ave a par'ner, you find a way t' make Kurt come back t' de force, ot'erwise, I go solo; no 'fence t' you, Bobby."
"None taken."
Garington sighed. "Wish it were that simple. I'd love ta have Kurt back, Hell we all would, ain't been th' same since th' Elf left, but it ain't happenin', Rem. An', as fer Bob here, well I got my orders from above. They don't want ya workin' alone no more. If it were up ta me, ya'd be solo, ya've done well on yer own so far, but it ain't up ta me."
"I don' 'ave time t' teach a rookie 'bout my case!"
"Oh, you don't have to do that. I know all about it. I read up on all the files the department has last night. I know what's going on. In fact, I've been following the case before I ever found out I was being promoted. You're very popular all over the station, Remy," Bobby cut in.
"See? Ya don't got ta teach him nothin'. Look, Rem, jus' think o' it this way, it's an order. Ya don't have ta like it, but ya've got ta do it."
"Merde," was Rem's response. He put his hands to his temples, he was getting a headache.
"It ain't all that bad. Bobby's a good-"
The phone rang. Once, twice. Rem picked it up, getting a brief, and needed, diversion.
"'Allo? Homicide, Detective LeBeau speakin'," he said, shooting daggers at Garington. After a second, he realized no one had answered. He frowned. "'Allo? Wh-" Then it dawned on him. "Fils de par garce!"
"What?" Drake asked.
"Damnit! I want a trace on this call, an' I wanted it yesterday!" Garington yelled out, sending dozens of people rushing about. Everyone else, moved a little closer to Rem's desk to hear what was going on.
Rem turned pale and hung up the phone. "Dere be 'nother one. 'Bout a mile 'way from de last."
"Good God in Heaven," Garington said, running his hand through his hair. Rem was already up, putting his gun into his shoulder holster, and picking up a deck of cards from his desk and putting it into his pocket. Then grabbed his coat and started to half run, half walk to the elevators, pulling it on. "Take Drake with ya, Rem! It's a good time fer him ta start."
Rem held his hand up and stuck his middle finger at his captain, but he held the elevator door open for Drake to get in.
Remy started the engine in his blue sedan, and waited for Drake to get into the passenger seat. When the door closed, Rem backed the car out of its parking space and told Bobby to buckle up. When the younger man did, Rem floored it, turning on the siren. Five other cars, and the SWAT team van pulled up beside, and behind him. What they needed the SWAT team for he didn't know. Everyone knew he wouldn't be anywhere around when they got there.
They rode in silence for a while, then Bobby cleared his throat, obviously not liking the silence. "I'm, uh, I'm sorry about your old partner, but I promise you won't regret having me as your new one."
"Don' talk like Kurt dead or somethin'. He jus' leave de force, he 'live an' well you know, homey," Rem said, never taking his eyes off the road in front of him. Bobby was quiet again. After a while the silence got to Rem too. "You say you read up on dis case? It a closed file, how you get your hands on it?"
"Captain Garington gave them to me last night."
Rem cussed. "He know 'bout dis an' n't tell me? Cul."
Bobby raised an eyebrow. "What?"
"I call him an ass."
"Hmm, you think he's bad, you shoulda met my old captain at Vice. You never stood downwind of the man, and if you had to go, and he'd just came out of the john, well, you either got a gas mask or crapped in you pants. Now that man was a giant ass!"
Rem looked at him out the corner of his eye as if he'd lost his mind, then smiled. "Know wha'? Maybe you n't so bad af'er all. Maybe we gonna make good pa'ners."
Bobby stared at him and grinned. "Hope so, I'd hate to kick you off this case and take your job, so stay in line buddy, or-"
A sound like a gun shot filled the air, and Rem lost control of the car for a second. He grabbed the wheel and pulled hard to the right, trying to drag the car over onto the rumble strip. They made a complete turn, now facing oncoming traffic. Rem gave another hard turn of the wheel, to the left this time, and ran into the rumble strip, making an awful sound as the tires hit it. He used both feet to slam on the brake.
Bobby jerked in his seat, his seat belt the only thing keeping him from going through the car window. The two of them sat there for a minute, Bobby setting back in his seat as far as he could, and Rem with his arms crossed over the steering wheel, and his head on his arms.
"I n't so young no more, I getin' too old f' des stuff." Rem said, lifting his head up to look at Bobby, he was pale as a ghost. "You 'kay?"
"Uh, yeah, I think. Next time, let me drive."
"Wasn' my fault. De tire blew. C'mon, you c'n help me fix it."
"Oh, goodie."
They stepped out of the car, and both slammed their doors shut. From inside there was a pop and a hiss. Both men stooped down to look into the windows.
They both stood up, looking at each other over the top of the car. "Well, at least we know the air bags work."
It was chilly in the court house. Enough to make one shiver once in a while. But the shivering twelve year old Rosanna Mander was doing on the witness stand wasn't from cold, but genuine fear. Fear of the man standing up to ask her questions.
Victor Creed sighed. He could smell the fear coming off her. He gave her a toothy smile, trying to reassure her, but the shivering seemed to get stronger and her teeth started to chatter.
He sighed again and took a step away from the desk where all his papers were. "Permission ta approach th' witness, Yer Honor?"
"Proceed, Counselor." The judge said, curious about what tactic he would use to make the girl trust him, or at least not be afraid of him.
"Miss Mander... Can I call ya Rosanna?" She nodded slightly. "Well, Rosanna... ya know, that's a very pretty name. How old are ya, Rosanna?"
"T-twelve," she stuttered in a low whisper.
"Twelve! Why, that's th' age o' my daughters. Pretty little girls, you might even go ta school with them."
"Objection! What does this have to do with the case Your Honor?" Marcus Harold said, standing up from his chair.
"Permission to approach th' bench, Yer Honor?" Victor asked before she could say anything about the objection.
The Judge waved her hand, summoning them closer, and both Victor and Marcus came up to the bench. The Judge put her hand over the microphone. "I was going to overrule that objection, Victor, is there something you wanted to add to it?"
"I wanted ta know if I could open a window."
"You asked to approach the bench for that?" Marcus asked unbelieving.
The judge ignored him and smiled. "She goes right back out."
"Thank ya, Yer Honor."
They stepped away from the bench, Marcus more confused then before.
"Do ya like dogs, Rosanna?" Her interest picked up, and she nodded. He smiled, walking over to a window and opening it. He stuck his head out and whistled. Then, a second later, a mutt of a dog in a brown and black coat, put it's paws up on the window sill. She seemed to have a grin on her face, and lifted her head up to lick Creed's cheek, her wet tongue going over his eyes.
Rosanna smiled, and the shivering stopped a little as she looked at the mutt.
"Permission ta take th' witness down from th' stand, Yer Honor?"
"You may, Mr. Creed."
"Mr. Creed is making a mockery out of the court!" Harold said standing.
"How so, Mr. Harold?"
"With all do respect, Your honor, this is a courthouse, not a pet shop."
"Mr. Harold, sitting right here, I can see this young lady's distress. If petting a dog will make her a little bit easier, I'm all for it."
"But Your Honor-"
"If anyone is making a mockery of this court, it is you, Mr. Harold. I have given my permission to allow the child to see the dog, if you do not like this, I suggest you get out of my court room, until then, sit down and shut up!" Marcus' face turned red in embarrassment, and went back to his seat. "And you may *keep* that on the record," Judge Lee told the stenographer.
Victor walked over to the witness stand, pushed the microphone away, and helped the little girl down. Then, holding her hand, walked her over to the window so she could see the dog.
"This is Poochie, she's my dog."
"Yours?" The little girl asked, astonished. She looked at the big man in a new light. Anyone who had a cute dog like this couldn't be mean.
Rosanna petted Poochie, who seemed to love the attention, for a little while, then went back to the witness stand.
"Now, Rosanna," Victor started again, petting Poochie again then closing the window back, "'member when I told ya I have two daughters yer age?"
"Yes, sir," she answered back, no longer frightened of him.
He smiled "My daughters are th' same age, twins. I love 'em very much, an' I have no doubt that they love me back. Th' two o' 'em 're always doin' things fer me, like cookin', and cleanin', just ta make me happy."
"Your Honor? What is the relevance between this and Miss Mander?"
"Yer Honor, I'm just tryin' ta set a picture in mind fer th' witness."
"Proceed, Mr. Creed. I want to see where this is going." She turned in her chair, looking at the witness, and propped her head up with her hand.
"Thank you, Your Honor." He sighed and looked at his watch. 6:20. Just ten more minutes. "Now, Rosanna, have ya ever done things like that fer yer father?"
"Yes, sir. But everything I do, I seem to do wrong...then I make Daddy mad." She looked down at her hands, fighting off tears.
"How so, Rosanna? How do ya make yer daddy mad at ya?"
"I'm clumsy. I drop dishes sometimes, and they break. Daddy says he works hard for the things we have, and I tear them up. He doesn't like that. He...he gets really mad at me 'cause of it." She started to cry.
"Rosanna, I know this is hard, it's really scary bein' up here, yer Mom an' Daddy not even in th' same room. Ya don't know anyone here. I know yer scared, but I want you ta tell me somethin', okay, darlin'? When yer daddy... gets mad at ya, has he ever... touched ya-"
"Objection! Leading the witness!"
"I'll rephrase Yer Honor. Rosanna, when yer daddy gets mad, what does he do?"
Rosanna put her head in her hands and sobbed.
"Your Honor!"
"Sit down, Mr. Harold." Marcus turned red again.
"S'okay, darlin', go ahead an' cry," Victor said thinking about his own two daughters, who had lost their mother because of him. He loved them more then life itself, if anyone had done to his girls what Rosanna's SOB father had done to her... he'd kill them. Rip them apart and lick the blood from his claws.
He shook his head, pushing the thought from his mind.
"Rosanna? I know ya don't want ta talk about it but-"
The door to the room slammed open, and Scott Summers ran in, trying to tighten his tie as he came.
Judge Lee stood up, so did the rest of the court, except for Rosanna, who resumed weeping into her hand, oblivious to everything.
"What is the meaning of this outrage?" Judge Lee asked, trying not to yell at Summers.
"Permission to approach the bench, alone, Your Honor?" Scott asked, fixing the red sunglasses on his face.
Lee raised an eyebrow and sat down. "You've already burst into my court room, and disrupted this trial, I don't see why not."
He blushed and walked up to the bench, leaning over it to tell the judge something. When he was done, she picked up her gavel, and slammed it down, "Court is adjourned until seven AM tomorrow morning. Mr. Creed, please come up here, there is something we need to tell you."
His heart thumped in his chest, and he moved as if there was lead in his feet. His mind ripped through one-hundred-and-one reasons for Scott to just burst in here like he did, most of them lingering on his daughters.
When he got to the bench, Lee told him what was wrong, and he turned and ran from the room like a bat out of hell.
Rem pulled the car into the driveway of the house. He and Bobby had changed the tire in record time, but by the time they were at the house, the SWAT Team and about ten blue and whites, as well as the coroner's van were all parked in the grass and on the street.
Rem and Bobby stepped out of the car, and looked around.
It was a quiet neighborhood, with nice two, and even three, story houses all lined in a row. All the lawns were well cared for, almost every driveway or garage sported a basketball hoop, one yard across the street had a baseball diamond set up, and about eight boys were standing around, looking at what was going on, one had a bat in his hands, and some of the others had gloves.
Rem couldn't help but notice that the neighborhood looked familiar for some reason. Probably because the last time this SOB had hit, it was only a mile or so away.
There was a crowd slowly gathering around as one uniformed officer started to put yellow police tape up across the driveway. He grabbed hold of the nearest uniform, and told the man to go and send the people back to their homes, and he started up the walk.
He and Bobby pushed their way into the front door. There were men in white coats going over the hose, dusting for finger prints, one was opening the vacuum cleaner, pulling out the bag. Another in the kitchen looking into the cabinets.
Bobby whistled, looking around. "Man, she must have made some good money."
"Else she 'ave lots o' credit cards."
Together they walked out the back of the house to the patio and pool area. Henry McCoy, a mutant with blue fur covering his body, was crotched down beside the body which was sitting in a pink and white striped lawn chair. He stood up when Rem walked out and they shook hands.
"This man is so considerate, just look! He cleaned up after himself, and left the bag in the vacuum for your forensics officers, he even bandaged up this young lady's head for her.You do realize that you are tardy, do you not, LeBeau?"
"Car trouble, Hank. Dis be Bobby, my new pa'ner. Bobby, Hank. Hank, Bobby. Maybe we go f' a beer latter, non?"
"Ah, a date then."
"So, wha' 'ave we got here dis time?"
"One bullet to the head, close range." He knelt down beside her again. "Her death was instantaneous. Most likely, this one felt little or no pain at all. A meager amount of blood loss, I would say, but I cannot be certain. Your murderer has the skill of bandaging that a surgeon would."
"De bullet still dere?"
"No such luck, my friend. It was clean and fast. I would say he was maybe one, two feet away from her when he fired. They cold have been dancing. I doubt you'll find the bullet, but I can tell you that he was standing diagonal from her. The exit wound is behind her left ear." Hank sighed, and stood up again. He nodded his head, and two men carrying a black body bag came up and started to unfold it, the rubbery material of the bag, making wet sounds at it was pulled apart.
Rem stepped in front of the woman and looked down at her. "Oh, wondrous Saints, no."
"You know her?" Bobby asked, looking down at her himself.
She looked peaceful enough, anyone looking over the fence would think she was asleep. She was quite pretty, although very pale, and too thin for Bobby's taste. She had a small wound between her eyes and hair line, the point of entry for the bullet. Her eyes were open.
Rem sighed, and retched out with one hand over her face, closing her eyes. He stood up, and turned away.
"Rem?" Hank asked. "Are you well?"
"Her name Mildred."
"Then you did know her."
"Oui. She an' 'Ro, old friends. She painted a picture o' Kyla f' her birt'day jus' two weeks 'go. 'Ro... 'Ro set her up wit' Victor Creed. Dey been goin' out... Dear Saints, 'ow I gonna 'plain dis t' Kyla?"
Hank put an furry hand on Rem's shoulder. "Hitting a bit close to home? Do you believe he knew this?"
"Who de 'ell knows wha' he know? I know dis t'ough, I gonna catch dis tcheue poule. I 'ave 'nough playin' 'ro-"
The back door slammed open with enough force to shatter the glass in the window. The three men turned in time to see a gray pinstriped form run out of the house with a growl and knock Rem off his feet.