Jan. 17th, 2007

abetterlie: (Default)
After this and this

In front of the bank, he finds Harry's Aston, empty, and the cops. He also finds traces of burned rubber on the ground, usually left by a fast-leaving van, and, ending there, the scent of several strangers as well as Harry... and Cordelia. Her perfume, her scent, and if he doubts his sense of smell because of the incredible coincidence, he can overhear conversation from the cops who won't let anyone into the bank. There has been a robbery. Two hostages, a man and a woman. The cops say that according to the bank personnel, they have been identified by the robbers as Harry Osborn and Cordelia Chase. There have been threats against the manager's and tellers' families, and so this will all have to be played incredibly low key until there is a sign of the robbers.

Enhanced hearing abilities are good for something.

There is an advantage of having grown up in a lethal environment, too: a certain kind of rage will let you go cold instead of crazy, because you need the cold, you need it to trace down your prey now. So he doesn't allow himself to feel anything yet. He just goes back to the apartment, tells Natalie the barest facts, hardly hears her promising she'll stay with Evan at her hotel and wait for news and whether she can help, and suits up as soon as she's out of the door.

Three hours and a lot of hurt people later, he doubts that the robbers recruited themselves from the local criminal population. No one has heard anything, even a rumour, no one knows anything, certainly not about getaways and hiding places, and they would tell, they really would, and what kind of a psycho is he?

Not one who's going to jail again. He can't afford that. So he's wearing the costume. But there is blood on the blue fabric now, and it's a good thing it's daylight, because otherwise there'd be vampires around in no time flat. Sometimes he hopes for them, but not now. No time to stake or to fight. No time for anything but to find them. He found his father as a five years old child in hell; why are a couple of bank robbers so difficult?

Because this isn't hell, and they don't leave scents to follow, that's why. They use technology. Not even a particular sophisticated one. Something as simple as a van, and there is no trace to follow.

It gets worse when he tries the cops again. Because now they're talking about two bodies, two people shot, at an abandoned airfield. Time freezes until someone mentiones both were male, and he should feel relieved, but he doesn't feel anything, anything at all. Which is probably a good thing.

When he gets home for a change of clothes, he barely avoids beeing seen by the officers who are there to talk to the person likely to get ransom calls for Harry Osborn. He has to leave the bulding and climb up the wall, entering through a window, but in the end, he's able to hear the news looking like a college student instead of a murderous criminal himself. Bank robbery, likely escape via private plane, can we bug the phone, ransom call, please contact, do you anyone to stay, and...

What a little creep, says one of the officers when they leave to the other, and he can hear them through the door. I checked out his record before coming here. Triple homicide suspect. Well, they say the Osborn kid likes it rough.

There are several voicemail messages, one, very annoyed, from the professor whose class he was supposed to attend, two from Natalie Spencer. None from any kidnappers. Or Harry. Or Cordelia.

There has to be something, some way to track even an air plane which isn't on anyone's flight schedule, if it's even still in the air and not landed somewhere, somewhere being anything between Alaska and Mexico, and -

This is wrong. He's letting himself feel again, and if he does that, he won't be of use to -

His father's body, neck wound still bleeding, in an alley, and he's arriving too late, several life times too late. Harry in a New York restaurant, and he's almost too late there as well. Cordy in a church, utterly still in her coma.

No.

There has to be an idea, something obvious, some way that is better than going out again and trying to beat up more small time criminals and big time mafiosi in the vague hope one of them does have a connection to the robbers, or to wait till the police calls. Except the idea won't come.

The dogs whine, and he realizes he has to feed them. Except they won't go near him, and only then does it register: Connor might have changed his clothes, but the stains of blood underneath are still there. So he goes upstairs and takes a shower.

The water is cold, and the tiles of the wall, when he starts to beat at them, crumble like paper.

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abetterlie

July 2010

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