Heavy Rains
One: Inferno
1.1
“Who is this? Is this...?” The words begun slow and shortly sloped to a low inaudible hum, which I ignored.
They were muffled and it felt like they went through cotton fields before reaching my brain and through my wavering consciousness, I couldn't latch onto much more than the first few words that she said.
There was a jolt of electricity, a shock more than anything, of pain that suddenly flashed around in my skull. The pain pulsated in my brain, drumming against the inside of my skull.
When I finally opened my eyes, there was light which greeted me in neon shades.
I snapped my eyes closed just as fast as I had opened them, feeling safer in a world of darkness than in the light.
I could feel this woman who I called Dr. Robinson breathing on me despite her being in her respective chair probably a good four feet away from me. My heart beat quickened and my fingers trembled, digging my nails deep within the cushions until I knew my knuckles must've turned white.
I had always hated the antique furniture anyway. Smelled like dust.
I waited exactly two minutes and twelve seconds, wondering if I should tempt fate and open my eyes, or subdue and keep them closed. It would've been so much easier to of sat there in nothingness but her voice came back again and my head was beginning to clear.
"Open them, open them, Jamie."
I held onto those words as my guide back to reality and opened my eyes after so much resistance. My eyes darted around the room, vision bouncing from one dusty aristocrats portrait to another, all with demeaning, judgmental expressions. The look on their faces reminded me of the nuns that wrote me off as a lunatic the first moment they hear my story or read through my files.
None of the sisters had ever said that but the other part of me, deep back behind my consciousness, had whispered it to me from a place that no one else could hear.
I was originally looking for a route, and then from there, just waiting for the opprotune chance to escape from the woman who sat so calmly in front of me.
But I knew her game, maybe just as well as she knew mine, and I was too experienced to be fooled by her slack posture and warm eyes because behind that inviting expression was nothing more than pure curiosity and a thirst to know more about my supposedly fascinating mind. Notes were written down cleanly and thoughtfully on a little floral pad of paper using a ball point pen with a calm expression.
Always, always so calm. And meanwhile my mind was destroying me. But no one, no one cared.
I knew what she wanted. She had become aware that her lifespan was questionable, and her contribution to the world was totaled out to zilch. Her name wasn't well-known or published, and she was chasing a fleeting dream to be known for something by now. She was going through her mid-life crisis all to my bad luck.
She lowered her head attempting to make eye contact with me, and despite my best efforts to avoid it, I met her steely gaze. Her legs were crossed politely beneath a modest but age appropriate brown dress and she seemed like such a perfect little psychiatrist. She cleared her throat to grab my attention. After so many sessions, she knew when I was beginning to let my mind wander.
My eyes instinctevly shut at the noise, it being loud and somewhat intrusive. I set on grinding my teeth together. One noise, one object, one anything just to bring me back to reality and anchor me there.
"Are you Jay Fields?”
Breath escaped me.
My breathing began to slow down, here was a question easy to answer. I opened my eyes slowly, half expecting it to be a trap, but when met with a calm expression and blank eyes, I took the bait and watched her cautiously.
Finally, my head became clear and I could hear my own breathing again and aligned to be in sync with the rise and fall of Dr. Robinson's chest.
“No, I'm Greyson Fisher."
Dr. Robinson looked pitiful towards me, and gave a sigh as though dejected. I knew then I'd said something wrong or against her expectations. My eyes widened at this realization, my heart rate quickened again, and I looked into her downcast eyes in agitation. My answer was unsatisfactory by her expression.
"Aren’t I?”
There was silence and the uneasiness heightened to panic. I sat forward and tried again, brain racking for an answer to this puzzle.
"Aren't I?"
A crack of lightning sounded throughout the ill-lighted room, him from a typical restless sleep.
"Damn..."
His hands gripped for his blankets sheets just as he realized they were apparently, gone.
"Damn..."
He took a breath, looking towards the window with narrowed eyes. Water droplets illuminated in the moon light, and he could see when the lightning struck, that the rain was coming in sideways. It beat against the windows like a furious hail storm.
He blinked for a couple of moments as his eyes adjusted, the room was blurry and almost tilted in his unsteady gaze.
He swallowed, feeling what little saliva go down, attempt to help his dry throat.
It was a failed attempt.
He slid over the side of the bed, his legs hanging for a brief second over the blankets and sheets that had all fallen off the side of the bed in a tangled web of a mess.
"So that's where you went to."
Pushing off the bed, he put a hand on the side on the wall, looking through his long window pane that reached from his knees to his forehead. It was probably his favorite part of the entire spacious apartment.
He let his head tip forward, hitting the window with a ‘thud.’
He repeated the action.
Again.
Again.
Biting his chapped lower lip, trying to remove the skin that hung only by a hinge, he closed his eyes moving his head forward against the glass, and with every inch he moved he attempted to guess what time it was.
It was a game he played with himself every time he woke up from one of his nightmares, which tended to be fairly regular, even if he didn't exactly like to admit it to himself.
"Two. Theres still drunks leaving the strip club, the strip club turns it's sign off at three. Around two thirty, William on the street corner packs up his New York memorabilia. One thirty, and the bakery's sign is still on. Two fifteen and usually there's a group of strippers leaving by then. So, two."
He pushed a hand through his dark hair, letting it take on its natural bed-head look. Even the sweat and grime from restless sleep couldn't keep it down flat, which he thought was probably one of the world's strongest hair products.
Nothing could tame his hair as far as he knew, but he wasn't exactly willed enough to go and buy gels and hairspray.
That was why he kept the curly locks relatively short.
Same haircut since childhood.
He brought his head back again, even in the middle of the night, there was always the option of people watching which just so happened to be one of his favorite sports.
The bright lights coming off billboards, business windows, and neon signs of the local strip clubs bounced back at him mockingly, as though laughing at the fact he couldn't get a wink of sleep.
Those electrical monsters didn't need sleep. Even if it was giving up a part of being human, he wished he could say the same. He didn't have much 'human' to lose anyhow.
He sighed.
"No need to keep watching a reccuring sight, I'll see it again tomorrow. Right?"
He walked across the room to the nightstand, staring at the clock lying on it, his emotionless eyes recognizing its usual neon green glow.
‘2:05 AM’
That was in count, two more hours of sleep than he had received the night before. He looked back blankly at the numbers, daring them to change and even through his emotionless stare; the numbers were unfazed by it all and changed regardless.
‘2:06 AM’
He turned his head away from the clock, bored with this sight as well by now, looking at the door from his position on the left wall of the room.
He peeled away his wet t-shirt, and even when in the shower stall and the overhead was pouring hot water on every inch of his body, he could hear the rain drops slapping against his glass.
The nightmares that humilitaingly still terrorized him, poured away from him, going down the metallic drain. He turned 180, throwing his head back into the powerful water jets face first, soaking his hair until it finally fell flat against the pressure. But stil, it fought everytime the weight of the water gave up a little, even though it didn’t stand a chance.
It reminded him of how a small rodent doesn’t stand a chance in the jaws of a powerful snake, starving with blood lust in it's eyes, but the mouse would fight with every bit of it's being.
A flash of lightning flooded the room.
He didn't even flinch this time.
Another crack, but this time, he flinched because just as the crack sounded, the lights flicked off.
"Damn..."
He narrowed his eyes, feeling the hot water prick his skin in the darkness of the steamy room. He sighed inwardly and thought about not giving a damn for just a minute, but ended up just turning around, fingering around the tile of the wall until his hand reached the warm metal handle.
He turned the shower off, reaching for a towel on the metal pole.
Drying himself off quickly, he wrapped the towel around his waist and moved out of the bathroom skillfully, all entirely based on memory.
He closed the door behind himself.
The lights were off in his bedroom too.
More than likely it was just a branch from a tree on a power line. It was practically the only tree in the city.
No one else was awake, most likely, at this time of night, so he'd have to fix the problem if he wanted it fixed, that was.
He could just go back into bed.
No.
He made his way to his dresser.
Carpet there, step over the pants he'd left on the floor last night that were right about here, and to the right should be his dresser.
He opened it quickly.
It wasn’t a hard task.
Bottom drawer-Boxers, Socks
Top drawer- Shirts
Open up, and hanging up were all his black and grey dress pants
Taking randomly from each, he got dressed.
On his doorknob, he felt the two belts. One brown. One black.
Obviously the one with the rough silver buckle was the black, the one with the smoother surface was the brown.
He went for the black.
He exited the room.
Walking out of the room, he came into the main room of his apartment, a large, open living room and he glared towards the fireplace, wondering why he hadn't just left a fire burning in the fireplace? Usually he did.
"Everything just has to be difficult, obviously...What would my life be if everything wasn't a boring chore?"
He walked across the living room, remembering his people watching filled day yesterday had brought him through this room and he'd ended up throwing his brown leather jacket across the back of the couch.
He grabbed it, shrugging it on as he made his final destination at the door and slipped on his leather Etnies.
And just as he reached for the door handle, a banging came at the door. A few quick raps and then a pause, he looked up, studying the wood frame.
Who would be up? Mrs. Helen Granger had her arthritis, and sometimes it was hard for her to sleep at night. He'd taken about ten minutes to get out to his door, it took seven minutes alone for her to even get out of bed most days.
So definietly Mrs. Granger, no one else in the building would come to his door unless they had something to yell at him about.
"Jamie. Jamie, honey, has your power gone out too?"
Grey smiled at the voice, she'd always liked his middle name, James, better than his first name, Greyson.
"Yeah, Mrs. Granger. It did." He called back, opening the door to reveal darkness, but a shivering figure stood in the middle of it and he slowly put a hand to it's back.
He could feel the familiar blue robe beneath his hand, and pulled her inside slowly, guiding her to his arm chair, "Just sit there, and I'll be back."
"Thank you, Jamie. What'd you think it is? The storm caused the power outage? Shouldn't the generators of kicked on? Oh, goodness, you think it got shocked or..or..."
"It's probably just a branch on a powerline, I can-"
Mrs. Granger's heart skipped a beat.
"Don't you go on and try and get it off of there yourself, James!" She caught him swiftly, her breath shook a little before she continued, "Listen to me, Jamie, my son Eric would still be with us if he hadn't pulled stupid stunts like those, you know, God bless his soul."
"I know, Mrs. Granger. I'll be back in just a minute, I'll be fine."
He closed the door behind himself, walking exactly sixteen steps left. In front of him would be the elevator.
Taking another left, he pushed open the door leading to the staircase, jumping down two steps at a time before coming to the bottom landing exactly six flights of stairs down.
He pushed open the front door and found himself face to face with the storm gods.
The thundering picked up for any possible slack and the lightning flashed across the sky in a dangerous kind of showcase. It lit up the night sky, showing every shape of black rolling cloud.
"Doesn't look like it stopping anytime soon."
He stepped carefully down the sidewalk, looking up at the powerlines reaching up before him.
He turned around in the heavy rain and looked up at the building, pitch black in the night but as the lightning struck behind it in quick flashes, became visible. Not that he needed the light to be able to know what it looked like. He saw the building, connected into one large building down the entire street, covered with vines and beautiful artistic doors, he'd seen his front door every day for at least a year now.
He stepped away from the building, squinted his eyes and he stared up at the power lines around himself, his eyes followed along the small black wires that stood out against the sky when it was lit up by lightning bolts.
Nothing?
There was a hand on his left shoulder and after a three second analysis, solved that it was not Mrs. Granger's hand, it was strong, large, and Mrs. Granger was right handed, this was a left hand.
He whipped his head around quickly, stumbling backwards in defense.
“Just me, Grey.”
The voice was rough, and quickly recognizable. Grey's hesitance slipped away and he stood up a little straighter, looking directly at the man before him in question.
“Sorry, shouldn’t have snuck up on you like that.”
The younger of the two men stepped forward, his eyes blank and rimmed black from sleepless nights, “There a reason why you had to see me now? In the rain, Taylor?"
The older man looked down at his watch, "I would ask to come in, but I've got to be somewhere in twenty minutes." His oil drop eyes stared on, his thin lips rising up into a smile, "Little rain won't hurt. Anyway, I've a got new case for you."
The younger man, unfazed, didn't change his expression in the slightest, this had been somewhat expected.
"Did you tamper with my power?"
He shrugged a little, "I knew you wouldn't answer your phone."
Grey rolled his eyes, running a hand through his dripping hair, "So, what? You decide to coax me out of my apartment by shutting down everyone's power?"
"You always like a mystery. Knew you couldn't resist."
“I just finished a case, Murphy.” He replied, truth be told, he hadn't taken up a new case in practically two weeks, a new record for him.
He just liked to spite him. The desperation in Allan Taylor's eyes was a reward alone.
“Oh, come on Grey, you know that's bullshit.” Taylor called out nervously as he took another step forward.
He'd always been, Grey noted, one to hide his anger behind a mask, until a mask simply couldn't hide it. And then he'd be an unstoppable force, but until then, Grey knew he could continue to press buttons.
“Grey, everyone knows that you flip cases like how a drunk flips cars. As soon as one is finished, the next one is usually in your hands in a week tops. You need something don’t you? Something good too, right?”
Grey's expression paused, waiting for more, and Taylor quickly, would deliver.
“It’s not exactly something you would pick out on your normal look through, there's only one murder so far, but I think this case is up to your expectations besides the homicide, two murder minimum. Really.”
The younger man watched as Taylor's smiled faded and he pulled a plastic bagged manila folder, squeezed betweem his index finger and thumb.
"And...I need ya', Grey."
He was looking for a new case to solve, the boredom was driving him up the wall. But, if two people, at least, hadn’t been killed in a homicide case, then he considered it an open case, one that anyone could solve. But the hope in this man's eyes wasn't something he was used to seeing. Taylor was a strong Commissioner, convinced that his people combined should be as good as the great Greyson Fisher, and usually waited until things became out of hand to contact him.
Grey walked the short distance between them.
He reached out his hand, looking blankly at him, "Gimme."
Taylor smiled, “Drop by the station tomorrow
____________________________________
And with that, Ruttiger walked off quickly, his stride showing a remarkable amount of confidence as his trench coat flew behind him in the strong winds that blew against him.
Grey bit his lower lip thoughtfully, watching him go off into the darkness of the night, slightly wondering what could have been his initial intentions when coming over at such an ungodly hour. How could he have known he would be up?