If you have any cast ideas, I'd really appreciate them!
~Saya
-----
3- More Research
Gentle hands shook me awake the next morning. With a groan, I rolled onto my side away from the person.
"Come on, Phoenix," Mihael said coaxingly, a firm edge in his voice.
I wrapped my pillow around my head.
"Ooo, bad move," he commented mischievously. In the space of a few seconds, he snatched away my pillow and swung my up into his arms, catching me bridal-style. I squeaked and hid my face in his shoulder, much to his amusement.
"Okay, okay! I'm up!" I yelped, my voice muffled.
He laughed and set me on my feet, keeping his arm around my shoulders until he was sure I was steady. Then he left the room after warning me I had half an hour to get ready.
Grumbling to myself, I slipped into a pair of purple skinny-jeans and a plain black tanktop. I left my hair down, but applied purple eyeliner and grabbed my jacket before leaving my room.
I joined Mihael in the kitchen. Ahli and Britney were still passed out in the living room. Grabbing a box of taquitos out of the freezer, I asked Mihael if he wanted anything. He shook his head, and I just shrugged.
"Francis and the others will be here soon," he informed me.
I nodded even as my other movements slowed. The nightmare...I'd managed to forget about that.
Sensing the change in my mood, Mihael walked up behind me and put his hands reassuringly on my shoulders. "Quit worrying and hurry up," he chided gently, "Besides, it might have been just a dream after all. You were watching Prom Night."
I turned to him curiously, maybe even a little bit suspicious. "How did you know?" I asked a bit warily.
Mihael rolled his eyes. "The case is still out on the table," he explained.
"Oh." Feeling stupid, I turned quickly and stuck the plate of taquitos into the microwave, making three attempts before I managed to slam the door shut.
Just then the buzzer rang. Mihael and I both sighed. Mine was a sigh of relief at the distraction, but from Mihael's expression, I wasn't so sure about his. I left the room to answer the door. The other five boys were grouped on the other side, and I signaled for them to be quiet as opened the door wide enough to admit them.
They moved silently into the room; the only sound was that of their clothing rustling. I watched their cautious movements. Compared to them, I would've sounded like a bull stumbling around the room. Francis approached me, leaning close enough that his lips almost brushed the shell of my ear.
"We'll go check out that dream of yours now, if you're ready," he breathed.
I nodded. "Just let me leave a note," I requested in a whisper. I hurried back to the kitchen to find a pen and a pad of paper. After shuffling through several drawers, I came up with a small notebook. I grabbed a pen off the counter, scribbled down a note, and left the notebook open on the table. I decided against ripping it out, seeing as I'd already made enough noise to wake the dead-though apparently not my two friends.
"Phoenix," Mihael hissed as I started to follow the others out the door. I spun to face him, curious. Over one arm hung my oversized grey jacket and in his other hand, he held up my taquitos, wrapped in a paper towel. Feeling my cheeks heat up, I quickly returned to take them from him.
"Thanks," I muttered, embarrassed.
He merely chuckled and walked off, ruffling my hair as he passed. Wrinkling my nose, I followed him out the door, locking it behind us.
I climbed into the back of the Civic with Sora while Mihael and Laurent took the front seats. Francis, driving a flashy red convertible, pulled out ahead of us. Drake and Enrique rode with him. The top was up, but I could see Drake making a pest of himself to poor Enrique from the backseat.
"He'll never grow up, will he?" Laurent asked with a sigh. I grinned.
Traffic was light this early in the morning and we made good time to the location I had seen in my dream the night before. I started to climb out of the car with the boys, but Laurent turned and laid a hand on my arm.
"Stay here," he begged, concern in his eyes.
I rolled my eyes at him and stepped out.
Francis led the way to a faint stain on the sidewalk and bent down to examine it. Frowning, I tried to recall if I had seen it in the dream. Suddenly my stomach turned over.
"That's where her blood was," I choked out, barely above a whisper.
Mihael put a hand on my shoulder, squeezing lightly. "Yeah," he murmured in a near-growl, "But someone's dragged the body off and washed it away."
"He wouldn't have done that," Sora said darkly, emphasizing the pronoun.
I heard what they said, but could barely comprehend it. My mind had slowed to a near-standstill as I stared at the stain in mingled shock and horror. One thought repeated itself: I was right.
"Hey!" Laurent called suddenly from the opening to an alleyway between two tall buildings, breaking me out of my stupor, "I found her!"
The six of us quickly joined him, peering into the alley. The sight and stench that hit me caused my stomach to roll again, and I covered my nose and mouth with my sleeve.
The reeking odor of decaying flesh spilled out of the alleyway like rancid oil. Heaped against the wall was what appeared to be a bag of bones. The skin had turned a brownish-grey and was slowly rotting off the broken, bloodstained bones beneath. A blue sweater and a pair of blue denim jeans, both ripped almost beyond recognition, were draped over her.
"The skull and one Humerus are both gone," Laurent reported, stepping closer, "I'm guessing stray dogs took the long bone." He sat back on his heels.
"How long has she been here?" I choked out, trying not to breathe in the stench.
"Based on the weather...I'd say at least a couple weeks," Francis replied grimly, flipping open his phone.
"Based on the weather?" I asked quietly, looking up at Mihael.
He shrugged. "Some forensic math crap. I still don't get it," he explained.
Soon the police arrived to take over the scene. Francis gave them the information he had and the boys waited while they questioned me. I knew they were suspicious of my knowledge of the body's location-I would have been too. Luckily they let me go and the boys and I drove off.
We rode in silence for several minutes. The stereo blasted, drowning out our thoughts. Suddenly Laurent reached over and turned the volume way down. We all looked up at him, only to find his eyes on me.
"You up for more research?" he asked gently.
I nodded quickly. This fourth body renewed my determination as much as it freaked me out. Laurent gave me a small, understanding smile.
"'Kay. We have more materials at the house?" he invited. I nodded again in consent and Laurent turned up the music again.
Nearly fifteen minutes later, Francis pulled into the driveway of a huge, dark, three-story building. As Mihael pulled up to the curb, I shivered in anticipation. Against the backdrop of the stormy sky, it looked almost demonic. I eagerly slid out of the car behind Sora.
"This is your house?" I asked, raising my eyebrow at Laurent. He shrugged.
We trekked inside and Drake led the way to a library. My jaw dropped in wonder at the sight of the book-lined shelves. Drake smirked in satisfaction at my reaction.
"Like what you see?" he asked in the same tone as a hot-shot guy high on himself.
I rolled my eyes at him. "Do you see this place!?" I asked happily, "It's like a book-lover's paradise!"
Laurent gave a hollow laugh. "'Paradise' isn't all it's cracked up to be," he said darkly.
I looked at him curiously, my eyes asking him to explain. Instead, he shrugged and walked over to one of the bookcases. He scanned the shelf just over his head for a moment before plucking out a slim volume with a dark green binding. He held it out to me and I moved forward apprehensively, looking for the title before I reached for the book.
To my surprise, the book was a journal. On the inside of the front cover someone had scrawled the title "The Whitechapel Murderer." Underneath, "1888" was written in smaller numbers.
"That was my great-grandfather's" came Francis' voice from the vicinity of my shoulder. I jumped, startled. I hadn't heard him approach.
I glared at him over my shoulder as he laughed. I didn't appreciate being startled. Laurent intervened by handing me another journal. This one was blue with a black binding.
"My dad's," Mihael informed me.
I opened it curiously. "Charlie Chop-Off" was written on the inside cover in flowing cursive, with "1972-1974" underneath. Again, I giggled at the name. I couldn't help it.
Francis bopped me over the head lightly. "This is serious," he chastised, though he was grinning too.
I managed to get myself under control, watching Laurent pull another journal, this one plain black, off the shelf. The cover pages were red with "The Honolulu Strangler: 1985-1986" written in black ink.
"That one was my dad's," Sora piped up enthusiastically.
Laurent continued to scan the shelves as I flipped through the first few pages of the account on the Honolulu Strangler. When I paused and looked up, I saw Laurent staring at one shelf looking confused and frustrated.
"Drake!" he called finally.
The blond, who had left the room, poked his head through the doorway. "Yeah?" he asked.
"I can't find your...uh, your great-uncle's journal," he explained. I wondered at his hesitation. Was I missing something?
"Oh, it's in my room," Drake told him, "Hang on, I'll get it."
Laurent rolled his eyes as Drake rushed off. I grinned. There was a sense of belonging among these guys that I liked, something I'd never experienced with my own dysfunctional family. Enrique tapped my arm lightly, breaking me from my rumination to point out a comfortable-looking armchair nestled between two large bookcases. Letting out a childish squeal, I pounced on it. Laurent, Francis, Mihael, and Sora laughed, and Enrique actually smiled. I curled up with the books and grinned back at them, satisfied.
A few minutes later, Drake re-entered the room holding a small book bound in brown leather. He tossed it to me and I caught it by the cover. It immediately slipped from my fingers and I instinctively grabbed for it. By some miracle, I caught it again. Oh yeah, ninja skills! I cheered in my head.
Cradling the book with one hand, I let it fall open. "The Hammersmith Nudes" was scrawled on the inside of the cover, accompanied by "1964-1965." I looked up at Drake with one eyebrow raised. To be honest, I wasn't surprised the boy had had this particular journal in his room.
"I only had it to study the case!" Drake defended as if reading my thoughts, turning a shade much like fluorescent red.
Mihael laughed. "Perv," he teased.
Francis struggled to turn his grinning face into a mask of composure. "We really need to be doing research," he reminded everyone again.
I looked back down at the journals in my lap. "Francis..." I began quietly. He turned. "How are these going to help? The most recent thing here is from 1986."
That old deer-in-the-headlights look quickly made its way onto the face of every other person in the room.
"Um...We think these might have been our guy's idols. The better we understand them, the better we'll understand him," Laurent answered after a moment. The others relaxed, nodding.
"Oh, I get it," I replied simply. Their excuse was reasonable enough, but their reaction to my question and the pause told me it was a lie. Picking the Honolulu Strangler journal off the top of the pile, I propped it open against my knees and began to read.
"Second murder occurred a week ago. We believe our target is here in Hawaii. The timeline fits."
My mind worked furiously as I stared at the page. Seeing as the case was that of the Honolulu Strangler, their target-presumably the suspect-was obviously in Hawaii. Also, the comment about the timeline confused me. It sounded as if there had been prior experience with this particular perpetrator. I sat for a moment, simply staring at the page. Something about the handwriting was nagging at me. I felt like I must have seen it before.
With a burst of inspiration, I opened one of the other journals. Scanning the capitalized H in both "Honolulu" and "Hammersmith," I felt a grin creep onto my face. They seemed to match!
I wondered if the guys were playing a trick. Obviously they knew a lot about these killers, so who's to say they couldn't have gotten some journals and written them as if they were their ancestors. Another thing occurred to me too-why would their ancestors have been chasing serial killers too?
"So your families chased killers too?" I inquired casually, wondering how they'd respond.
Mihael and Francis, the only two still in the room, froze. They exchanged panicked glances, and I knew I'd hit on something.
"Yeah," Francis said finally, his voice shaky at first. He quickly got it under control and continued, "It's kind of a tradition, since all our great-grandfathers met in London while Jack the Ripper was loose."
There was truthfulness in his voice as he finished and he met my eyes easily, but I knew there was a lie in the story somewhere. You don't panic about nothing. I decided to be blunt; maybe this new tactic would get a better response.
"So you didn't just write these journals yourselves?" I pushed.
A look of anger and indignance crossed Francis' face, but Mihael's hand on his shoulder brought him back under control. Boy had a temper, didn't he?
"What would make you think that?" he asked instead, a little more coldly than usual.
I frowned, more upset by the change in attitude than I would like to admit, but I continued. "The handwriting is similar," I informed them, cracking open the two journals I had used to confirm my theory, "These are supposed to be written by two different people from two different families in two different times and places, so why would that be?"
Francis blinked, his moodiness suddenly gone. "Shrewd," he commented simply, shrugging Mihael's hand off his forearm and coming over to peer down at the books in my lap. A frown tugged at his lips and furrowed his brow, but I found that I couldn't read his thoughts on his face. I settled back moodily, glowering down at the off-white pages.
"Chill, kid," Mihael said softly, ruffling my hair reassuringly. I scrunched up my face, batting his hand away gently. He laughed quietly and I looked up at him.
A small smile graced his lips. I couldn't help but wonder what emotions were behind it-simply amusement, or something more? His deep blue eyes met mine and held them, the same unknown emotions swimming in them. A small smile took over my lips as I looked back at him.
"Strange," Francis commented finally, ruining the moment. I brought my gaze back down to him. Really? That was all he had to say?
He stood up abruptly. "You've got work soon, right? Someone can take you home," he blurted.
Mihael opened his mouth to say something, but Laurent beat him to it. "I'll take her," the brunet offered from the doorway.
Francis nodded and gathered the journals from my lap. "See you later," he said with a cheerful smile, mellowing back into his usual self. Mihael gave me a quick one-armed hug as I stood.
I wrapped both arms around him in return. "I don't do that one-armed crap," I told him, smiling up into his surprised face.
He laughed as he wrapped his other arm around me and gave me a quick squeeze. "Okay then. Bye, Runt," he teased.
I wrinkled my nose. "'Kid' is okay," I informed him, "'Runt' is not."
He just laughed and pushed me through the door of the library after Laurent. The green-eyed boy stared at me with laughter in his eyes, chuckling softly.
"What?" I asked, trying to sound offended even as a grin crept across my face.
"Nothing," Laurent returned with mock innocence, widening his eyes. I laughed, skipping past him.
"Bye Phoenix!" called Sora's voice from the second floor. Turning, I waved up at him and Enrique.
"I'm not a pervert!" Drake yelled from somewhere.
"Keep telling yourself that!" I retorted through my laughter. Before he could retaliate, I slipped out the front door.
Laurent led me to a sporty silver sedan parked in the driveway. He opened the passenger's side door for me and I practically fell into the seat. Smiling, Laurent closed the door as I pulled the seatbelt across myself. A minute later he'd slid into the driver's seat and started the engine. The music blared as the radio came on and my eyes widened in delight.
"I love this song!" I squealed, dancing in my seat.
Laurent looked surprised. "Really?" he asked, "I wouldn't have pegged you as the type of person to listen to this kind of music."
I rolled my eyes at him. "I'm full of surprises," I replied, grinning. Laurent just smiled and sat back.
"Eyes on the road," I reprimanded, "that's another thing; cars freak me out."
Laurent looked even more surprised this time. "Really? How do you drive them?" he asked.
I shrugged. "By not thinking about it, I guess. How many times are you going to say 'really?'"
He made a face and shut up. I smirked to myself and settled in, resting my head on the window.
I must have passed out, because the next thing I knew, Laurent was shaking my shoulder gently to wake me. "We're here, Sleepy," he said softly.
I groaned, sitting back. I really didn't want to move. "Nah, I'm gonna sleep in the car," I joked, grinning slightly.
He chuckled. "You're just a constant comedian, aren't you?" he asked.
"Pretty much," I replied, stretching my arms up over my head. As they came into contact with the ceiling, I glared up at the fuzzy grey material above me. Sighing, I unbuckled and put me hand on the door handle.
"What, no hug?" Laurent asked, feigning a look of hurt.
I rolled my eyes and leaned over, wrapping my arms around his shoulders in a quick hug. His arms wrapped around my waist in turn. It was quick, but warm and welcoming. As I let go of him and stepped from the car, waving, I tried to remember the last time I'd hugged anyone outside my little "family" (consisting of only Ahli, Britney, and a few others before recently).
Laurent pulled away and I headed up the walk to my building. The sensation of being watched caused the hairs on the back of my neck to stand up. I stopped on the front step and fumbled with the door, glancing around uneasily. No one was in sight, but I couldn't shake the feeling.
"Whatever," I told myself, opening the door and stepping through.