Chapter Text
"Thanks for coming down," ME Warner rounded the exam table while drawing back the sheet. Blake despised morgues. The overpowering stench of blood, urine, feces, and embalming fluids burned his nostrils. It never dissipated from his psyche, only strengthening with each trip to the morgue. His stomach turned knots, tormenting him with the subtle threat to expel his lunch right then and there. Warner subtly smirked at Blake who had been continuously growing a bit green around the gills. Norman, however, was standing closer to the gurney, studying the sickly gray that gathered around the borders of her lips and eyelids. The deprivation of oxygen rich blood from Death's kiss was the reason for this.
"So what did you find?" Blake asked, exhausted after achieving 6 hours of sleep in the last two days. Perhaps an IV of bitter dark goodness would stave off complete collapse.
"When I examined the x-rays from Martha Robertson, I discovered something that was initially overlooked as nothing."
Three photographs were attached to the light box on the north wall. Norman and Blake weren't sure what they were looking at. One was of the victim's upper chest. A second was a closer defined image of the left shoulder with the third one being of the right shoulder.
"Since I can see the glazed over look in both your eyes, I'll show you," Melinda tapped her index finger at the top where the Glenohumoral joint began. "I'll speak in layman's terms."
Her eyes locked with Blake's showing a glint of humor to which the cop narrowed his in return. Norman smirked not caring if he saw. Any opportunity a jab was launched at the great Carter Blake he basked in it no matter the magnitude.
"Here is where the shoulder joint is. This thick tissue here is the Subscapularis or one of the tendons for the Rotator cuff. Anyways, I noticed a series of stress lines which run in the direction of the muscle and tendon. This is only seen in two cases: When a person injures the Rotator cuff from sports or when a person has been put under a stress position. And this girl was held like that for extended periods of time because some nerve damage had occurred around the tendons and muscles."
"A stress position?" Blake raised an eyebrow.
"Yeah, it's a way to restrain someone." Norman squinted his eyes, seeing now the progression of tiny tears that scarred the young girl's body. The son of a bitch had tied her up! The fucking bastard had inflicted a degree of agony that caused the agent to grow nauseated in the pit of his stomach. He couldn't begin to comprehend how she must've felt, being restrained, unable to shift any piece of muscle for fearing another burning stretch that could be millimeters from turning into a fiery tear.
"More specifically in cases of torture." Melinda spoke what was looming on the minds of the cop and agent. "Military torture to be precise. I was part of a case where this was done on an Iraqi prisoner turned refugee which subsequently lead to his death. He gone into cardiac arrest and died. In many cases, the prolonged use of stress positioning leads to permanent nerve damage and gangrene due to the loss of function. It focuses on a few muscles, creating copious amounts of strain and pain when the victim attempts to shift or move."
"So you're saying whoever did this..."
"Has some knowledge of torture techniques. Now it's possible that your perp doesn't have military insight and went looking around on Google but the depth and precision of the marks tell me otherwise. But also there were some ligature marks on her wrists. What was used we don't know but there were some pinch marks or holes like a belt or restraining device."
"What about the other victims? Were they tortured like that?"
"I'm going to go back and reexamine the bodies we still have. Mary Kelley's grandmother arrived and claimed the body 48 hours ago and had her granddaughter cremated."
"Damn it! Well that's just great." Blake threw his hands in the air, conducting another famous outburst.
"There are other victims I can examine Lieutenant. There's no need to throw a fit. You might want to go back and talk to the attending doctors about your survivor. Have them reexamine any x-rays they obtained. When I find something you two will be the first I call."
"Thanks," Blake forced a gruff thank you as they left the ME to her grisly tasks.
Melinda couldn't but help to ponder how Agent Jayden put up with Blake's bullshit. He should've been kicked off his narrow pedestal a long time ago. Still, her job included dealing with asshole cops and federal agents but Agent Jayden had been easier to approach, willing to listen and didn't act like a two year old.
Shaking her head she resumed her examination.
The drive to the hospital was thick with silence.
Norman kept his focus on the passing cars and canyons of architecture that defined Downtown Philadelphia.
That bastard tormented her! Tied her up like livestock and made her suffer!
Thankfully she was home, safe with her brother. He hoped Ethan had not suspected anything though if he did question Alex he had an inkling she wouldn't lie but not tell the whole truth either. That was the thing about addicts, former and current: Old habits died hard. While she had been clean for years, Alex still knew how to circumvent words with action. But he knew not to underestimate Ethan either. He was fiercely protective of his sister and if he thought anything was afoul...
But the risk had been worth it.
The welcoming weight of her curvy frame pressed firmly to his as they lay on that couch perfectly entwined. The taste of her lips lingered on his lips, even now through shower, coffee, and food. His senses vividly recalled her scent, a brush of apple and cinnamon with a dash of earth. His skin was flush and tingled like miniscule sparks where her fingers had grazed along his torso. The glaze of lust that had captured them both nearly succeeded in pushing them over, to cross the line.
I didn't want it to end. She didn't either.
Perhaps despite their raging desires, it had been better for them to not take that next step; not yet at least. She was continuing to recuperate and that was of greater importance than the need to get laid at this moment. At least she was safe at her brother's.
Blake noticed the agent was deathly silent as they rode the elevator up in an unstable silence. So long as that prick wasn't running his mouth and pissing him off, Blake could've cared less as to what the source of this absence of nagging was.
Nature was only compounding the lieutenant's irritation with the next squall from the Appalachians. It had been back to back to back storms. Sunlight was about as abundant as clues in this case. Still, evidence that had been recovered had been close to immaculate in some instances; thanks to the cold blanket of soft flakes.
"Well, if it isn't Philly's finest." Dr. Benton crossed his arms over his chest, smirking as he was privy to the reason for this visit. His eyes shifted to Norman, lightening with a flint of respect. "Agent Jayden."
"Dr. Benton we're here to talk about any injuries that could've resulted from-"
"Physical restraint; right I know why you're here. Unlike the PD we do work with our respective partners and share information. We don't hold pissing contests." The blunt assessment caused another one of those rare smiles to crack the corner of the agent's lips. He knew there was a reason he liked this man.
"Do you have anything or not Doctor? We don't have all day for this." Blake attempted to ascertain his position and authority but Benton wasn't falling for it.
"From what I understand you do; seeing how you don't have shit for clues or leads right now you do have 'all day'."
The Alpha mentalities raged hard, each not prepared to yield to the other. Yielding meant submission and submission meant weakness.
"Doctor Benton," Norman calmly interjected. "Were there injuries consistent with the victims'?"
"Here," the taller man waved the pair on. "Let's go in Examination Room 3."
"As part of standard procedure we took a series of images of Ms. Koch's upper torso and lower torso. We focused on the shoulder/chest areas and found these," a chapped finger tapped the center of the scapula. "Looks like the same marks described by the ME. Looks like someone enjoys binding and tormenting."
"It just confirms what we feared," Norman was disgusted.
"And there were some marks on her wrists but they were pretty faint. Initially it was dismissed but now that this has come to light..."
"So our boy likes to nab, torture, and then kill them. Sick fucking bastard." As much as Blake loathed Alex she didn't deserve what the Ripper had done to her. None of those girls did.
"Well if you don't have anything else for me I need to tend to my rounds."
"Yeah, we'll call if we do," Blake nodded.
The parking lot was sparse as the sedan claimed the closest spot to the main entrance of the Philadelphia Veteran's Administration Hospital. Blake had been here once; when his uncle was recovering after shrapnel injuries acquired from an IED. It had gone through a few revisions and evolved since then; having branched out to include Women's Health and a larger presence for Mental Health thanks to PTSD becoming a rightfully prominent issue. His father had used the services after his stint in Vietnam but never spoke of what he saw, heard, smelled, tasted, or felt in the sticky paddies and choking flora of Southeast Asia. He never asked either.
Norman climbed out, letting Blake reminisce in solitude. He would catch up. They had an 11 AM appointment to speak to one of the administrators in Mental Health, a Dr. Henrik Zetterberg. The man was well versed and possessed a deep knowledge of torture tactics. His work had taken him to Europe after the collapse of the Soviet Union, the Middle East, Venezuela, and outreach work with Vietnam veterans who had been POWs. Hopefully he could shed some light on what they discovered.
He approached the receptionist whose nose was pointed downward at her screen. Her fingers were clicking effortlessly across the board, keying data into the system. She paused long enough to acknowledge the agent who was positioned a few inches from the desk.
"Good morning," he offered a polite smile. "I'm Agent Norman Jayden, FBI." He displayed his badge recalling the first time he arrived in Philadelphia. He should just wear it on the lanyard issued to him but it was smacking him in the face or choking him if it got caught on something.
"Oh yes, Dr. Zetterberg is expecting you. Have a seat and I will let him know you're here."
Norman quietly acquiesced, grown used to waiting and being put off intentional or not. The woman was older, middle aged with hair tightly coiled in a bun with narrow glasses that seemed out of place on her narrow nose. Her dress was consistent with administrative personnel but modern in regards to the pants in lieu of a skirt. Norman wasn't concerned if Blake made it or not. He wasn't one hundred percent certain the older cop was committed to this in the first place.
"Agent Jayden," a light Scandinavian accent ended the brief intermission.
Dr. Henrik Zetterberg was not what Norman was expecting. His mind had fabricated an illusion of a man with gray hair with wrinkles deep enough to be spotted from across the room. But that mirage had been shattered by the impressive statute of man towering over him. He had to be at least 6 feet in height with broad shoulders that were square with the floor. His hair was dark but sandy, clipped with a few short spikes that crowned the front. There were no wrinkles; well deep ones at least. A few hints of age trailed the corners of the piercing steel rings.
Norman detected an athletic frame that was concealed by khakis, crisp cobalt button up shirt with white t-shirt peeking through the v shaped corner at the top. He wasn't wearing any kind of coat but perhaps since this was an informal meeting and not a meeting with a patient it was cause to abstain from the "formalities."
"Dr. Zetterberg," the shorter man shot up from the chair gathering the folder he got from Dr. Benton. Norman was first to extend a hand and was as quickly reciprocated with a large searing embrace of the other's hand.
"Agent Jayden?" The accent clipped the last syllables of each word.
"Yes; thank you for taking the time to meet. You came highly recommended from Dr. Warner at the ME's office."
"Ah Melinda! Yes she is a great woman. We worked together on a few cases in our youth. But we aren't here to reminisce. You are here regarding those wretched murders."
"Yes," his shorter strides doubled to keep up with his longer ones. "You are an expert in injuries from torture."
"That is what they say," a ray of pride shined in his eyes.
"Well that's what we need."
Blake sprinted through the doors, coming to a screeching halt at the front reception desk.
"Did a federal agent come by here? We have a meeting with Dr. Zetterberg."
She arched an eyebrow at the cop then leaned over and to the right with a slender finger gesturing down the corridor. "If you hurry up you can catch them."
Blake raced that direction, determined to NOT let Jayden get the advantage a second time.
"This is very interesting," Zetterberg mused as he studied the paper thin film. "And these are from the young woman who survived?"
"Yes, that's right," Norman sat comfortably in the chair. Facing those haunting images ignited a dead chill down his spine.
"Oh where are my manners! I was about to help myself to coffee. Would you like a cup?"
"Uh yes please," coffee sounded heavenly. Zetterberg busied himself with dosing out two steamy cups. He passed one to Norman who politely thanked him. The agent timidly sipped the brew, noting the rich Arabica that embraced his senses. It was the thing he needed to expel that lingering chill.
"Now that hospitality has been resolved." The doctor shifted into professional mode. "I would concur with what Melinda theorized. Whoever did this knew what they were doing. Most who are what I would say 'amateurs' will tighten and re-tighten the bindings on their victims creating longer and shorter lacerations in the muscle. This person, this serial killer, was precise with the amount of strain that the upper body was burdened with."
Norman watched as the doctor rose and he was compelled to follow. His ears perked up at the arrival of Blake but blocked the cop's belated appearance from his mind.
"See here," Zetterberg tapped with his right index finger in sharp tempo, "the striations are short and even in length. These are the signs of a trained or experienced captor."
"So what are you saying Doc?" Blake abruptly interrupted. Their host was clearly perturbed by this display of rudeness as his eyes narrowed in a harsh reprimand. Blake tossed the heated glare aside, undeterred by it.
"What I am saying, Lieutenant, is that your killer has done this before. My expert opinion: He has military or government training. I state this as in my years of experience in working with POWs and those who were tormented by hostile governments or groups, if you were to put this x-ray in a lineup with other victims, you won't be able to differentiate between them. It would be as if you were looking at identical images."
Suddenly the coffee didn't taste as good as it had minutes prior to.
"Well that's just great! So this guy could have been a veteran or political prisoner from some goddamn country whose name we couldn't pronounce!"
"I said training Lieutenant; not a prisoner."
"How would one know how to apply such pressure to the shoulders and arms Doctor? Would it be possible to recreate the same motions if the killer had been a POW or political prisoner?" Norman's inquiry was open and civil.
"It is possible yes Agent Jayden."
"Unfortunately the Philadelphia Metro has thousands of veterans residing within its limits. But it does help. At least we know something more."
"My regrets in this not being the 'smoking gun' that law enforcement likes to uncover."
"What about the entire concept of torture? I thought the military didn't use such tactics."
Blake rolled his eyes but Norman was genuine in his assertion. Zetterberg felt a pang of sympathy for the younger man. He was a federal agent but oblivious to what his own government carried out behind closed doors and in dark or dimly lit rooms in out of the way warehouses or safe houses. Waterboarding, sleep deprivation, denying food, electrical charges sent through testicles, breasts, or nipples; all forms of 'interrogation' used all in the name of national security.
"Unfortunately Agent Jayden, many governments and military organizations continue to devise and implement procedures for 'interrogation' of the enemy. It's a nice way of saying torture."
Norman shook his head in disgust. Blake was unreadable.
"Well doc I wish I could say it's been more productive but-"
"Lieutenant Blake, I am a doctor; not a damn psychic. I suggest you go down to Central City for that."
"Blake what the hell is wrong with you!?" It was the Dr. Dupre's office all over again! Blake being the world's greatest asshole part two!
"All I'm saying is we aren't any further then where we were yesterday. We know what; that the guy is trained in torture. Hell! Anyone can learn that by reading a goddamn book or going on the internet."
"Dr. Zetterberg, I'm sorry for Lieutenant Blake's callousness. He seems to think everything should go his way every time."
Zetterberg shot up a hand effectively quieting the agent's excuses for the rude cop. "Agent Jayden, his temper tantrum is mild compared to what I have been exposed to in regards to the law enforcement world." The calm tone was disarming to Norman but something in the man's eyes said he was prepared to resolve this accordingly.
"We're wasting our time here." Blake stormed out with the attitude of a two year old. Norman shook his head, sick and tired of his antics. This was why he worked alone during the Origami Killer case; well for the majority of the time.
"Doctor, thank you for taking time out of your day to talk to us. While Lieutenant Blake is ungrateful, for me this is significant." He extended his hand to which Zetterberg clasped his larger warmer one around it. The exchange was firm with Norman learning there was power in that grip. "Again thank you."
"Any time Agent Jayden."
Alex couldn't shake it. The rising hairs on the back of her neck. Paralyzing cold that charged across nerve and muscle, keeping her momentarily frozen in place. Her pulse quickened out of instinct, increasing the amount of adrenaline streaming through her veins. The only audible sound was the hammering of her heart. The comforts of her apartment turned to liquid, streaming down the walls like wax off a candle.
"No," Alex's stomach knotted expelling bile up and into the back of her throat. The burning gelatinous thread was second thought as soft orange was digested by the emergence of sickly sea green that was splattered with random patterns of what she suspected was blood or entrails or perhaps both. Instruments were neatly lined up on the far right, gleaming in the dirty sheen of lighting. One in particular captured her attention. The scalpel, third from the right; resting peacefully alongside the clamps and homemade hand rake.
She was back there.
"LEAVE ME ALONE!" Her hands smothered her ears, clawing around the outer shells of her ears. Hair became caught in between her fingers, stressing and stretching the scalp.
SHUT UP YOU WHORE!
YOU BROUGHT THIS UPON YOURSELF!
RETRIBUTION IS NOW FOR I AM THE HAND OF GOD!
"No," she pressed her hands harder to her skull but it was futile in blocking out the hate filled rhetoric. She flung her head back, against the cushions of her couch, punching the rear of her skull into the plush polyester material. Teeth ground against teeth creating a painful friction as the rows of pearl clashed together. "No..."
"Please..."
YOU DESERVE NO MERCY! NO FORGIVENESS! THOU SHALT NOT SUFFER A WHORE!
"STOP!"
Alex's body hurled forward off the couch and against the coffee table. The solid oak held fast as the narrow cage of bone crushed into it. Her screams intensified in octave and volume but still, no one came. Instinctively she curled into the fetal position, protecting her torso from the invisible assailant. Her knees banged against the table, rattling the mug of tea that had cooled hours before. Why wasn't anyone coming to help her!? Couldn't they hear her screams?!
"SOMEONE PLEASE!" Her throat was hoarse, gravely as she pushed her voice to the limit; anything if someone would please help her.
YOUR SCREAMS WON'T HELP YOU!
"HHHHHHEEEEEEELLLLLLLLPPPPP!"
Tears streamed steadily along her cheeks and chin, showing no indication of slowing in their furious cadence. Alex was enveloped in a full blown panic attack with hyperventilation compounding her struggle. Hiccups alternating with hard heavy breaths as control slid through her fingers like fine grains of sand, threatening to cut off every breath she fought to take.
"NO! Stay away!" She whimpered.
The figure loomed overhead, the features distorted from the pricking in her vision. Her peripheral sight catching the right arm coming down and behind her. At the faintest touch she howled and recoiled, flattening along the side of the couch. She was petrified, locked in place as the faceless intruder continued encroaching until darkness surrounded.
Ethan rested his head along the edge of the bed, keeping his sister's hand protected with his. Dr. Teague was awaiting results of the MRI; hoping to rule out any trauma to her brain. Madison had ran to get them coffee as it was going to be a sleepless night. Alex had been heavily sedated with an IV line connected to her the opposite hand. Soft straps of leather and cloth were secured around her wrists; in the event she suffered another episode.
"Ethan," Norman was panting, leaning on the door.
"Agent Jayden," Ethan wiped his face with the back of his hand. "The officer found her on the floor. I-I went to grab her laundry for. It wasn't even 10 minutes I was gone."
"Don't blame yourself," the agent hurried in. "You couldn't have known this would happen."
"She's been through Hell. Hasn't she been through enough?!" He growled angrily but not at Norman. "Alex was doing good."
"I know she was," his voice sympathetic.
"Mr. Mars, Agent Jayden," Dr. Teague entered. "I have Alex's test results. The good news is she suffered no injuries as a result of this."
"But what's the bad news?" There was always bad news where the Mars family was concerned.
"Alex is showing signs of PTSD. She may not consciously recall what happened but her subconscious is another story. I'm putting a call to a specialist."
"What kind of specialist?" Norman frowned. His face darkened as did Ethan's.
"My sister isn't crazy."
"Mr. Mars, no one said she was. Alex needs help."
"Ethan," Norman felt his hands shaking but it wasn't the Triptocaine. "She only wants Alex to heal. I want that too and you do too."
She has to heal.
"For tonight we will keep her for observation then make a decision tomorrow. For now she will remain sedated."
Ethan numbly nodded and closed his eyes. Norman brought the chair up to the bed, taking position on the other side. He was ill, angry, and determined now more than ever to find that sick son of a bitch. For now he was resolved to keeping watch. Ethan was asleep, lightly snoring from the sound of it.
The agent linked his hand with hers, hoping she could sense he was there.
I hope you know I'm here. I wish I had been there, to protect you.
His stretched his left arm up and out, gently brushing his fingers over her cheek.
I'm NOT leaving until you're home. I NEED you Alex.
"I need you," he whispered faintly. "I realize that now."
The smart clicking of boots alerted Norman to Madison crossing the room. A sweet smile graced her lips as she caught the agent holding Alex's hand.
"Don't freak out on my account Agent Jayden," she placed the cups down on the stand. "I figured out something was up back when she was being discharged. But don't worry, I won't tell Ethan."
"Thanks," Norman sighed. "I know I shouldn't get so close but-"
"Hey," Madison waved a cup in offering. "You can't help how you feel about her. She does care about you."
Norman didn't want to let go but the coffee was a powerful pull. He nodded in thanks and took the to go cup. "I find my self feeling more for her each day. It was her eyes. They truly are the windows into her soul." He took a cautious sip. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to be so poetic."
"Oh no, I think it's touching. Alex deserves someone who will respect and care for her. You're a compassionate person and your sympathy and empathy run deep. I saw that when Shaun was missing. You risked your life to save him. You didn't give up on Ethan even when the world had turned its back on him."
The sudden warmth over his free hand took Norman aback.
"Don't give up on her. Don't let the chance slip away."
He swallowed the lump that had quickly swelled in his throat. The soft expression urged him on, encouraging him to follow what his heart was already telling him.
"I won't. But for any chance we have to find that bastard."
"Tell me what I can do and I will do all I can to help. Blake is a dick and fool. His arrogance nearly cost Shaun his life. I won't let that happen to Alex."
"Thank you Madison," he permitted a hopeful smile to appear.