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Post by CosmicCavalcade on Apr 9, 2012 1:41:26 GMT
My Soul To Keep- Part 6
When they arrived at the hotel again, it was as he'd feared. The clerk was no longer there. He quickly asked the manager for the clerks home address. The manager gave it to him and they were on their way, though he was very doubtful that they'd find him there.
*
Brackenreid kicked the door down to the clerks residence and found the place in disarray. There was no one there. They decided to examine the area anyways.
Crabtree went over to the far side of the room where there was a window overlooking the street below. After a few seconds he exclaimed, “Sirs, I think I see him just outside!”
All three of them sprinted back down the steps to the main floor and hurried back outside. There was a man carrying a large suitcase in the distance, moving rapidly and frequently checking behind himself. They started running after him. When he saw them, he dropped the suitcase and began sprinting as fast as he could. He started taking corners in an effort to lose them. Luckily for them, he wasn't in very good shape and quickly had to slow his pace. Therefore, before long, they had almost caught up to him, Crabtree in the lead as he was the most fit and Murdoch falling to the back as he was still not one hundred percent better. The clerk looked behind himself again and tripped over a crack in the sidewalk. He tumbled to the ground. He scrambled back to his feet and attempted to continue fleeing, but Crabtree leapt into the air and knocked him over. Crabtree remained sitting on his back (the clerk squirming frantically) until the other two caught up.
“What took you two so long?” he asked smiling.
*
In the interrogation room, the clerk (one David Blake) was sweating profusely under the accusing stare of Brackenreid, for he had insisted on conducting the interview himself. Even though Murdoch didn't think this was wise, (given the inspectors inability to control himself around David), he said nothing. Instead he watched silently through the glass outside with Crabtree beside him.
“Why did you do it?” Brackenreid snarled from across the room (he was far too riled up to sit). “What kind of sick bastard are you anyways?”
“As I've b-been trying to tell you, inspector,” said Blake nervously, “you've g-got the wrong m-man!”
“Oh really?” he shouted. “And why the bloody hell would I believe that? Why were you fleeing if you're so goddamn innocent!”
“I-I forgot until j-just recently that the young lady had been w-wearing gloves when she gave me the letter. I kn-knew what you'd th-think, so I decided to l-leave as soon as p-p-possible!”
“Really?” bellowed the inspector and making Blake flinch. “That's the best you've got! You seemed to remember what she looked like well enough! I find it hard to believe that you'd forget a detail like that! For all I know, you killed her and then pretended that she gave you the letter herself!”
“I swear it w-wasn't m-me!” he yelped.
“I've had enough of your bloody lies!” he yelled. Brackenreid charged across the room and grabbed him by the throat. “Tell me the truth!”
Murdoch and Crabtree rushed into the room and tried to pull the inspector off Blake. Even with their combined strength, it was quite the struggle. Finally they succeeded before Blake passed out from lack of oxygen. Nevertheless, he collapsed in a heap on the floor and started coughing loudly. When he had regained his breath, he began crying instead. This had the effect of enraging Brackenreid again and Murdoch hollered for help in controlling the inspector. A third constable came in and together they dragged him out of the interrogation room. Crabtree closed the door on the way out so Blake's sobbing wouldn't bother Brackenreid anymore. Eventually he calmed down enough and they were able to release him. He shrugged their hands off him and stormed off.
“What do you think, sir?” asked Crabtree. “Do you think it's him?”
“I don't know, George. He's not what I imagined he would be like.”
“That makes two of us, sir. So now what do we do?”
Murdoch was silent for a moment and then said, “There's an easy way to determine if Blake is indeed our man.”
“What's that?”
“All we have to do is compare his writing to the killers. If they don't match, he's not our man.”
*
Murdoch entered the room with a paper and pen. Blake looked up from his spot on the floor and jumped to his feet.
“Finally!” he exclaimed. “Someone I can reason with! Your inspector is insane!”
“Please take a seat, Mr. Blake.”
He did as he was told and stared at Murdoch expectantly. The detective sat down and laid the pen and paper before him.
“If you are indeed telling the truth,” he said, “then your writing shouldn't match that of the killers.”
Blake grabbed the pen and began scribbling furiously.
“Please stop, Mr. Blake,” said Murdoch. “I didn't tell you what to write yet.”
“Oh, I'm sorry,” he said. “I didn't realize. What do you want me to write?”
“I want you to write out the following words: job, detective, afraid, game, up, bucko, things and interesting.”
Blake glanced up for a second and then wrote out the words, asking him to repeat a few of them that he had forgotten.
Murdoch picked up the piece of paper, rose from his chair and said, “Thank you, Mr. Blake. I need to compare this to the letter and then I will be back with my findings. I hope for your sake that they don't match.”
*
Before he went to the inspector with his findings, he wanted to check something that he should have checked earlier. He contacted the Gladstone hotel and asked someone to check all the guests names for room nine from the last two weeks. The first victim's name was among them. So he had been telling some kind of truth then, she had at least stayed there.
*
“It's not him, sir,” said Murdoch.
Brackenreid scowled at him and shouted, “What do you mean? Of course it's him, he's a goddamn wanker! Don't tell me, you believe his story, Murdoch?”
“I'm afraid that I do, sir.”
“And why the bloody hell is that?”
“His writing doesn't match the killers.”
“He changed it,” yelled the inspector, “that's all! He just wrote the letters differently!”
“You don't understand, sir. His writing is vastly different than the letters. There aren't any similar characteristics between them. It's extremely hard to change ones writing that much.”
“Explain.” he said grumpily.
“We're so in-tuned to a specific way of handling a writing instrument - for instance, the weight we put on it and the angle that we use - that it would be virtually impossible for him to fake it that much. We subconsciously use the above mentioned things, whether we mean to or not.”
“He could be a master forger. He's skilled enough at other things.”
“I don't think this is the case, though, sir. Furthermore, if he really is the killer, why then, all of a sudden, is he making mistakes? Surely if he had been planning this for a long time, he would have left much more quickly than he did, and he definitely wouldn't have gone to a location that he knew he could be discovered in easily. Besides which, we haven't finished playing the game yet.”
“He's killed countless people and you think that everything he does is going to make perfect sense? You expect this lunatic to behave rationally, Murdoch?”
“In so far as much as this game goes, I do.”
“I don't care what you think, Murdoch, I'm not releasing him!”
“We have no evidence to hold him though, sir.”
“He knew what the first victim looked like for crying out loud!”
“Yes, but she was staying there. I just checked, so there's no doubt about it. She could have been wearing gloves, like he says.”
“Fine!” he yelled. “But I'm putting someone on him to make sure that he doesn't go disappearing on us.”
“I'd expect nothing less, sir. If you hadn't suggested it, I would have.”
*
“You're free to go.” said Murdoch
Blake looked elated at the news. “Oh thank you, detective! I knew I could count on you!”
“If you're smart, you won't go trying to run away again. That was a foolish thing to do.”
“I know, I know,” he responded, shaking his head. “What can I say? I freaked out.”
Murdoch escorted him to the station house entrance. All the constables were eyeing him savagely, like they'd like nothing better than to rip his throat out. He was afraid that one of them might actually do it. They had been stretched to the breaking point this week and they still hadn't found the culprit. It was only a matter of time before someone snapped. Maybe he would have been better off in jail, after all?
*
While all of this had been going down, the rest of the constabulary had been continuing the search through whatever records they could get their hands on. So far, the trail had extended all the way down to Miami, reaching back about eight years. However, the killer had been just as good then as he was now and so hadn't made any mistakes and been suspected of any crimes yet. Therefore there were no names or sketches with which to compare to anyone currently in Toronto.
Having hit another dead end, it was time to resume the game. Murdoch needed to contact the French police. Luckily for him, he was fluent in their language, or things would have been much more difficult.
*
“I've just received a telegram back,” he said as he entered his bosses office.
“And what do they have to say?” asked Brackenreid.
“That address is the location of a residence, sir, a mansion, in fact.”
“How does this help us at all?”
“I asked the police to contact the current residents and get the history of the place from them.”
“What did they say?”
“Apparently there was a horrible fire there about twenty years ago. Most of the building was destroyed. It's since been rebuilt.”
“Get to the point, Murdoch.”
“Of course, sir,” he said. “Almost the whole household was killed, a total of nine people.”
Brackenreid raised his eyebrows and said, “You don't think-”
“That's exactly what I think, sir.” He smiled and said, “There was only one survivor, the eldest son. His name was Gabriel Langlois. Now I just need to contact his surviving relatives and ask them to send me a picture of him. We'll be able to decode it like the last one we received from Paris. It'll take some time but then we'll finally have a face to go along with the name.”
Brackenreid had listened silently this whole time but by the end of Murdoch's little speech, he spoke up. “Something's not right, here, Murdoch. Why would he point directly to himself? Why would he want to get caught?"
“I thought about that as well, sir. I believe that he didn't realize it would be possible to positively identify himself with an actual picture.”
The inspector thought about that for a moment and then shook his head saying, “No, that's not right. You said it yourself. He's too smart to make mistakes like that. Something else is going on here.”
“What do you think, sir?" he asked politely. "That the fire destroyed all pictures of him? Surely his relatives would have at least one of them somewhere. Or do you think that he's changed his name since and so we still won't be able to identify him short of finding him face to face? Or do you think Monsieur Langlois, isn't him at all?”
“I don't know, Murdoch, I just don't know but somethings off."
TBC
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Post by barbarama on Apr 9, 2012 15:56:54 GMT
I don't know where this is going but it is captivating!!! However now I wonder about the title of your fanfic, why is it call that way? Very good work though!!!
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Post by CosmicCavalcade on Apr 10, 2012 1:38:10 GMT
^^the short answer is, i had to call it something. I had the whole idea with the soul magnet thing and then this title just seemed to go hand in hand with that. However, that storyline didn't play out too well (or at all), so it doesn't really work past the second part. In any case, i think it's an interesting title and so doesn't really need to work. ;D Anyways, thanks for all the words of encouragement. Here's the next part. I might even post two of them today.  |
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Post by CosmicCavalcade on Apr 10, 2012 1:55:13 GMT
Part 7
It had been surprisingly easy to track down Monsieur Langlois's relatives, and they had agreed to send Murdoch a picture of their cousin via the code that Murdoch had devised about a year ago. It was being transmitted as they spoke. Once it came in, all they'd have to do was paint in the corresponding shades to each sector. He helped Crabtree and Higgins prepare the big white board up properly so that they'd be able to start as soon as the transmission was finished coming through. Then it would be many grueling hours of filling in minuscule squares, but by the end of it, they'd finally know the killers face. At least, he hoped they would. There was still the possibility that Monsieur Langlois was not their man and that this was just going to lead to some other person they'd have to try and track down; like there were a never ending cascade of clues. But he couldn't believe this; didn't want to believe this. There had to be an end in sight, there just had to be.
*
While Crabtree and Higgins began painting in the squares, Murdoch decided to pay another visit to the morgue so that he could fill Julia in on their progress with the case. When he entered the building, he came face to face with Emily.
She smirked at him and said, “She's all yours, detective. We haven't had much to do recently, so I decided to go home early today. I thought that I deserved the break. You better hurry though because I think she was planning on leaving soon herself.”
She walked away without waiting for a response. He took her advice and advanced into the main room rapidly. Most of the bodies had been removed, and as a result, he could breathe freely for the first time there since his return from the Yukon. He quickly spotted Julia at her desk reading a book. At least, she was trying to, but her eyes kept drooping and as a result the book was beginning to fall out of her hand. When it hit the ground, with a resounding thud, she was instantly awakened. It was at this point that she noticed Murdoch. Smiling sleepily, she stood up and went over to him.
“Detective,” she mumbled, “please tell me that there aren't any more bodies.”
“As far as I know, doctor, there aren't.”
“So then, how can I help you right now?”
“Oh,” he said smiling, “I just wanted to inform you that I believe we are very close to catching the killer.”
All her sleepiness vanished and she said, “Really? Why that's wonderful news! Do you know his name?”
“Gabriel Langlois.”
“A French man? I would never have guessed.”
“Me neither. For whatever reason, most of these psychopaths seem to originate in London. It must have something to do with the condition of the area. Maybe the rampant poverty just brings out the worst in people there, more so than anywhere else.”
“Maybe,” she said. It was silent for a moment and then with eyes averted, “William, I have to tell you something. I've been meaning to for awhile but just haven't gotten around to it.”
He didn't like where this was going, her tone was not cheerful.
All he said was, “Oh? What is it, Julia?”
“After this case is over, I'm going to be leaving.” His heart lurched horribly at her words. “Don't worry though, Dr. Grace is more than capable of taking over for me.”
He couldn't find the right words, so all he said was, “Why?”
Still not looking at him she said, “You know why. We made our decisions, William. It's not appropriate for me to be working so closely with you anymore. I had hoped to be re-situated before you got back but unfortunately that didn't quite work out as planned. And then this case hit and I had to help Dr. Grace out, so my leaving was forestalled even longer. But if it is as you say, and the case is almost closed, then I will be going as soon as it is.”
Again, virtually speechless, he said, “Don't go.”
She looked up now, for the first time, and caught his eye. He would wonder later if what happened next was mostly the result of their extreme tiredness from working this case. Maybe it had caused their fuses to be much shorter than usual, for they usually held their emotions in much better than that.
She appeared intrigued by his words for the briefest of moments and then said furiously, “How can you ask me that, William? You have no right to! You're the one who didn't come! You had all the power to stop me but you didn't! You made your choice and I made mine and that's all there is to say about that!”
Now it was his turn to get angry and accusatory. How could she be so unfair to him?
“I'm not the one who ran off to Buffalo after dropping a huge bombshell on your head! You didn't give me a chance to collect my thoughts! You just up and left! I was going to propose and you didn't give me a chance to! You went and got engaged immediately to the next man who paid you the slightest amount of attention! How could you do it, Julia! You can't possibly love him!”
“How dare you!” she shrieked. “You can't possibly know what I feel! You're the most emotionally closed off person that I've ever met! What do you know about love?”
The next thing he knew, they were in each others arms, mashing lips together furiously and breathing heavily. He put his hand on her left breast and squeezed it playfully. “Oh, William,” she moaned as he began necking her rapidly but softly. Then he began unbuttoning her blouse and-
“Well!” she screamed, “Are you going to answer me? Or are you just going to stand there with a stupid grin on your face?”
He was so confused with what was going on that he didn't respond.
“That's what I thought!”
Then she stormed out of the morgue leaving him completely baffled.
*
Seven hours later, they were three quarters of the way finished painting the image. It had gone much faster than the last time because Crabtree and Higgins had a much better idea of what they were doing. As well, Murdoch had helped them when he came back from the morgue. It would have been even faster than this but Higgins had to be removed at hour five. He had almost passed out from standing so long (which was only an issue since he hadn't slept in several days) and he almost ruined the image with a massive brush stroke. If he had, they would have had to have started all over again. Luckily, Crabtree had noticed in time and pulled him away from the picture before it was too late. Higgins was now sleeping soundly at his desk.
Now all that remained was the mouth; then they would finally be done. After another hour they were. They took a moment to stretch out their limbs and rub their eyes and then retreated a few steps back to admire their handiwork and get a better look at it (it was hard to see any particular detail when they had been standing so close to it for so long; all those greys and blacks just blended together into one big mass).
Crabtree and Murdoch gazed at it for a few seconds and then their jaws dropped. They stared at the image in horror. Right then Brackenreid came in to see how they were getting along. He took one look at them and then turned his attention to the picture. His jaw dropped as well. “Bloody hell,” he said weakly. “It's Darcy.”
*
Murdoch jumped on his bike and began peddling furiously in the direction of the Garland residence (of course, as he had previously learned, this wasn't the proper name for it). Brackenreid had started to inform the station about the current situation. While he had been doing this, Murdoch had looked up the address, for he had never been there before. When things began to get hectic, he slunk out the back. They eventually noticed his absence as they had had a feeling that he might try to do something stupid and so had tried to keep a close eye on him. Unfortunately, they had failed. And so it was, that Crabtree had hopped onto his own bike and was chasing after him, leaving Brackenreid behind to organize the fire (and man) power issue as quickly as possible, before Murdoch walked right into a trap.
At eleven minutes to midnight, he arrived. He had pedaled so hard that he was severely winded by the time he dumped his bike on the grass at the front of their house. He would have taken a moment to catch his breath except he knew Crabtree was likely behind him, maybe by only a matter of seconds. So he staggered on forwards toward the entrance, clutching his side where a painful stitch had just begun.
When he reached the door, there was a familiar looking envelope taped there. He tore it open and struggled to read what it said in the moonlight.
'Meet me in the barn. Come alone or she dies.'
He looked around in all directions and eventually discerned it in the distance, to the west, at about half a mile from his current location. After tearing the note up, he hurried back to his bike as quickly as he could, and with a great determination of will, forced himself to start peddling vigorously again, even though the effort caused his lungs (and limbs) to sear painfully.
Within a short while, he dropped his bike in front of the barn, pulled out his gun (the one smart thing he had done so far), opened the door and walked inside.
*
It was much more brightly lit than he was expecting, so much so, that he was temporarily blinded after squinting in the moonlight for so long. The source of this illumination was a row of lanterns hanging on either side of the barn's structure. This only had his attention for a split second before it was wholly diverted to the scene in the center of the barn. All of his exhaustion just washed away at the sight. Julia was sitting in a high back wooden chair, hands in her lap and staring directly ahead, at him. Strangely, she didn't make the slightest sound at his arrival. In fact, she didn't even appear to register his existence.
Murdoch began to go to her when a voice said, “Not so fast, detective. I'd like you to stay where you are, please.”
He swiveled towards the sound, aiming his gun as he did so. Darcy emerged from behind a large beam and started to walk over to Julia. Apparently he was completely unarmed.
“You stay away from her, you monster!” he shouted. When Darcy didn't listen, he yelled, “I'll shoot you right now if you keep moving!”
This made him stop. Darcy cocked his head in his direction, smirked and said, “I wouldn't do that if I were you, detective.”
Then he continued moving until he was standing directly behind Julia. He gripped the top of the seat and stared at Murdoch.
“What did you do to her?” screamed Murdoch.
“Oh, don't worry, detective, it's nothing that can't be undone.” Here he smirked at him again and said, “Provided nothing happens to me, that is. I'd appreciate it if you'd lower your weapon now. I hate having a gun pointed in my face. It makes me angry. And you don't want me to get angry.”
Murdoch had no idea what would happen if he did as Darcy said but was more afraid of what would happen if he didn't, so he complied.
“You might as well go ahead and holster it. You won't be needing it.”
Again, he did as he was told.
“Good boy,” Darcy said, mockingly. Then in a more civilized tone said, “I bet you're wondering why you're here.” Murdoch didn't respond but he continued as if he had. “It's quite simple really. We're going to finish our game now. But first, I believe a short history lesson is in order.
“You see, detective, I wasn't always this way. No, I was a good little French boy at one point. Unfortunately, my daddy went and killed my mommy right in front of me, and that didn't seem to agree with me too well for some reason.” He smiled widely here. “Of course, he didn't see me, or he would have finished me off right then and there.
“Strangely, ever since that moment, I hated everything about him. And since he was a French man,-my mother being a bilingual American- I wanted to learn English and rid myself of the disgusting accent as fast as I could. It pained me greatly that this task took so many years of my life to accomplish. Happily, I eventually succeeded.
“When I turned twenty-one I started a fire in our house. Everyone died. As a consequence, I inherited all the money. Don't worry, I made sure to torture the bastard a bit before I set the blaze. I knew exactly how to maximize his pain as I had purposely studied human anatomy in college for that very reason.
“Then I left home, with our entire fortune and began traveling the world. Everything was so boring though, so I made it interesting. People didn't seem to appreciate what I was doing and as a result I was almost caught a few times. So I wised up and learned to be more discreet in my actions. As well, every place I went to, that I was planning on killing in, I would first get married. For who would suspect the well adjusted husband as the serial killer that was terrorizing the area. No one.
“Of course, once I was done with that place, I had no need for my new blushing bride. So I'd arrange for an accident to befall her. Then after an appropriate grieving period, I would move on to another location. I'd stay in this place for a year or so to cool down before I'd move on to the next place, and change my identity. It's a simple matter when you're as rich as I am. Then I'd start all over.
“None of the detectives anywhere in Europe were any fun though, so I traveled to America, where my dear old mom had come from. To my dismay, they were just as dimwitted as all the other ones. I made my way up the continent, until I heard of a promising challenge. You.
“You had successfully taken down a serial killer by the name of Harland Orgill. I thought, if you could catch him, maybe you'd be fun to play with. I decided to give you some time to regain your wits so that you'd be in tip-top form. In the meantime, I had some fun in Philadelphia. My next stop was Buffalo.
“During my cooling off period, I took a job as a doctor at the Children's hospital because I love children so much. And no, detective, not in that way. Children are the only innocents in life, that is, before they are traumatized. I could relate to all these poor kids; having to deal with death at such a young age is difficult. I offered what counsel I could.
“I hadn't been there for long before Julia showed up. We got to talking one day, about you, or rather a case you had recently solved, and to my amazement, it turned out that this woman actually knew you, had even worked with you for years. And I suspected, had loved you for years.
“I couldn't believe my luck. I immediately began wooing her. It was a simple matter. She was heartbroken over you, poor thing. Soon we were engaged. It was only a matter of time before she'd want to introduce me to her family. Then I would be in Toronto, where you were.
“Once she was there, I knew it would be easy enough to get her to stay. She clearly missed you too much not to do so. After the wedding, I was going to commence the festivities. However, I learned soon enough that you had left. This in itself didn't bother me too much, no, it was the fact that you stayed away so long that did. That was a terribly trying time for me. I was afraid that I would lose my patience and take my anger out on my darling wife.” He stroked her cheek a few times. “Luckily for you, I didn't, or we wouldn't be here right now.
“Finally, you returned. I had been keeping tabs on your movements so I could be sure to start as soon as you got back. I began making preparations again. The night before you went back to work, I started the game. It wasn't until the next evening I learned from Julia that you had taken ill. I was very distraught by this occurrence. After waiting all this time, you almost ruined everything. For where was the fun if you were no where to be found?
“Once I start killing, I find it hard to stop. That is, until I reach the number nine. Must have something to do with the fire. So I continued with the game, hoping for you to return before the end. Thankfully, you obliged me. If you hadn't, I'm sure no one would have figured it out and the game would have ended before it had a chance to begin
“You had a certain time limit to solve my identity. If you hadn't figured it out by then, I would know that you hadn't been trying hard enough. And I hate slackers. In that event, I was just going to kill Julia outright. You've actually already exceeded that time limit. However, being the fair minded man that I am, I decided to give you a little longer because you had been sick for so long. Who knows? Maybe the illness had dulled your mind. I didn't want to win that way.
“So here we are, detective. Let the final round commence. You now have a choice before you.” He smiled mischievously and said, “You can either take me in. Or you can let me leave right now and learn how to undo what I've done to your beloved Julia.”
TBC
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Post by barbarama on Apr 10, 2012 3:00:46 GMT
Now that is what I called a cliffhanger!!!  |
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Post by CosmicCavalcade on Apr 10, 2012 3:38:54 GMT
Part 8
Murdoch didn't know what to say or do, so all he did was gawk at Darcy.
His smile widened and he said, “I see I've left you quite speechless, detective. I tend to have that effect on people.”
Finally he found his voice. “How are you going to tell me if you're gone?” Murdoch asked.
“I'll contact you by telephone.”
“Why would I trust you?” he cried.
“I assure you, detective, I will. You have my word.”
“What good is that?” he yelled. “You're a serial killer for crying out loud!”
“I'm hurt at your lack of faith,” Darcy said smirking. “Oh, I suppose I can explain the situation a little more for you, so that you can make a more informed decision. You see, detective, right now, Julia is deeply hypnotized; another skill I picked up on my travels. If she is physically forced out of it, she will lose her entire memory. The only way you can make her return to normal is if I speak a specific phrase. I'm afraid that the only place in which that lies is here.” He tapped the side of his head. “So you really don't want to kill me.”
“I can just force you to speak the phrase now and then take you in!”
“No, you can't, detective. I'll never tell.” He said the last in a sing-song voice.
“Don't be so sure about that!”
Murdoch started to charge at him, when Darcy retrieved a hidden dagger from his sleeve and placed the point of the blade against his own temple. He stopped in his tracks.
“I did tell you to stay right there, detective. Maybe this will help give you incentive.”
He's completely and utterly insane!
“The whole things a big lie!” he shouted. “She can probably be snapped out of it without your damn phrase! And I highly doubt she'd lose her entire memory!”
“Are you willing to take that risk, detective? By all means, try to wake her up.”
Still with the blade pressed to his skull, he stepped back a ways from Julia, as if making way for Murdoch. He didn't move though.
“That's what I thought. So what will it be, detective? Should I stay or should I go?” Then he returned to where Julia was and replaced the blade into its hiding spot. Several minutes passed in a silent matter. “Time is ticking by, detective and I'm getting awfully bored. You better hope the calvary doesn't find us before you reach a decision. You never know what might happen to me once they do.” Another minute passed by in silence. “Okay, detective, I really must insist that you make up your mind right now. Otherwise I'll just leave and not call you.”
“You know I can't let you go!” Murdoch exclaimed.
“Is that your decision then? You're going to take me in?”
“Yes!” he screamed and then collapsed to the ground, head in hands and began to sob.
“Now, now, detective, it's not as bad as all that. I'm the one who should be disappointed.”
Murdoch looked up to see Darcy smiling again. He was so infuriated by this that he jumped up, ran over to him and tackled him to the ground. Then he began punching him in the face. He made no effort to defend himself.
“Tell me what it is, you bastard!”
In response, Darcy began to laugh. This was the scene in which the others finally found them.
*
Crabtree pulled Murdoch off of him and Brackenreid handcuffed Darcy soon after; who had turned mute, with blood dripping into his eyes. Murdoch had a bad sense of deja vu when he saw this. The other constables remained at the entrance to the barn, with guns at the ready, just in case.
“What's wrong with the doctor, sir?” asked Crabtree.
He went over to examine her more closely. He was about to start shaking her when Murdoch finally came to his senses. “Stop, George!”
Crabtree looked up and gave him a puzzled expression. “Why, what's the matter, sir?”
“She's been hypnotized! She can't be forced out of it or she could lose her entire memory!”
Brackenreid and Crabtree shared a look.
“You don't really believe that, do you, me old mucker?” Brackenreid asked gently.
“No, of course not!” he exclaimed, “but I can't risk it. I know very little about hypnosis. I never thought it was even real but clearly it is!”
“So how do we get her out of it safely, sir?” inquired Crabtree.
“He has to speak a certain phrase and then she'll be fine.”
“Is that so?” muttered Brackenreid. Then he boxed Darcy in the ear. “Well, what is it then, you piece of garbage?” Darcy refused to respond, so he punched him again. “Come on now, I'm not in the mood to be trifled with.”
“There's no point, sir,” said Murdoch despairingly. “He's not going to tell you. He gave me a choice. And I took the moral one.”
Would he be forever repenting his one sin?
Then he remembered something. “Sir, he's got a dagger in his sleeve!” It had completely escaped his mind until then.
It was too late, by the time Brackenreid tried to get it from him, Darcy already had it in his hand. He slashed the inner side of his left thigh, severing a major artery. The crimson dagger fell out of his hand and then he followed it to the ground. Murdoch's blood ran cold as he watched him bleed out rapidly.
“You have to do something!” he screamed frantically, as he rushed over to where he lay.
Murdoch took off his jacket and ripped off the sleeve. He then wrapped it above the injury, trying to make a tourniquet. It didn't work very well though because the cut was too high up on the limb and he had already lost a large amount of blood. So he grabbed the rest of his jacket, wadded it up and pressed it firmly against the wound. It was quickly getting soaked in blood.
“What's the phrase?” he yelled. “Tell me!”
Darcy looked at him one last time, eyes full of amusement. He died with a smile on his lips.
“Nooooooooooo!!!!”
*
For the first time now, Murdoch went over to her. He knelt down and took her hands in his. They were as limp as spaghetti and her eyes were vacant and unseeing. The sight of her up close like this, made him tear up. Then he put his head in her lap and began to sob again. The others averted their gaze. They gave him a few minutes and then Crabtree came over and tried to get him to leave.
“We can't do anything for her right now, sir,” he said.
“I'm not going anywhere, George!” Murdoch said stubbornly.
“Okay, Murdoch,” said Brackenreid, “you can stay here with Crabtree. The rest of us will escort this psychopathic bastard's body back to the precinct.”
Before they left, he thought of something. “Sir,” said Murdoch, “could you send a doctor out here?”
He was clinging on to the hope that Darcy had been lying and it was something else altogether that was ailing Julia. Something that could be fixed with more conventional means.
“Of course,” responded Brackenreid softly, “whatever you need, me old mucker.”
*
The doctor finished examining Julia and then began to fill Murdoch in on his findings.
“Her pupils are unresponsive and her breathing is quite slow but other than that, there doesn't appear to be anything wrong with her. It's almost like she's in a coma. You say that she was hypnotized?”
“That's correct, sir,” replied Murdoch. He had regained a measure of dignity in the interim between Brackenreid leaving and the doctor arriving.
“Fascinating.”
Murdoch didn't think so but he refrained from striking the man. Crabtree could tell that Murdoch wasn't very happy with this comment and decided to keep the conversation going in order to avoid a scuffle.
“Sir,” he said, “What can you do for her? Will she actually lose her memory if we forced her out of it?”
“As to that, young man, I have no idea. I've never dealt with a hypnotized patient before. What you need is a specialist. A psychiatrist or a mystic or something. I'm afraid I can't be of any more help here. I would however, be willing to test her more, back at my practice. I can't run any blood tests or anything out here. For all we know, she could be suffering from a paralytic of some sort.”
“You can't move her,” said Murdoch. “I don't know what will happen if you try to.”
“I'm sorry, detective but I really must insist on this. We can't just leave her out here!”
Murdoch looked so dangerous that the doctor quailed under his stare.
“Fine, have it your way, sir, but know that this is against doctors orders.”
*
Crabtree wouldn't leave him and Murdoch wouldn't leave her, so they all remained in the barn until morning. Crabtree had climbed up into the loft to sleep on the hay, he was snoring soundly. Murdoch had remained by Julia's side, head in her lap, and was eventually lulled into a half slumber.
For once he had a dreamless sleep, something that he was extremely grateful for. Unfortunately, when he awoke, it was to a recurring nightmare; the situation was very much the same as it had been the night before. On top of this, he was very stiff and sore from kneeling in that position for so many hours. With great effort, he stood up and began stretching out his limbs. Suddenly his back spasmed (something he attributed just as much from being on his feet for so many hours, as much as being hunched over), and he fell over and on to his side roughly. He stayed in that position for several seconds until the pain subsided. When he was about to get back up, he noticed something under the seat of the chair. It was another envelope!
He eagerly reached under and ripped it free from the tape. Still on the ground, he opened it up and read what it said. A huge smile crossed his face.
*
'Detective,
Why did I write this, you may ask? Think of it as my backup plan. You see, I have known that I was dieing for the last couple of years. I decided to have one last hurrah before the end. You appeared to be my best bet. And you didn't disappoint. I'm sure that I went out with a bang. So thank you for that. As well, I figured someone should learn my story before I was gone. It would have been a tragedy if no one ever knew. Again, you seemed to be a good candidate. So thank you for listening to my tale of woe.
As to the hypnosis issue, I imagine you'll be pleased to learn that there is still a solution to that. Several days ago, I broke into your office and left a recording of the phrase on that nifty little device of yours. Now all you have to do is play it back for her and she'll be right as rain. I was never going to leave you hanging, detective. I'm not a complete monster. If you had let me go, I would have called you to tell you the same thing. And now, I assume you'll be rushing back to the station house so that you can save your beloved Julia. I won't keep you any longer.'
GL
TBC
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Post by CosmicCavalcade on Apr 10, 2012 15:36:07 GMT
Part 9 After he had brought Julia out of her comatose state, she had been extremely bewildered, as was to be expected. The last thing she could recall was coming home from work and going to bed early. Murdoch dreaded having to inform her that not only was her husband dead, by his own hand no less, but that he had been possibly the most devious and successful serial killer in the history of the world. Well, he wouldn't phrase it quite like that when he did eventually tell her. Murdoch would never know if Julia had really been in any danger of losing her memories. Or if his illness had actually helped to prevent her premature death. And for that matter, what had caused his illness in the first place. Was it the hand of God? Intervening on his behalf so that they could finally be together? Or something far more earthbound? And in the end, it didn't matter. What mattered was that she was back to normal again, alive and well and safe from yet another deranged serial killer. He hoped that she would never have to deal with another one for as long as she lived. The same thing went for him. They were utterly exhausting. He weeped for the future of humanity if this was what lay ahead in ever increasing numbers. So it looked like Dr. Grace had been right all along. He had wanted to be caught. But this time it had been for a different reason. This time he had had more of a practical reasoning for it, if practical was the right word. Darcy's story had affected him far more than he was expecting. It was easy to draw certain parallels between their lives. For a long time, he had thought his own father had killed his mother. However, he hadn't turned into a killer because of this. Who knows though? Things could have been very different.... Epilogue “So tell me, Julia, are you willing to try this one last time?” “That depends, William, what on earth are you talking about?” They smiled at each other and then held hands as they strolled through the park. It was a glorious day. Not because the weather was particularly nice (in fact it was quite gloomy out) but rather because they were there together, about to resume their journey once more (and he prayed, for the last time). He couldn't wait to get started. The End Thanks so much for reading! Here's a special shout out to Barbarama: 'You rock!'  If i hadn't been egged on quite so much by you, i definitely wouldn't have finished this quite so quickly. That being said, I'm rather tired now and so it'll be a long time before i write another one (if indeed i ever do). We shall see. PS: i didn't plan for there to be 9 parts, there just were. I think it was meant to be. ;D |
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Post by barbarama on Apr 10, 2012 16:16:07 GMT
Thank you so much.  I really enjoyed reading your story and whenever you will start another one please let me know. I think you could also post it on the fanfiction.net website if you want, there is already a board with Murdoch's fanfics and people there are really nice and supportive same as this board actually and they can give you ideas for your next story or something else for that matter. Take care!!!! |
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Post by CosmicCavalcade on Apr 10, 2012 20:40:31 GMT
You are most welcome! It was a blast to write. sure thing! I might just do that.  you too! |
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Post by mrsbrisby on Nov 23, 2013 22:26:05 GMT
I know it has been some time since you wrote this, but being new I just ran across it. It is very good, very entertaining and lots of fun. Besides, William and Julia are together in this scenario. If only it were true. These two need to get on with it.
Thanks for a great read.
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Post by snacky on May 15, 2014 5:25:38 GMT
haha, I think I received a rather pointed hint to comment on existing fanfic instead of just complaining about the general lack of it. First, I love the idea of making Darcy a villain in fanfic. In fact, I kind of wish he had gone all the way and not been so generous as to give William a solution. William himself would have gotten a lot more satisfaction from out-thinking Darcy. There is one thing that totally throws me out of this story, though - using last names. Even if it's in third-person, when each character thinks of themselves, it should be in first person. There's also a major inconsistency toward the end since "Darcy" is the first name. (Garland is his last name). Anyway, the use of last names made it hard for me to identify with the characters. There is some real potential for humor here if the nun chased William down to his place of work. More nookie! But above all, thanks for the fanfic in the first place. |
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Post by CosmicCavalcade on Jun 5, 2014 20:07:42 GMT
First, I love the idea of making Darcy a villain in fanfic. In fact, I kind of wish he had gone all the way and not been so generous as to give William a solution. William himself would have gotten a lot more satisfaction from out-thinking Darcy. There is one thing that totally throws me out of this story, though - using last names. Even if it's in third-person, when each character thinks of themselves, it should be in first person. There's also a major inconsistency toward the end since "Darcy" is the first name. (Garland is his last name). Anyway, the use of last names made it hard for me to identify with the characters. There is some real potential for humor here if the nun chased William down to his place of work. More nookie! But above all, thanks for the fanfic in the first place. Yeah I would tend to agree with you. It does come across as too simple I suppose. It probably would have been better (especially the whole random soul magnet thing that didn't amount to anything) if I had taken more than a week or two to plan and write it.  I might be wrong since I've never read them but aren't the books all in last names? These cop drama's are almost all like that I thought. I think I was trying to use the names that are actually used in the show. I.e. no one calls Brackenreid Thomas except for his wife and maybe Stockton. I agree that I should have used George instead of Crabtree though. It's strange reading his last name all the time. I stopped doing that I think after this first story of mine. And to me it's stranger saying William all over the place than Murdoch so in my mind it would be confusing to change it up every time he has a thought. But when the story is from Julia's point of view, I always use his first name instead. This probably came across as really defensive, which it was to some degree but I was just trying to explain my reasoning. I have no idea what you are talking about. Nun?...oh you mean when he escaped from the hospital? Lol, yeah I missed an opportunity for comedy there but I don't think there was much if any humour in this story. It wasn't really my goal I think. You're very welcome. I'd suggest my other stories but if you don't like the use of last names, particularly Murdoch's, I don't suppose you'd like any of them. |
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Post by CosmicCavalcade on Jun 5, 2014 20:18:19 GMT
Oh and congrats on your new God like status. The fact that you were able to achieve it so quickly rather dampens my 'accomplishment.' Haha
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Post by snacky on Jun 5, 2014 20:24:37 GMT
Oh and congrats on your new God like status. The fact that you were able to achieve it so quickly rather dampens my 'accomplishment.' Haha Aw, I realize I'm only a junior godling apprentice compared to your venerated post-count. I will hold your wine cup. |
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Post by snacky on Jun 5, 2014 20:35:57 GMT
I might be wrong since I've never read them but aren't the books all in last names? These cop drama's are almost all like that I thought. This probably came across as really defensive, which it was to some degree but I was just trying to explain my reasoning. You're very welcome. I'd suggest my other stories but if you don't like the use of last names, particularly Murdoch's, I don't suppose you'd like any of them. I can't remember how the books are written, it just gave me a bit of cognitive dissonance here, though. Don't worry about sounding defensive - it's your work, and at least you wrote something. My stuff doesn't get out of the notes-on-back-of-napkins stage! I do want to get to your stuff on FF.net. I suppose it looks suspicious I have time to reply to so many posts here but, having established where the MM fanfic actually is, haven't delved into yet. The nature of my work right now makes it easier to pop in and out and post on forums or watch quick vids than get immersed in long fics. I'm also a slow reader. >.< I'm thinking this forum could use some sort of fanfic archiving area (in case fics can be found in other places besides ff.net) as a future project. This is just the sort of thing I love to do, when I have more time to do it. I'd like to develop a reference area for videos first, though. YouTube search is really hit or miss. I found your bit of Britney Spears madness something like a month after the fact. |
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