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Uploaded	By : HazardousRaptor Category: +G through L > Heavy Rain Views: 2688 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Heavy Rain, and am not affiliated with Quantic Dream, or Sony. (Sad to say) I do not own Norman Jayden, Carter Blake, or any offical characters contained within. I earn no money from this work of fiction.

Chapter List
- 11
- 12
- 13
Rating: M
Warnings: Cursing, sex between two men, (In later chapters.) Some gay stereotyping, because...it's funny. xD
Author's Note: Yeah, so...Again, I took wayyy longer then I expected to. I feel like an asshat-douchebag for taking so long. The longer and more complex these chapters get, the longer they may take. The real culprit is work and school; so BOOOOO! Hiss! Annnnyway, I really hope to (again) try and get the next chapter up sooner. This is an unusual chapter, I had fun writing it.
K, thanks. :3
"I believe in a long, prolonged, derangement of the senses in order to obtain the unknown."-Jim Morrison
U p l o a d e d
The cramps ripped at him again. Making him wince, his face contorting into a sudden and violent display of agony. It felt like he was being stabbed in the worse way, and the knife being twisted when it was fully seethed by his flesh and muscles.
"Aw…Gawd…"
Norman wasn't sure what was worse, the withdrawals or these new hunger pains. Grabbing at his stomach, he tried to feel some evidence of mass inside- but only found his ribs poking from his skin. Bringing his knees to his chest, he wrapped his arms about his legs and held himself there in a fetal position. He acted as though he was a woman about ready to deliver a child, muscles rippling and internal organs lurching as he listened to his belly gurgle and growl with intense hunger. Christ, if only he had his Tripto! It always would always relieve pain like this almost instantly.
'Jus' go away…'Jus please, go away…I can beat this, but…Please jus' go away-'
Then it did. He blinked as he felt the hunger evaporate, a slow, almost oddly filling sensation envelop his gut. Another few seconds, and he blinked again…In disbelief as he suddenly felt the exact opposite sensation- extremely full. Gas began to build up steadily in his esophagus, and he opened his mouth as he burped loudly. Recoiling as he tasted some sort of deep-fried food, realizing it was chicken. The combination of herbs and spices making him cringe; he hated KFC.
'What the fu'wk…?'
Jayden shook as he lay in the bare-bones bed. Back in the manifestation that was supposed to be a sort of hybrid between the old Martha's Vineyard house and Blake's modest one-floor home. His head lay against a cool pillow, feeling his own breath exit his nose and hit the fabric, also freezing the appendage as it floated back to greet it.
'I feel like I'm a walkin' corpse, empty and co'hd…Except with a belly full 'a food. What does that make me, a zombie? I suppose I should worry if I start craven' brains…'
A sigh, and he let his eyes shut. His filthy, stained suit oddly comforting in this odd situation. He had disappeared not long after the incident in Blake's car, ending up here again. Jayden supposed he should be grateful, as this was exactly where he wanted to be. Some rest was nice, his body aching and in dire need of some downtime to catch up with itself. If he could, hell he'd sleep all day and night until he felt himself fully energized once more.
He thought of everything all at once- of the intense hunger pains and cravings, along with the sudden fulfillment and taste in his mouth. Then of the little stunt he pulled in Blake's car, along with said consequences. He thought of the comments Blake made about his family, finding that disdain of the older man once again rear his ugly head. God help his family, the loathsome cop would be at his funeral tomorrow morning, and he was positive it wasn't going to end so well for any of them. They came from two completely different walks of life; it'd be like mixing oil with water.
Memories came back that had long since receded. Of Ethan Mars and his son- he knew that he saved the father by intercepting the Origami Killer, whom was none other then Scott Shelby. That man was also his murderer, killing him by taking advantage of his good nature, saving Shelby from death as he pulled him up from a fall into the great beyond. Memories were still sketchy at that point, but from the bits and pieces, he formed a conveyor belt, Scott sending him flying into a massive thrasher-
Oh God! No, no, no, no he couldn't think of that…It was too incendiary to his well-being. His very soul felt crushed and mutilated at the thought of his physical body being pulverized and torn to shreds, punished for an act of kindness towards someone who deserved none of it. Maybe Blake was right? Showing compassion towards supposedly guilty men had only gotten him further into trouble, even helping Ethan in the interrogation room was a huge risk, one he was surprised worked out for once. It could have ended very, very badly for both of them.
Tears began to seep from his eyes as he trembled in the dark, gasping in hurt as he felt an overwhelming crash of depression sweep through him, making him feel dead inside, hollow and absolutely useless. Feeling much like the walking corpse he was. He took the opportunity to let it all out, weep into the pillow and scream bloody murder as all his frustrations and failures came to a head. Jayden had thoroughly convinced himself he was a loser, feeling his parent's words sting him even in the afterlife, making him feel like some disgusting waste of space that should have never breathed to begin with.
'You were weak; you were always so fuck'n weak, Norman. You're dead because you had t'a be a nice guy, had t'a play the hero…Worked real fuck'n great, didn't it?'
Time sailed by, and at long last he'd fallen asleep as he body racked and writhed on the fake bed. He awoke after a surprisingly odd dream, involving Blake unable to fix a toaster…He didn't want to dwell on that, it was weird- and that was all he wanted to make out of it. Why Blake even had to fix a toaster of all things, he didn't know but- whatever.
After lifting his head from the pillow, he'd realized he had slept in his own tears and snot. Touching his nose, he made a disgusted look as he felt said nasal discharge still sticking there. The slight trauma that happened to his nose earlier wasn't that bad; it was moved but not entirely broken. It was tender, but not so bad he couldn't get over it in due time. He got up and searched the odd house, finding a roll of paper towels in the kitchen that was still trying to figure out what it was. The cloth towels hanging nearby looked like his mother's, which was comforting at least.
The sensation of having a belly full of food and satisfaction that came with it had gone- but at least he wasn't hungry anymore. Rubbing his stomach almost like a proud mother, he sighed and laid his head back; making sure his face was thoroughly cleaned and disposed of the towel in the trash. He'd decided to at least try and take a virtual shower; until he realized that stripping down only to be re-summoned by Carter would be the ultimate embarrassment. No, he'd have to wait until tonight. God knows he didn't want to.
He sat on the odd couch, noticing it was half of the old Vineyard sofa, a lovely ornate thing that looked comfy but about ready to fall apart- and Carter's leather couch. Besides the fine aroma of leather, it reeked of beer and traces of the older man's unique scent. It was all so surreal; and it made the younger man's head reel with its implications. Biting his lip slightly, he took a long inhale as he stretched across the odd fabric, feeling both at the same time. His old vacation home's fabric on his legs, and the soft, fragment leather under his head. Reminded of that sick fuck, he made a disconcerting face as he sat back up, and reversed positions.
Then he felt the lovely sensation of that fine twill brushing his cheeks, and he made a noise of content as he relaxed, finally, he could get some real sleep. It was a rare event when he was alive, let alone dead. Odd, he supposed the old adage "I'll sleep when I'm dead." wasn't entirely true.
Eventually, he did cat-nap again for a good few hours. When he did get up, a groan escaped his soft, pink lips as he stood up on his hands and knees, feeling them sink into the cushion and wavering to keep his balance. His eyes opened halfway, vision blurring in and out, as he did his best to focus on the situation at hand. A tamer night terror had struck him, so tame it allowed him to get some sleep, yet allowed him to get up on his own power.
'St'ill here, I see…'
Swinging his legs over the couch, the dead profiler cracked his back and stretched, mouth agape with a yawn. He swore he wouldn't be able to get enough sleep in this part of his existence. He needed a real bed in the real world. His mind swirled with various thoughts, one falling and leading to another. How Ethan and Shaun Mars, and even Madison Paige were doing; if they were happy now, if Carter ever let them go and stopped pestering them for no good reason but to serve his ego. If the press were on their heels like a bad dog to the mailman.
Then came his current dilemma- if he was actually real and not in some sort of sadistic Hell. Maybe he really was dead, and this was the afterlife? If so, he'd have to say it must have been purgatory. Giving Blake a blowjob may have seemed like Hell back when they first met- but seeing as he was able to finger the older man to his obvious satisfaction, it could have just as easily been Heaven. Why? Seeing the tyrant of a human being submit to him so easily was unbelievably satisfying. So… Perhaps he was simply in limbo?
Norman's false heart thumped about inside his supposedly fake chest. What if the only reason he was still doing this, was because he was simply willing himself to still be alive? If he stopped thinking about it, stopped putting himself in this little fantasy-world, he'd just as easily fade away? Pressing his fingers to his chest, he found this to be untrue. Taking a deep breath, letting it out…No, he was still very much there. Still alive. Or was he? Fuck!
Getting up in a huff, the Bostonian native strolled about the house, until he got curious and decided he should try and leave. Where would it take him? Could he even go that far? How have things changed outside this area in particular?
Peeking out the wide windows (they still belonged to the Vineyard house), he squinted as he noticed the still-stormy skies. At least it didn't look to be raining at the moment. The landscape was indeed different, the cliff gone completely and replaced by a large swath of woods. They were dense, a small dirt road out front that seemed to lead in from the thick, almost oppressive jungle and out to the right alongside the tree line until it once again became enveloped in the dark forest.
'That's…Interest'in.' Norman knew this couldn't be his creation; he'd never lived in a forest. Not once, no, this had to be Carter's design.
But why? Had this been a previous home of Carter's? Much like Martha's Vineyard had been his? It was as good a theory as any; and as he looked out the window, he had a sneaking fear crawl up his spine that was closer to deja-vu and a creeping sort of chaos rather then a marvel at the beauty of his surroundings.
Still, Jayden had an even stronger degree of curiosity about him then Blake. Not to mention that childhood touch of wonder that never did leave. Taking one last look out the door's window, he hesitantly opened it and walked outside, closing the door steadily behind him. It closed harshly, the weather stripping along the doorway almost being caught in the way. Outside, he walked a few steps then looked back to see that the house from the exterior also resembled a cross between his childhood home, and another, low-income single-floor house. One he was positive was Blake's. Brick made an archway above the porch, a large attic replacing what had been a whole second floor.
He shook as he rubbed his exposed arms with his hands; feeling the last remaining biceps he'd had since he used to actually work out at the FBI's very pricey gym. Ever since his Triptocaine withdrawals got worse, he hadn't had the desire to work too hard with keeping his body in top-shape. After all, he was poisoning it by the day….What did it matter anymore?
Taking a jog about the house, he began to analyze this particular situation that had so generously presented itself in this suddenly bored state- there was nothing of interest next to the house, so he decided to be adventurous, scratching his incoming stubble as he began to do a fast walk down the dirt road. It was then where he felt a very strange presence, one he'd never encountered before in ARI. A chill ran up his spine at the recognition, until he heard a light jingle that could only be recognized as one thing.
Turning around, he skipped in his step to make sure he wouldn't trip. Almost stumbling completely, with a squint and a sniffle he looked towards the other side of the road. A four-legged, black animal ran there. It was big, and after a few minutes of his heart hammering from the surprise, he realized it was far less dangerous then he initially assumed.
'Is that a…dog?'
Shit, the surprises around this place never ceased. Within a few minutes, the dog running towards him moved closer with long, sloping strides. It appeared to be a Rottweiler, and upon realization of this Norman tensed. When he was younger, he had been bit in the elbow by the same breed of dog, and although he still wasn't terrified of the animals, not ever having one of his own made him leery of their nature. Around its neck was a red collar with tags, jingling there happily as the dog got about twenty feet away, then slowed.
Immediately, he noticed apprehension from the beast. Muscles locked, hackles rising as he stalked forward, growl originating in his throat and spreading throughout his form. The young agent would be lying if he said he wasn't a bit worried, after all this wasn't exactly some happy pooch bounding up to him to deliver a slobbery kiss. Yet something told him that this wasn't as bad as it looked, waves of almost-calm flooded over him as the dog got closer, eyes steely and whale-eyed as he could see the whites on the dog's fat, wide and muscular face. His tan legs carried him forward, stubby tail wagging slightly as he approached-
"Hey there…Good boy-"
Movement, a flinch…But nothing. No bite, no leap to his throat- the dog had sunk into a play-stance, front legs dipping as his elbows touched the ground, butt high in the air, wagging his ass so hard that his whole body practically wiggled. A pink tongue, contrasting well against the jet-black of his fur, lolled out as he huffed-and-puffed from excitement, even choking on his own saliva as he gyrated and jumped about the young profiler.
A small smile tugged at Norman's lips, now seeing this apparently happy dog before him ready to play. It made him feel engulfed with warmth inside; a feeling of pleasantry that had eluded him for a long time. As Norman bent over, the dog hungrily sniffed at his open palm greedily, leaving some stickiness there from his drool. Then came the licking, covering his hand as he tried to pull it away, and wiped it on his pants as his face contorted with a slight disgust.
After a small laugh, Norman sank down into a kneel, easily accepted the beast, feeling his face licked as the dog put its weight into the man's outstretched arms, feeling all those years of resistance from his family to get a pet- then he was too busy to have one when he did get his own house- all fall asunder. The dog was warm and friendly; feeling protected and safe in the beast's muscular, stunted form as it practically sat in his lap. The younger man breathed in assurance as he hugged the dog, hearing him pant from the sheer level of exertion the excitement had caused him.
Then a tag jingled, almost to remind the brunette to read it. This dog belonged to somebody. Lowering his neck, he read the brass tag as he squinted in the dark light. He had been lucky the dog decided to settle down at just this moment.
"REX"
William C. Blake
215-297-5551
78 McNeil Rd
Point Pleasant, PA
'Whoa…who the hell is that? One of Blake's brothers? No, wait…Larry and… there's another, I never did hear his name. Who's this?'
Point Pleasant? Was that where he was right now? The dog could have very well traveled from wherever- no, he had to remember. This place wasn't real. Whatever this dog was supposed to be, where he was Jayden supposed didn't matter. It was a setting, not a location per say. Searching the rest of the collar, he found a rabies tag and a Bucks County dog license- all getting him nowhere.
'If I had a cell phone I could c'hall that number and get in touch. Maybe find out someth'n?"
An excited bark and the dog jumped in extreme excitement as he yelped then spun around. Norman smirked at the amusing display, the intensely large brute of a dog moving so fast. To think he had actually been afraid of him a few minutes ago. It was then when he saw the Rottweiler move away, running down the dirt road to the right.
'Now where's he goin'?'
Norman took off in a jog, following the large black monster of a dog as he sped down the dirt road. After a few long strides, Rex spun about and yelped again, his bark high and almost strained.
"What's wrong? Someth'n up, boy?"
He felt like fucking Timmy chasing Lassie, ready to see if he'd uncover some trouble 'down at the old mill.' However, he felt there was an actual urgency, an almost frightening sensation deep down in this situation, a chill running up his back at the realization. It didn't help that it felt to be a good fifty or so degrees outside. Norman Jayden never was good with the cold.
Moving faster, Jayden felt that old runner's joy flow back into him as he once again picked up the pace. A surge of adrenaline flowing back through him as he took a swift gait and lengthened his stride. Those arms of his, with their slight bulges from the occasional workout session, swung fluidly as an almost-smile crossed his face. It felt like hell at the market in the heart of Philadelphia; his lungs were burning and head swam with withdrawals. Now? It felt almost relieving, his body singing as his he felt more alive then he did in years. To think, the last time he checked…He was dead!
The dog took off across the road, and he followed over a crest that didn't reveal what was on the other side. Norman ran over it without concern, and barely caught Rex surging to the right behind a stand of trees. Without thought, he followed, a single, cheap aluminum mailbox indicating there would be something beyond. There was an old gravely road, and the scent of old wood and earth filled his nostrils as he slowed to a stop in front of a large, old farmhouse.
It rose from the ground with the utmost quaintness- had Norm drove past it; he would have guessed the normal American family lived there. A white-picket fence didn't surround it, but everything else was intact to complete the illusion. The house itself was a dull yellowish- beige, easily two stories and huge on all sides. It had to be ancient, it's old deck curling around the front and right side as the new paint job and power lines strung to its sides betrayed its modernized state. The pillars that held the deck away from the house were ornately carved, the top and bottom floors decorated by a combination of large, bay windows that appeared new, and small ones that looked as old as the house itself.
Large, pleasant sunflowers reared up in front. They drooped a little considering it was late fall, their large heads too heavy for even their own thick stems. Below them and around the sides were various flowers of all sorts, the colors dizzying and insanely sporadic. Even now as they were dulled by the season, he felt as though the place had to be gorgeous in the summer, and felt a pang of sadness he had arrived too late. Window chimes sung on the front porch, clambering wildly as a breeze blew right through. Old, dead and dry leaves followed said wind, floating about his feet as he felt his hair tumble about on his head. The yard itself appeared tended to, at least to a reasonable extent. The grass wasn't too high, though it was easily a week since the last run-through with a lawnmower.
Norman watched as the dog flew up the steps, stopping at the large old door that must have been the front entrance. There lay a screen door before it, and he watched as the dog whined and scratched at the side with a massive tan paw. This must have been a habit of his, as now he noticed large scratch marks up and down all the way to the doorknob. It smacked against the frame, and the agent was positive somebody would come out to answer. When they didn't, he hurried along after staring dazed at the old-fashioned house from the bottom of the steps, walking cautiously up the old rickety stairs that creaked as he crested them.
'Just what is this from, anyway? Did I fall asleep? Am I dreaming…? This can't be my dream. Not my dog, not my house…Where am I?'
He felt awkward to say the least. Again came that feeling of being watched, of being in the wrong place. Like he didn't belong, and should leave. He startled, hearing a noise and looking to his right. A wash of relief filled through his lithe frame at the realization that it was only a slightly charred American flag flapping in the breeze out front-
'Charred?' Norman questioned, squinting, as he looked closer- no. Just a little ripped up, most likely from the wind.
Turning back around, he knocked on the outer frame of the old screen door, hearing it bang just as if the dog managed to accomplish. Speaking of which, the Rottie once again whined at his heels. It irked him, why was he here, of all places? Blake's house…Or rather, their oddly conjoined house, lay back there-
Then he saw it. Above the doorway, an old wooden sign that looked to have been made in some country store or craft show. Before, he hadn't seen it due to it sitting in the deep shadows underneath the short ceiling. It had been carven from a piece of finely-shaven, light wood and glazed so that it almost shone.
BLAKE FAMILY
'Oh shit...' Jayden realized the concept of just where he was- the revelation crawling up his spine like an army of bugs under his clothes.
'What year is it? How did this happen…?'
Finally, with a burst of courage he wasn't sure he had, the young man found himself opening the screen door, bracing it against his backside as he turned the doorknob to the larger wooden door, hearing the slightly satisfying, partly mortifying (secretly, he hoped it would be locked so he could just turn around.) sound of the lock disengaging, allowing him to walk into the oddly warm, 60's to 70's style inside. One of those tacky 'ray-style' clocks hung on the wall of the large living room, being the first thing his eyes drew towards. By seeing said interior design, he almost instantly knew the time period- finding the couch, TV and rug to be very indicative of that time.
Everything was either square or boxy, the couch looking extremely uncomfortable and an almost vomit-inducing brown. The carpet was high-pile, and as he took a few cautious steps away from the squeaky door he felt his feet sink into the tan floor. That crazy ray-clock was loud, and its ticking was easily aggravating to his ears already. A fireplace loomed large and mighty in the center wall, its mantle looking to be hundreds of years old as it was lined in stone, and a painted picture of deer grazing crested the top. Speaking of which, several deer heads lined the roam, four of them, all mighty bucks with rather prestigious racks. Their black, glass eyes staring at him from their long dead holds somewhere in times past.
"Hall-o?"
His Bostonian accent seemed somehow ill fitting and out-of-place in this old house. A Liberal New Englander in some obviously Conservative, old-fashioned farmhouse in rural Pennsylvania. No doubt they'd vote for Regan when the time came, no question that the minute they saw the lack of ring on his finger despite his age, or somehow guessed his sexual orientation, he'd be shot.
However, as that strong yet questioning voice boomed in the home, there wasn't a soul that answered it. Nobody to question his life or its direction. How strongly God or the government had a hand in it, why he wasn't at church or in Vietnam, just silence. Norman took another few steps, frightened out of his mind that Blake's family could be here. Though he couldn't tell if he was in a dream, or some sort of misplaced reality. This just as easily could have been some house lost to time, never changing styles or simply that whatever remnant of Blake's family existed simply had a horrible taste in décor.
"Ah'ny one home?"
Silence. The only noise being a droning of a clock, and now the sound of Rex snorting as he disappeared into the kitchen, water audibly being slurped into his thirsty mouth. Norman squinted as he spied pictures on the mantle place, moving over with his soft but still shoed feet sinking softly into the high pile carpet. Around him the tacky light-brown and patterned hourglass-like wallpaper covered the walls, barely catching sight of an Atari 2600 sitting below the adequately-sized TV with its single joystick poking out from the floor, almost phallic. Norman grinned a little bit, he wondered if Carter was any good at Space Invaders…
Still to the right, on the mantle…a family photo- and Norman only just glanced when he heard a sound that made him leap from his skin. A scream filled the house, a woman's strangled cry that sounded like more of a call from agony then an asking for help, or pleading-
He had wanted to run, and turned around to do just that. To find the woman and help, wherever she was. He didn't put much thought into it, he just had to move, he couldn't stay where he was. She had to be in this house, somewhere…
Then nothing was there, he awoke from the couch, chest heaving as he looked about in a daze.
'It was a dream! Godd'hamn! I'll end up a basket case sooner or later, I just know it!'
Jayden just couldn't grasp it, none of it made any sense. None of the places in that dream rung any bells, and he sure as shit didn't think he was capable of even imagining such a place for no reason. The house had looked a combination of creepy, homely and beautiful from the outside, with the atrocious 70's era interior decorating that he didn't think was capable of looking any tackier. None of it seemed like something he would just think up.
He tried to convince himself that, perhaps, this was his idea of what Carter's childhood looked like. After all, the place had been empty. Had it been a real experience, an ARI experience, he would have at least seen some sort of physical manifestation of his family. But then, he wasn't positive as to the rules within this system. Indeed, they seemed to change by the day.
It wasn't until then that Norman realized he was sweating, and not the normal kind. The cold, clammy sort that came with his first stage of withdrawals. A shuddering sigh left his lips a she propped himself up on the couch, elbows sinking into the fabric as he did his best to control his breathing. There was no Tripto here; he had already tried conjuring it from thin air. For whatever reason, it never took solid form. Cold swept over him, and with that, the shakes began.
ARI and Triptocaine were both fine things that Norman found himself addicted to, yet in wholly different ways. They both had an effect on his body, with one offsetting the other. ARI rampaged through his brain as Tripto took his body. Both had side effects, both had withdrawals. The only difference was Tripto stopped both, but ARI did nothing to quell his addiction to the drug that could stop all the pain. It was a narcotic, an anesthetic, and a damn good one.
They had experimented with everything from Oxycodine, Morphine and even Marijuana, especially concentrated doses of THC at first due to it's ease of use. Though in the end, Oxycodine proved too dangerous. In cases of Morphine use, the subject was left too dazed and euphoric to carry out even the most simple of tasks, not to mention the horrible constipation that came with the side effects. THC was simply too casual and created plain-and-simple dope heads more then anything.
It was in ARI where the addiction actually lay; taking Triptocaine eliminated many of its side effects and withdrawals. However, it also created a new host of problems with Tripto's cocaine-similar problems. In the end, he found himself screwed one way or another. If he refused Tripto completely- something altogether not recommended, he'd find himself becoming trapped in the alternate reality and having a brain similar to the consistency of Swiss cheese. Not to mention have to go through ARI's rather debilitating withdrawals that included unbearable headaches, shaking, sweating and general agony. Problem was, Triptocaine may have relieved these symptoms, but because it kept Norman in reality, withdrawing from the substance also caused them to occur. They both reeked havoc, joining forces like some horrible double-team from Hell.
Oddly enough, he found himself not having these lately. Triptocaine was deadly and gave him effects that were euphoric and numbing; it felt wonderful. Though not using the drug led to effects that were just as bad- seeing as they both stimulated the same parts of the brain. It needed constant activity and cooling, much how a system could overheat when its fan was stripped away. Norman had known that if he ceased ARI he wouldn't have to worry about either of these…Yet his job demanded at this point that it be used, not to mention the sheer amazing abilities the device held. Would one throw out their computer? Their cell phone, blackberry? Of course not. Not even if it caused the sort of pain ARI did. Not even if it potentially caused death.
Funny, years ago he remembered hearing cell phones could cause tumors. Something largely thrown out by most doctors today. Would it matter, though? If such news broke again today, deep down inside the agent knew it wouldn't stop people the world over from plastering the device to their heads.
His nose started to run, and he sniffled as he looked down at his shaking hand. The snot meant this was more a Triptocaine symptom then an ARI one- not that it mattered. They were synonymous with one another. Tripto enhanced ARI and was responsible for making it even more immersive, and far more habit forming.
"Damn, gotta g'het a tissue…"
Getting up, he felt his vision blur as he stumbled towards the new location of the bathroom. Luckily, one of the few things that stayed behind was indeed a purple (purple? Jayden found that funny) box of tissues above the toilet. Grabbing a few, he leaned over the washbasin and barely was able to stop himself from hitting his head into the mirror. He breathed in relief, steadying himself as he stared into his own eyes, looking into those dazed and confused orbs of grayish blue.
Another tremor decided to rip through him at exactly that moment- and his luck had decided to run out. Arms buckling from under him, his weight pushed him forward and he felt the smooth pane of glass for the briefest of seconds, then searing agony as the glass broke and pinched together as it sliced his flesh open.
"Ahhhh-hh-Shit…!"
Stumbling backwards, the younger man ran his hand along his forehead without conscious concern. That's when he felt the glass pieces lodged in his skin, and as he brushed it he felt them partially swept away by his palm. The rest he felt either dig in further, or stay right where they were. Another tremor, and he felt his weight win out once again, powering him backward and into the bathtub. That part had been retained from the Martha's Vineyard house- and he found himself going back the whole way as he fell into it.
A jolt racked through his body as his feet vibrated, tick-tapping against the rim of the tub as his foot stood lodged on the top between the opening of the shower curtain. His head pulsed with extreme agony from both the withdrawal and the blunt force trauma. Tears rolled down his eyes and over his cheeks as he did his best to keep from screaming out loud from a combination of pain and shitty luck he'd fell victim to.
It was then when the young, deceased agent felt a familiar warm trickle in his pants. Soaking up his underwear and everything along with it. He was pissing himself.
Skewing his eyes as tight as he could go, he was at least grateful for three things…That it was urine and not the otherbathroom problem he sometimes had with his withdrawals- and that he was in a tub. The third was that he was alone, not one Philadelphian cop in sight. His face turned bright red as the tears continued to fall down his hot cheeks, and he finally finished as he felt himself completely soaked.
'Is this reall'ah me? This is what I am, now? Pissing yourself in some strange bathtub, try'n to kick a habit you can't even control? Maybe it would have been better if I just died back then…At least, died completely.'
No…No, he couldn't be like this. It was stupid. He was better then this; he'd excelled in school and in life, even when he began using ARI along with Triptocaine to control it. Ever since he grew to rely on both, had to take Tripto to control the ARI, and ARI to do his job…Christ, then even Tripto to control the Tripto…A vicious Catch-22 that only went round and round. Only quitting his job could even remotely land him back in reality, and that was simply out of the question.
It wasn't until a good ten minutes later that Norman found himself recovering from the attack; able to get his pained, weak body out of the tub and take a shaky step up. He wondered what exactly he was 'allowed' to do in this world. Could he shower? God knows he needed it, especially now. He tried to turn on the water, but nothing appeared to happen as he moved the taps.
God, he could have cried. He stunk, was soak and wet, and even cold. All things that could be remedied by a nice, hot relaxing shower. Something so simple and taken for granted, but he would have easily done just about anything for it. Another blowjob for Blake? Do it in a heartbeat. Hell, he'd give the whole precinct one for a single shower at that exact moment in time.
As he sighed heavily, the deceased ex-agent got out and dried himself off the best he could with a nearby towel, then found some Gold Bond in the cupboard in the exact far right. It was covered with dust, and looked to haven't been touched in years.
He assumed this was a mixture of him and Blake's home supplies as well. He recognized his old vacation home's supplies, like the usual expensive lotions and products. Then there was the crude supplies that were obviously Blake's, like cheap anti-feminine "men only" antiperspirants and bathroom items. A tube of lube looked to have been squeezed out nearly to the end, the cheap kind that congealed together and was hard to wash off. It was a store brand from a local pharmacy, the cap just barely staying on.
'Looks like someone 'was busy…'
Norman squinted out of habit as he shut the doors, making a coy face, almost as though he wanted to ignore the fact that Carter Blake was even capable of having sexual relations with another person; after all, when he began the case he wanted to only know the man on a strictly professional level. It was his way, his little personal role to never get involved with anybody beyond work. He'd worked with police before on so many occasions, most either had wives or kept things far and away anti-personal.
Yet Blake had proven to be very personal, indeed. And he didn't just mean the recent events, he meant it in the way the man operated and carried himself, he was very character-driven and saw right through the agent from Washington. Didn't see him as a professional, a man sent from the U.S. Government and technically over-ranked him, despite his younger age. Jayden knew that being there was an attack to his character as it was. He had no choice but to become involved with Blake on a personal level. It was the only way to appear human to the bestial lieutenant from Hell.
Still, besides feeding off of Blake's pheromones and subliminal dominant, pseudo-sexual glances that implied power, anger and territorial-inspired hatred, he didn't think of him more then an irritating partner to have to deal with. An obstacle more then help, really. Couldn't picture the man from the waist down, especially not naked. Nor did he want to.
'But you don't need to picture him, do 'ya? You've seen 'em up and down…He's got nice legs, you know.'
A slow blink overcame his eyes, and he smacked his lips in thirst as he wished vainly for some kind of nourishment. Applying the Gold Bond, he felt and smelled better as a whole. It would have to do until Blake could take him to a decent shower, which he hoped would be sometime tonight.
"Thirsty, sir?"
It was Jayden's turn to be surprised, and he jerked several inches in the air as he spun around, luckily for him, he had been caught in his briefs. Now turned around, he found himself face to face with ARI's new integrated bartender. He wore a red suit, had a gentle face, and oddly dark brown eyes. What resonated with Jayden in the short period of time he met him, however, was that he was oddly wise. How he could look into the agent's cold, almost hollow soul and see what ailed him. What he said was more powerful in those last few parting seconds then just about anything his family had warned him about. His father telling him "not to do those drugs, they'll ruin your life." was far less powerful then the butler's warning not to over-indulge in "you-know-what."
The tray he held contained the sweet nectar that always helped him through the toughest stretches of his withdrawals and cravings. Good ol' fashioned alcohol. Days ago, when he had returned to his hotel lobby to lick his wounds after the hectic nature of the police precinct- he had retreated to the piano and found himself asking the kindly bartender for a vodka. To that day, he couldn't grasp how the brown-eyed man seemed to know about the ARI device or its ability to kill…He had figured that he knew who he was from the news report, which he seemed very up-to-date on indeed. Yet his advice resonated oddly enough to spread into his ARI hallucinations. Another thing about the device he contributed to the Triptocaine's growing influence.
"Sorry sir, did I frighten you?"
Norman was too tired and physically drained to even consider acting out against the fake man. As real as the deceased agent may have been in ARI, the barman was just as fake as the scenery. Real only in the sense that he could disappear at any moment, evaporate along with the rest of the world if Blake so chose it.
"Ah! Ah, no- I…yah' just…St'hartled me…"
"Oh, good…You appear very…stressed at the moment? Would you like something to help you relax?"
He seemed to be indicating the fine shot glass of vodka on the platter. Alcohol had never been a problem for Norman; he was able to keep it under control quite easily. He found beer lousy, but possible to drink if he had no choice. Straight, hard liquor and black coffee- it seemed to fit him quite well, considering his character and taste seemed just as bland at times.
Usually, he found himself only indulging in the substance after a hard day at work, or socially. Vodka was a favorite of his, though any whiskey, brandy, tequila and even the occasional wine was appreciated in his home. Now that he thought about it, he hadn't had wine in quite some time.
"Have any wine? Vintage…"
Stupid question. Of course they "had" it; they would anything he asked for. It would taste great, too. At this point he begged for just that taste. He wouldn't consider himself addicted to the fine drug known as alcohol, but that didn't mean he wouldn't crave it at times. Especially now, with the Triptocaine detox just barely leaving his system for now.
"What year, sir?"
For a moment the young agent considered, then spat out something childish yet dirty; why not?
"How 'bout '69?"
Yet the bartender didn't laugh or snigger, just nodded curtly and turned around as he strolled to the bar in order to get his order. The bar, by the way, seemed to suddenly appear in what had to be Blake's kitchen, the sudden change in atmosphere slightly unnerving to the agent. His countertop became an ornate bar, not dissimilar from the one in the hotel lobby his brain seemed to easily memorize. The wooden sides and top gleamed rather like glass.
'Guess I'm not funny…' The young man pouted, brown locks falling over his forehead as he scratched the back of his head, impatiently waiting for the man in red to bring him his beverages.
"Your wine, sir. Vintage, 1969. I believe you enjoy…Merlot? Am I correct?"
Jayden shrugged, yeah, the delusion was right. Red wine was his favorite, but really every wine had its own unique taste that he'd found to appreciate over the years. For the holidays his family rarely got together anymore thanks to conflicts and ever-increasing tensions amongst them, but when he did get to make a Thanksgiving, a Christmas, maybe even a Fourth of July picnic, wine of every type was served. It brought back pleasant memories, and with a slight nod, he reached for one of the tall wine glasses on the silver platter.
"I do believe that's the lieutenant's birth year, am I correct?"
A slight jolt, and Jayden dropped his glass before he could even taste it's blood-red contents. It smashed into several thin, and deadly sharp shards as it came apart rather easily. Putting his hands to his face, he briefly rubbed his eyes before releasing a withheld breath.
"Shit…sa'hry, godda'hm-" Norman rattled off, then immediately sunk to his knees. Blinking his eyes briefly, he only then noticed that the bartender was beating him to it.
"It's quite alright, sir. Accidents happen, I'll get it-"
"No! No…If…If I don't do it, it won't g'het done."
Noticing that the man in red had already picked up quite a few sharp pieces in a napkin, Jayden tried to take these from him, nestling them in his hand as he gently took them away.
"I'm sorry, sir?"
Standing up, the pale brunette gave a rather blank look to the fake barman, shrugging his shoulders a bit nonchalantly as he walked towards the trash in the left of the room, near the fridge. Depositing the shards inside, he began to search for a cabinet that contained a broom and dustpan to get the finer pieces that lay in crystallized dust on the floor.
"You're in ARI; I'm…Sorta in both worlds. I can inta'act with it. You can't."
"I'm afraid I don't understand, Mr. Jayden-"
"That's okay. Ya' not even real."
Saying this as he lowered down to the cabinet under the sink, he found a dustpan with a small handle amongst some Draino and some cheap store-brand bleach. Briefly, he considered perhaps cleaning the whole floor for Blake, hoping that what he did in this world transpired to his home on the other side. It would be an act of kindness to make up for what he did in the car-
'Yeah, then he strangled you, remember?'
The bartender had been saying something, but he was filtering it out. Parting his soft pink lips a little, he sauntered over and dropped to his knees, doing his best to quickly sweep up the small glass particles as a headache throbbed in his brain.
"You said 1969 was Blake's birth year…" Jayden interrupted.
"How'd you know that?"
The bartender looked a bit surprised with this question, and took a moment to find his bearings.
"Why, because you know it- sir. I don't believe I have any knowledge you don't-"
"No, I didn't…I nevah looked it up, I nevah asked…"
There was a small, awkward moment of silence as Jayden blinked at the bartender, whom averted his eyes a little, then cleared his throat.
"I'm afraid I don't know, sir."
"How about- well, what else do you know? What's 'is birthday?"
"April, the 3rd, I believe?"
"I didn't know that eith'ah…" Norman announced. "What about birthplace?"
"Philadelphia, Roxborough Hospital…8:25 A.M…"
'It's all match'en up…'
Norman put his hand to his mouth and walked away, his face even paler then usual as a small chill spread through his system, the sensation of heat filling his face as tears came to his eyes.
"Parent's names?"
"William and Carla Blake, sir."
"Middle name?"
"William, after his father-"
He could have laughed; suddenly the barmen had become a 1-800-Blake telephone line. There was only one explanation for this.
"You're not in my brain anymore…" Jayden sighed. "You're in his…Holy shit; I was right, he's takin' control of this place."
The ex-FBI had hoped that he'd at least have the ability to control this world a bit longer. Could manipulate it in a way that suited his needs when Blake wasn't here. That explained, perhaps, why there wasn't any water. If Blake didn't need any…Well, there simply wouldn't be any. The barman's knowledge as well as the obvious past memory (confirmed by the name of his father) had confirmed this suspicion, it was still extremely unsettling.
It was like being in those movies or shows that used actors to play metaphors for parts of the human brain- pulling levers and looking out a huge screen as they pulled out files of the man's memories and knowledge, able to walk into rooms from the past to uncover more about the victim being manipulated.
It would have been undoubtedly embarrassing to the lieutenant if he had known what was going on here. No question, he would have been disapproving of Agent Norman Jayden, bureaucratic, spoilt child from Washington, stomping about his brain, looking into his memories and personal information. Christ, Jayden himself wouldn't want Blake doing it to him. God knows, he'd had his share of shameful facts and embarrassing moments. His first time with a girl, followed by his first time with a guy, was evidence enough of that, or even the awkward moment when he was caught masturbating by his mother.
"I do apologize sir-"
"It's not…No…" Jayden waved him away, his own stare looking off towards the front door as his mind struggled with things it would rather not.
"Pardon me, sir…Would you like more wine? There's plenty left."
The question did make the younger man look back, sleepy and tired eyes peering towards the wine bottle still on the platter, being held steady just to avoid any tippage or spilling of the second and third filled glasses that sat there. Licking his lips, he shrugged those pale shoulders and reached over, taking one and looking down at the red liquid as he swirled it about.
"Well, dad always did say it was a sin to waste 'gode wine…"
"It really brings out your eyes." The flamboyant man let out without any sort of hindrance.
"Oh really?" Blake sighed, pulling the edges of the suit forward as he looked at himself unabashedly in the three-paneled mirror, displaying his sides and front all at the same time.
"- I mean, bright blue and black looks great on you sweetheart, but this in the next best thing…"
Carter had to stop at the sarcastic laugh that almost issued forth, but instead gave the obviously gay shop attendant a curious look, partially in irritation, partially in almost- agreement. Blake was never a vain man, never one to think he "looked good", really. But fuck him if he didn't love a compliment. Damn right, he looked good. Fucking good.
The queer had dressed him in a dark navy blue suit- hooked him up with a new pack of blue, button- down work shirts, then made sure he had the perfect tie. A light blue, gray and white striped, silk thing that Blake knew was going to be pricey. He tested it, taking one end in his hand while he tightened the knot about his neck with the other.
"Sure it's not too glitzy for a funeral?" Listen to him! Since when did he care?
"Oh no, no…It's just right. 'You wear anything darker, you're gonna just blend in."
"But what if I want to blend in…? I'd rather nobody talked to me at all…"
Making a "tsk" noise in his throat, the younger man with a tape measurer around his neck walked away, and Blake sighed to himself as he leaned towards the mirror, furrowing his brow as he analyzed his appearance. Perry let him go a few hours early after he had been informed he never had time to get a suit- then he'd recommended a place to him that "did the best" and would get a discount if he told them he worked for the police department. What Perry had neglected to inform him was that it was run by a gay couple- good he supposed in the style factor…Not so much for his comfort zone. When the young, spike-haired blonde man had stooped to measure around his waist earlier that evening, it took everything in his power to not push him away.
Recent events had made him question himself, when he finished his massive feast- he'd gone back up to the office and sat down. He felt uncomfortable, shifting in his seat as he still felt the sensation of having something in there but moments earlier- something he didn't want to dwell on. When he arrived, Ash wasn't there, and it made him nervous to say the least. He didn't look at the man when he did return about fifteen minutes after that. Only later did they lock gazes, Ash betraying nothing as he calmly nodded at the officer and asked him if he was "okay", only to get a small nod back in response, followed by a nervous clearing of the throat. Almost as though Ash could read his mind, somehow guess by the way he was acting that a man had just fingered him in his own car.
"You should get new shoes while you're here, hon. your old ones…" The assistant wore a pale pink polo, opened up at the top few buttons with a white undershirt underneath it. He made a look of disgust, sticking out his tongue then laughing a little at Blake's un-amused reaction.
"Horrible! So worn out…Dreadful."
"…Right?" Blake asked, as if not quite understanding what the problem was with that, honestly.
"…I got these nice brown Louis Vuittons; you'll love 'em."
"Will I, now?"
"Oh yeah, promise you, hon. "
Blake cringed at the discomfort, watching as the twenty-something in pink disappeared around the mirrored corner. A sigh parted his lips as he sniffled and cleared his throat, leaning in closer as he checked his teeth. Luckily, he hadn't any chicken left over from his voracious appetite as he consumed the whole bucket and three-piece meal. It wasn't until afterwards when he'd checked the bottom of the bucket…He could have sworn he ordered more then what he actually ate. Counting the bones, he'd realized that, somehow…He had in fact eaten some of the bones. Sure, he remembered crunching some things, but…Oh God…Not like that. It was insane. He wondered how he managed to do with without choking to death.
Finally, he felt satisfied. However, it terrified Carter to think of the next time he'd be overcome with this terrible craving. He'd lasted the rest of the day, only making a trip to the water cooler every half-hour or so. When he did, he'd easily quench his thirst in two cups or so.
'You should go to a doctor, you know…'
Well, of course he should. He could have somehow contracted diabetes or some strange new disease. Whether ARI was involved or not shouldn't have mattered; this could kill him. If it was diabetes, he could slip into a diabetic coma. If it wasn't, God only knew what could happen. Maybe if he acted now, he could catch it in time.
That didn't mean he would, though. Blake hated the doctor, but was required to go thanks to his profession every single year. He did have a physical exam in a few weeks, so he'd bring up the fact that he was unusually hungry and thirsty. Only that, nothing compared to his actual fevered need to feast.
Hearing footsteps approach him, he expected the usual sassy gay man coming in with his pair of shoes, when instead he saw a slouched, tired figure with a horrible completion and clammy skin.
"Hey, look at that…Traded one fag for another."
"Fuck you too, Blake."
Taking a seat in the corner, he gazed at the enigma of a human being; Norman was dressed in a set of grey sweatpants and one of Carter's shirts; it read KING'S LUBE SHOP in big black letters- he held back the insane amount of laughter, instead keeping it behind his lips as he grinned horribly at the young man.
"Of all the shirts you had to pick-"
"It 'was the only one left, you stupid prick! You need'd to do laundry, I tried but I the watah-"
"How'd you get my clothes, anyway?"
"I somehow ended up in your house…My suit started to stink so I found these. I cleaned half your house by the way…Almost did the laundry-"
"We didn't have size 10s, so I got a 9½, I hope that's-"
Right then, the attendant decided that was a great time to come back in, holding the pair of shoes by their backs in two fingers as he very visibly caught sight of Jayden sitting in the wooden chair in the corner of the room. Not only that, he had interrupted them right at the moment when Jayden so obviously declared he had just attempted to do his laundry.
"Oh hon, I'm sorry. I didn't see you there…Oh my God, I love your shoes…"
Jayden swallowed, his face turning a tinge of red at his ears and upper cheeks. He turned away, not sure what to say. This had been the first time anybody had seen him, let alone like this. Who the hell wouldn't think they were dating at this rate….Oh Christ, his shirt…
"Uh t-thanks…" He sputtered, then looked away, nervously moisturizing his lips with his tongue, then clearing his throat.
"I got a pair just like them for…Honey; it's 'Carter' right?" He asked, nonchalantly pointing from him to Blake standing at the mirrors, looking down and attempting his best to somehow teleport away from this situation.
"Yeah…"
"These would look great with his new suit, don't you agree? Here, hon, turn around…"
Saying this as he strode towards the lieutenant, the attendant seemed honestly euphoric that he had another gay man here to share his views, to ask opinions and get some honest-to-God confirmations! He had to admit he never would have guessed the older police lieutenant that strode into his shop not long after the dinner-hour swung that way. Usually he could tell within minutes, but his abilities ceased him this time.
Taking the man by his shoulders, he felt some resistance from his subject as he turned him around to face his apparent partner, a younger man (not uncommon in the gay community for a mature male to covet) with pale skin and a swath of stubble growing on his face which came close to almost being a full-fledged beard. One thing he noticed above all else was his shining grayish blue eyes, easily visible even under his heavy brows and eyelids.
Now the younger man sat up a little, a hint of a smile on his face as his lover (as far as he knew) was fully visible to him in the new outfit. Carter very audibly took a big, angered breath, just barely tolerant of his touch the entire time. It didn't seem to bother the stereotypical gay- He'd be thanked later when the outfit came together, he just knew it.
Norman did his best not to make a full-fledged grin as Carter averted his eyes, looking off to the side as he stood in front of him in the navy blue suit. My, he did look dashing. It flattered his shape and appeared to make him even thinner then he was, amplifying the upside-down triangle that was his chest and matching his dark blue eyes just about perfectly.
"N'aw that you mention it, it looks perfect…" Jayden quipped, sitting back as he crossed his arms and legs.
"I knew it! Okay, hon, now we just need you to sit down and try these on."
Now Jayden noticed Blake's face turning a steadily darker red, jaw clenched as he ripped the chair from the attendant's hands as it was handed to him. With a groan and some difficulty, he took a seat, then bent over to unlace his shoes, pulling the supposedly 'dreadful' black numbers from his foot, revealing black socks underneath. Taking a shoe from the man in pink, he gave an almost dirty look back, but wouldn't have shown it if he was angry himself- he seemed to be genuinely devoid of displaying any sort of displeasure with his customers- and instead watched as Blake slid the shoe over the foot effectively.
Doing up the laces, he tried his best to keep his head down and ignore the two bantering so casually behind him. Well, he supposed this answered the question about whether others could see the little twat- and made things just that much more fun for him in the meantime.
Unlacing and replacing the other foot with the brown Louis Vuittons, he stood to full attention and walked a few steps. They must have run small- as they seemed to fit just fine despite the loss of a little width. He had to admit they were nice shoes; the backs had a checkered pattern embossed into calf leather, the fronts were smooth, waxed and glared up at him with perfection. The laces were short and took up such a small area of the shoe; they may just as well not have existed.
"Uh! What I'd tell you? Goes perfect…It's so you, hon."
'You call me 'hon' one more fuckn' time…' The lieutenant ground his teeth, looking down at the expensive French shoes and rattling off just how gay they made him look, not to mention how much they must cost.
"Why not…" Yet it sounded less enthusiastic then one would expect, his breath leaving his body as he said it, eyes drowsy and just wanting to be done and leave already. As far as he was concerned he had spent wayyyy too much time as it was doing this shit.
"Okay sir! Do you want me to wrap them up or do you want to wear them out?"
"Boxed, please…"
Blake said this as he began to undo his buttons, then slid the jacket off as he cleared his throat again, sticky thanks to his once-more mounting thirst. To his surprise, Jayden jumped to attention and began helping Blake pull the coat off, doing his best to once more humiliate the man in blue by acting as if they were a couple. It was working, and the attendant smiled affectingly at the cute pair as he was handed the jacket, and walked over as he went to put the outfit in its box around the corner.
Given a moment of privacy, Blake turned to the younger man as he reached up to unlace his new tie.
"-The fuck, Jayden?" Came a small snarl, the man's dark eyes appearing like clouds looming on the horizon.
"I'm sah-?"
"-We're not-I don't want him to think-"
Back already, the man in pink came waltzing in, measuring tape removed from around his neck as he waited patiently. Without thinking, Blake began unbuttoning his pants and stopped halfway, realizing two gay men were watching him.
'How did it ever come to this- ? Christ…I used to make fun of these kinds of fags in school and here I am…'
Jayden watched as Blake hesitated when it came to pulling down his pants- then must have decided to go for broke, watching as he pulled them down and off, folding them slightly as he handed it to the gay man- averting eye contact as he glanced up then away, noticing that he had at least taken a look at his crotch, and was actually grateful when Jayden had the foresight to hand him his original slacks that had been neatly folded on the floor.
A thankful, yet still irritated look graced the lieutenant's face as he ripped the old pants from the pale kid's hands, to which the giver couldn't help but smirk a small smile in return. It was the second time that day that Jayden had seen him naked from the waist down- well, this time it was only partially, he supposed.
Hearing the belt buckle jingle together, Jayden decided to give the man some sort of privacy as he began to step back into his old clothes, catching a glimpse of him balancing on one leg and nearly falling over.
Instead, he followed the feminine attendant sheepishly- not for desire (he had defiantly not been his type) but more out of an awkward air, helping give Blake some sort of 'alone-time' in order to calm down. Any more and he just might explode like a neglected boiler.
"So…How'd you two meet?"
The question took Norman off guard as he followed him to the boxes in the hallway, and it was apparent he was trying to be a bit quieter. Carter very obviously was embarrassed at the situation, and it wasn't difficult for the attendant to decide and be more secretive about it.
"Hm?"
"Come on now…There's not much of a gay community around here, hon….How'd you score that?"
'Shit, I'ma gett'n deeper in this lie an' I'm not like'n it…'
"We uh- work'd togeth'ah. Until recently, that is."
'Well, at least that wasn't a complete lie…'
"Oh, I see- you know you'd be surprised how many cops like a man on the side, I used to date an older cop like that in high school. He was even married, can you believe it?"
"Yes, actually." A small frown made Norman's face look especially downtrodden, he knew all about that thanks to his parents. His childhood was most remembered by constant fighting and bickering thanks to the infidelity of both.
Smirking, the younger gay man rifled through the shoeboxes on the wall and pulled out the appropriate one, handing it to the young agent when he turned around. It was empty; of course, ready to hold the lieutenant's new brown footwear.
Norman honestly didn't know what he had meant by 'score that', since when did Blake even look like a sexual object to…Well, to anybody? He was so rough around the edges, so rigid, he honestly ever expected Blake to only score drunken one-night stands and the occasional hooker. Some girls had a thing for guys just like that, older, tougher men in uniform. Still, he wasn't expecting Blake to exactly be on the latest cover of "Playgirl" anytime soon.
"-hung like a horse." It wasn't until then when he noticed the other queer had been talking to him, and he suddenly felt very rude- and by the time he caught on to what he had been saying, he nearly scoffed. He must have caught sight of Blake's size through his briefs- something he still couldn't believe. He'd heard of men having 'short men syndrome'-even if Blake wasn't unusually vertically challenged- but had always assumed his behavior had much to do with dislike for himself. That usually included inadequacy- being small or having the inability to achieve an erection- yet that wasn't the case in this instance.
Blake was an interesting case study…While attempting to catch the Origami Killer; he had been more irritated, frustrated and perturbed by Blake's behavior to really give two shits about the main cause of his sudden boughts of aggression. Now? Well, now he had all the time in the world. The man that had been a royal pain in his ass had turned into his new obsession- something he didn't want to admit, but also couldn't help.
"I'm ah'fraid I didn't catch that?" An upturn was added to the end, making it seem more like a question then a statement.
The younger man seemed to blush, biting his top lip with his bottom as he tried to save himself from digging a bigger hole for himself.
"Well, he's just a big boy, is all…"
Norman did his best to look stressed but not wholly shamed. He nodded quickly; "mmm-hmmm" he flashed a fake smile as he then ran his hand through his soft chestnut-hued hair. It was greasy and no longer felt as soft and dry, the sweat from days of living without a shower accumulating, his hair's oils floating freely throughout the locks. It combined to make him look tired, drained, in dire need of a long, hot and steamy release in a shower stall.
"Oh- sorry hun! I didn't mean to embarrass you-"
"I just…We need to get going-"
He said this as they entered the dressing room again, Blake just getting finished replacing his dirty work clothes, sniffling a bit as he sat down and laced his old, apparently "dreadful" shoes.
"We have an uh…'eventful' day tomorrow."
Carter seemed to perk up at this, staring with a tired glance as he shifted to tying the knot in his necktie.
"He told me all about it, sweetheart." His feminine voice rang, making the masculine lieutenant cringe.
"Was he a coworker of yours, too?"
Standing up, Blake looked back towards the agent nervously as he watched Jayden scratch the back of his neck and looked away into some cobweb-encrusted corner. Surely, it was more agreeable to look at then the lieutenant's accusatory stare.
"I…suppose you could say that."
"They were very close, actually." Blake laughed, getting up and walking towards the mirror as he fetched his loosed wallet that had fallen from his pocket when he had originally undressed.
"…Like twins, you know? Like they were the same pers-"
"Cartah! He doesn't care- let's get going…"
Walking out the door behind the two of them, he felt his world shift just as his emotions ran high. He suddenly found himself once again in the bottom of the ocean, walking with high-cresting corals on either side that very much mirrored the walls of the dressing room corridor. Not in color, but in sheer dynamic. Nothing like this would exist in nature, not with these hallway-esuqe formations.
This caused him to sigh heavily in relief, though with a slight twinge of frustration. On one hand, he had wanted to escape that unbearably embarrassing situation. On the other, he knew he had regressed from reality and entered close to the exact opposite. He hoped he would make progress, especially since he seemed real enough to be seen by others. This thought abruptly came to an end as dolphins chattered happily above, craning his neck as he watched them make obvious silhouettes against the sun glaring down on the ocean's surface.
'Actually, no…This is bettah.'
Here was peace- an eternal, pristine environment that meant him no harm and tailored to his every need. Seeing as he'd met nothing but resistance in his normal life, he found ARI a delightful escape…Especially in this situation. And right now, Blake was the last person in the world he wanted to see, much less talk to or argue with.
A surge of nerves shot through him. It made him exhale deeply as he tried to calm himself; he had just started to dwell on tomorrow and all its disastrous applications. God, how could he even think this would work out? Not only would Blake have to infiltrate his home and the most intimate of his personal affairs- he would have to meet his family and deal with them. Two worlds he simply always thought would be separate were going to clash in a big way.
''t'would have rathah been dead…This is gonna be a liv'n hell.'
He continued to walk forward, grimacing as the three dolphins split, and one swam off towards the small clearing that he had just strode into. The coral walls ended rather abruptly, instead emerging into a more far more wide-encompassing space with swaths of seaweed flowing in spots in random areas.
The dolphin seemed happy- that permanent smile on his face amplified by the wonderful, freckle-like spots that dazzled all over its body, even on its stomach. He made low, loose circles above the dead bureaucrat as he rolled over and under, twisting about as he gave him a low, upside-down smile and made an admiring, adorable squeal as he floated closer. The agent couldn't help but crack a grin, reaching up as the spotted dolphin came within touching distance-
Something bumped him horribly; he went flying a good few feet as he caught himself, letting out a coughing gasp as he struggled to keep himself on his feet. It all happened so fast, he barely had the ability to even analyze the sounds and events. A surprised chortle, a rushing of muffled fins; Jayden swayed back as he watched a rather stout but powerful shark - a tightly compressed, grey, package of muscle known as a bull shark- fly after the dolphin in a heated chase. Ignoring him completely as it went off towards the previously delightful dolphin, now swimming for his life. It had knocked him back in the excitement, either not able to see him or simply going after a far more enjoyable meal, even if he would have been far easier to simply bite the agent's head off.
Before the shark could catch it's apparent dinner, reality flashed back, and he watched with the utmost curiosity as Blake looked transposed onto the vicious shark's body, watching him make his way towards the counter as the apparent gay dolphin was actually the young gay man this entire time, and instead of running for his life, he was simply moving unnaturally fast as he made his way behind the cash register. A small amount of tension hung in the air between those two- evidence enough, perhaps, for ARI to pick up on.
Jayden looked around as this transformation continued- the swaths of seaweed now clothing racks, the various color fish fish now items that sat motionless on the walls and shelves. Blake looked back and reacted in obvious surprise when he seemed to notice he had appeared out of thin air.
"There you are…" The words came out on a sigh.
Looking around in slight disbelief, the younger man licked his lip quickly then glanced back towards the tired Blake as he stood watching in confusion.
"Why…Is your shirt wet?"
Blake's brows furrowed as he took a step forward, noticing some droplets that had seeped into the agent's shirt, about three, in random and large wet spots that appeared to have no real indication of direction. Norman looked at him with similarly furrowed eyebrows, then snuck a peak down to where the lieutenant's eyes had been staring.
"Oh! Oh- I don't-"
"Hon, did you walk into the closet? Damn ceiling's been leaking like crazy." The pink-shirted man did the stereotypical limp-wrist flick, looking away the whole time as he added up Carter's outrageous bill on the cash register.
"Yyeah! Sorry I…I got lost-"
"Everyone thinks it's the bathroooom." He drew out, giving Norman a small glance as he continued simultously boxing and ringing up the order.
"It's just around the corner if you're interested-"
"He's fine." Carter interrupted, raising his hand back to Jayden to stop him from possibly speaking up.
"What's the damage?" He put right after. Ignoring the slushy sounds of Jayden's drenched pants, which he knew full well wasn't from any damn closet. Yet the man at the counter wasn't the wiser, and that was good enough for him right now.
"Well, let's see here…The suit was $800, the tie was $75, the shoes were $760-"
"Holy fuck." Carter let fly, he'd hadn't spent that much in one fell swoop in a long time. Certainly not on clothing. Christ, his last suit cost him a little under $200; it was from one of those Men's Warehouse stores. The first time Ash was married, he had been invited and had to wear a tuxedo for the only time in his life, and that one he rented. That was a good eighteen years ago…The second time there was no wedding, just eloping to a courthouse- which he was grateful for.
Behind the counter, the gay man gave a tilted smile and a slight red came to his face. He didn't appear angry, yet perhaps just slightly embarrassed for the poor younger man he was with.
"Okay, that's right… wait! Your discount…Here, let's see what I can do…"
A few more finger taps along the keyboard, a clicking of a mouse, Jayden looked away in slight shame at Blake's behavior. He suddenly felt like a henpecked wife, and it pissed him off more then anything. Not so much this moment in particular, but how it made him feel. Embarrassed by association, Christ…They might as well had been fucking. Norman promised to himself, after this, it wasn't going to happen again.
"How's $1300 altogether, sound?"
Blake visibly cringed, but ended up reaching back for his wallet with a soft grumble. His stance was tense and visibly taut, under a high tension that could snap at any minute, practically visible in his whole frame from head to toe. A defeated glare came across his eyes as he lifted a high-yield Visa credit card from his wallet, his name in upraised letters on the flat piece of plastic. A picture of a green landscape with rolling hills taking up its front.
"Good 'as it's gonna get, I guess."
In the back of his mind, Blake told himself soon he'd be re-reimbursed by the agent himself. If he hadn't been, chances are he would have stridden right out of the place at that moment, cursing all the way. Actually, the minute he saw how upscale the place was, he would have walked right out at that point. No, he decided to play nice. Why not look good in front of those high-class assholes? They wouldn't have room to talk; the sight of designer clothing would send them into a tizzy from an apparently moderately-earning Philadelphian police lieutenant.
Without words, Blake watched as his card was (gently) taken away, then swiped through the card reader on the cashier's side. A heavy few wordless minutes, then he was presented with a slip and a pen. Norman peered closer as he spied the man taking said pen and using it to sign his name, noticing his signature was a hell of a lot neater then the agent's own. One could read his simple name with ease, even if the C and B were extravagant. Norman was always made fun of for the complete inability to read his signature- often joking that he should have been a doctor instead.
"Here you go, sweetheart." Blake visibly cringed again, an insult at the tip of his tongue as the stereotypical gay man's voice crawled under his skin.
"Come again, mm'kay?"
After a curt, dismissive nod, Carter took the large white bag with stringy handles, containing several boxes of his large purchase. It crumbled noisily as it was handed to him, and if he was a woman or even partially feminine- he may have felt a twinge of excitement from a sort of shopping high finally resolved. Instead, he only felt irritation at having to carry a package so 'fancy' and expensive. It may have been all worth it if the supposedly sharp look got him to nail Norm's mom- that would have been extremely satisfying to his ego. Though, deep down inside, he knew that plan was flimsy at best.
Norman found himself shamefully following the shorter man out the door like some beaten whore to their pimp. He heard the door jingle and breathed in the biting, cold air as he noticed a few snow flurries fall lazily towards the dirty street, melting as they hit the pavement and asphalt. 'Fuck, that's early…' He mused, stuffing his hands into the loose pockets as he breathed out, seeing his breath and huddling into himself to keep warm.
"So?"
"So…?" Norman repeated, curious as to what the older man meant as they walked down the sidewalk.
"So- What really happened back there? You're soakin' wet."
Carter stopped at the road, breathing out hurriedly with his mouth partially open, rolls of mist appearing from his nostrils and bearded jaw as he strained to stare at the road to enable a safe passage. Norman watched as the older cop sniffled from the cold. Fuck was he freezing. He didn't really grasp how a dead man such as he could feel the cold, never mind become practically hypothermic. His now wet clothes made it far worse.
"It 'code be from the ocean." Norman issued out between chattering teeth, now putting his arms up as he crossed them in front of his chest.
"Well, of course!" Blake laughed out, rather condescending. Finally, he saw a break in the traffic and jaunted rather casually across the road as his white bag crinkled as he stepped.
"The ocean! How obvious…"
Norman pushed his lips together and tried his best to keep his teeth from chattering- it wasn't easy to say the least. The car was right across from where they stood, and he watched as the public servant took his keys from his pocket, jingling them as he found the small black box attached to them that would unlock the beast.
"I mean, AR-EEE…I went back, again."
"Now why'd you go and do that? Now you're soakin' wet 'an gonna sit in my car-"
Unlocking the door, Blake sat in as Jayden heard him catch off in mid-sentence as he sat down inside. He watched as his mouth continued to go off as he ranted to nobody in particular. Jayden made a face of disapproval, the most unattractive look he was capable of making- his eyes squinting horribly shut and his frown deep, then grumbled in his chest as he gratefully opened the door to sit inside the icebox of a Taurus.
"It wasn't my inten'shun to be in the ocean, Cartah." His accent slurred as he shifted in the cold leather seat.
"I faded sorta…in and out. You know how it is-"
"Yeah, I know full-fuckn' well how it is…" The older man hissed, putting the car into reverse as he put his arm around the back of Norman's seat, turning partially around as he maneuvered the car backwards onto the street.
"What I wanna know is, how'd that make you soakin' wet?"
Norman drew a blank stare, shivering as he watched his former partner switch on the heat to full blast. He parted his mouth a little and shrugged his shoulders as visibly as he could to indicate that he was just as clueless.
"You and I are gonna have a talk, Norman."
The car started to heat up, and the young ex-agent swallowed as he nodded just barely enough to be seen.
"About what?"
"About…This!" Blake rose both his hands up into the air, temporarily taking his grip off the steering wheel.
"What's going on? You know what I did after you left my ass for your little bitchfit? I almost killed a man at a KFC- then I ate a whole bucket of chicken- I think I almost choked to death on a few bones go'in down! Now I'm not sayin' you knowwhat's goin' on, but for fuck's sake take a wild fuck'n guess because I'd like some answers!" He watched Blake's head bob as he accentuated some of his words, his grip retreating to the steering wheel as it gripped it tightly. Under the gloves, Norman guessed his knuckles to be white.
A small silence pervaded the car as Norman stared ahead awkwardly, a heavy air filling the small space as a complete standstill fell over both of them. Looking out the window, he ground his teeth as he noticed they were getting onto a highway, and he could glimpse the city's massive skyline against a rather pleasant sunset. It filled him with a momentary peace, even if the man beside him was ready to lose it if he didn't provide something.
"Nice sunset…" He passed out between his soft lips.
Blake raised a brow and cast a quick glance, temper on edge as it was.
"So?"
Norman could have laughed- was this man even capable of showing any hint of humanity?
"I was hungry too, Blake…Until you ate all that chicken. I tasted it- felt it, God I'm digeste'n in right n'aow. It's me, okay? It must be me. I'm caus'n you to go crazy with hungah and thrist- but there's noth'n I can do about it, alright?"
The cop to his left bit his tongue, rolling his head to the side as he stared forward with a self- contained anger. He would have loved nothing more then to lose it on the young ex-agent, to stop the car right there on the busy highway, take him out and let the cars run him over. Hell, he'd just come back to life again, right? That might actually be pretty damn fun, now that he really thought about it.
"This is all because of you, if you never showed up-"
"Cartah, I nevah told you to put the damn glasses on." He stressed, trying to keep his voice down even if he was grating his teeth in the process. "Here I thought you'd be able to handle it- guess I was wrong. You know, with all you're countless years of experience, I thought you'd seen it all! I guess you found somethin' that knocked you off that high horse-"
"Oh, fuck you!" Blake spat, his anger amplifying as he blew right through a stop light, a car honking noisily as it was cut off.
"I'm on a high horse? The minute ya' came into town you were acting like some hot-shot, government asshole who's shit didn't stink; the minute I saw you I knew you'd be a pain in my ass! I had you pegged from the beginning you son of a bitch-"
"-Just like I remembered thinkin' how incomp' andant a cop you'd have to be in order to not solve that case in two years? Who solved that, by the way? Oh, that's right…A journalist, Ethan Ma'hrs- and me-"
"You know what?" His tone was more mocking then angry. "I think you should go back to that store, I think that fudge- packer had a real eye on you. Get him to take you to D.C, I'm sure he'd love to, after he got done fuck'n you up the ass-"
"Here we go! Nice- you're real mat'chah, Blake. You know that? You've got no room to talk, last I checked, you came up with our little 'deal'!"
He said the last word with a heavily cursed tone, making sure the older lieutenant knew exactly what he had thought about their business transaction. There was a silence; Blake ran his rough thumb over his bottom lip. Immediately, the younger man knew he'd went into uncharted territory; God only knew what would happen next.
"Fuckn asshole…" He mused under his breath, getting off the main highway as he took an exit. Norman couldn't help but notice they had gone to a slightly more isolated part of town. Blake watched as Jayden put his head against the passenger window and sighed in a melancholy tone. Anger writhed within him, craving answers that he couldn't get, and here the little bastard was acting like a little annoying fuck about it.
"I'm s'ahry…"
Blake titled his head as he tried to understand the words that came out of Norman's mouth...Again.
"What?"
"I'm s'ahry- for being such a pain in the ass; for making you do all this…I'm a burden, and you're the last person that should have to take care of me. Gahd, I mean…I barely even know you-"
"Hey, listen-" Blake hadn't meant the tone to be comforting, but put his hand up in an instinct to control the conversation.
"Cut the bullshit. This is a professional relationship, remember?" Carter accentuated the words while glaring daggers towards the dead agent.
"That doesn't mean-"
"That means don't get too emotional. Alright? Listen to you…Sound like a fuck'n woman. That's the third damn thing you apologized for today. Grow a pair."
Norman snorted as he almost laughed, barely stifling the noise that made its way out. Shaking his head vigorously, he looked out the window as they turned down a few more streets. It took everything in his power to bite his tongue, and poked it between his incisors, then rolled it over to his canines as he nearly pierced the pink muscle.
Things were delicate now; Norman knew better then to start shit. A million curses and vulgarities were on his tongue, fueled by an upcoming Triptocaine withdrawal coupled with a raising irritation for the man he always clashed with. Carter simply always had to be right. There was no compromise- his way or the highway. As much as such behavior dug heavily under his skin, he needed to shut his mouth. It was the eve of his own burial, and at any minute the lieutenant could turn his back on their deal.
Anymore, he needed food and water among other things from the black-haired brute. The pleasure he had been sworn to give could easily be forced for the necessities alone that seemed to simply "come along" with the deal. Complimentary, like a hotel breakfast.
The car slowed, and the dead agent looked up to notice they were turning into Blake's driveway. For the first time he saw it from the front, the modest one-story's exterior was made of dark red bricks, with black shingles along its roof. It was surrounded by the wooden fence he'd seen before, and couldn't help but think it fit the older man in its gloomy atmosphere. The leafless, old trees' branches hovering menacingly over the top didn't add to the cozy impression. Instead it made Norman think of the sort of house young teenagers would dare each other to sneak into if it were abandoned.
"Home, sweet home…" Norman shook his head a little, exiting the car before the older man had a chance to deny the claim.
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