Dreams of Fire

[Jon Little Bird]

Continued in Chasing Phantoms

[Thalia]

Not under arrest. Check. That was a good thing - what the hell would Aylin have said if she had been? Let alone her parents. She chewed on the gingerbread while she listened, expression attentive, though within her thoughts wandered. It seemed they wanted to know a lot, and though Thalia was happy to answer, she wasn't sure how much she had of worth to say. Particularly the last one.

"Okay." There was uncertainty in her tone, a hint of curiosity in the tilt of her head. She helped herself to another piece of Tula gingerbread, poured some water into a plastic cup, and settled in her seat to accept the interrogation to come.

Of Katya she was effusive; she had liked the girl, who she explained had come over to ask if she was okay (she rather brushed over the why). She'd had a laptop with her - she was on her way to work, though Thalia had not pursued that line of questioning and did not share her suspicions that Kat had landed her job by dishonest means. "Sometimes you just like someone," she said, like it was the most ordinary thing in the world. It downturned the corners of her lips when the immediate affinity she had felt was finally confronted with Kat's death. She forced a smile, but it fluttered away sadly. "We were going to stop for a cup of tea, before she had to be at work."

They'd spoken of art, since that was what Thalia did for a living. Her brow wrinkled as the scene broadened, and she tried to answer in a way that made consecutive sense. "No. She didn't say anything unusual, or weird. After the train stopped, Dane and... and Jon, they both got up to check the other passengers. I didn't notice either of them until then. Dane came and sat with us. He offered us sweets. Wait, no, Kat didn't take one. I did. It was lemon." She still had the wrapper.

"It's all confusing after that. Dane and I were talking. I remember Kat got up, she was trying to get a signal on her Wallet. People were screaming and looking out the windows, but I stayed in my seat. I don't know what they were looking at. I never saw anything. I never looked." The lightness of Thalia's answers darkened after that; the strain left a permanent frown between her eyes. She paused for sip of water. Something had emanated from Katya the moment before she'd dropped her Wallet, something Thalia could barely comprehend let alone explain. The longer she thought about it, the hazier the memory got. Nothing had happened.

"She just. She just fell. I went to help her up. She was afraid to go the hospital. She was clammy, unresponsive." Her voice trailed off. She was just picking at the gingerbread now, and her eyes had dipped. The Chief Inspector was encouraging, of course; coaxed her with patient understanding. Would he wonder why she'd been unafraid to sit so close so someone so obviously Sick? Practically the whole train had panicked, but not her. "I held her hand. I held it until she died."

"Jon." The careful way she said his name each time, it was as if she expected it to rear up and bite her. "He never came over until after Kat had fallen and I helped her back into her seat. He attacked Dane, I think. I'm not really sure. He shouted. And he ran at him, I think. He must've pushed him over. And he called me someone else's name - I don't know him, we've never met. Maybe he thought Dane had hurt Katya? I don't know why though." Her words were running together, knitting a frantic and distorted picture, so she was glad when the questioning eased to another subject.

"Dane told us he was a lord. I don't know why he lied. He was a bit... snobbish, you know? But nice enough." She shrugged. "He didn't do anything antagonistic, that I saw. Do they know each other maybe? Jon? I don't know. He seemed... ordinary enough. He tried to calm every one down. People were just screaming and screaming and trying to rush off. He said it wasn't contagious. Then he fell too. Dane went to him. I don't know if he... I don't know if he died too. I didn't want to go near the body."

[Drayson]

There were no paper notes taken; there was no need. The conversation was recorded, both by camera and by microphone. There was a dizzying array of imaging equipment in the glassy black domes in the corners of the room. Enhanced zoom cameras tracked her eye movements and dilation, sensitive thermal cameras watched for changes in body heat. There was a wealth of information that could be learned from the body's reactions to things that an officer's eyes and ears could miss.

The woman was clearly shaken regarding the sudden passing of Katya. The two had hit it off well, it seemed. It was easy to see in her posture, her choice of words, but there was little he could do for her but to lead the questions away from that topic.

Her description of the events leading up to Katya's death fit with what he understood of the Sickness. The sudden drop in body temperature, disorientation. The aversion to going to the hospital was curious but likely linked to some sort of early life trauma.

She seemed afraid of Jon; he was American, and likely a bit of their stereotype for aggression and arrogance had bled over to form her opinion of the man. Jon's apparent disorientation could also have been linked to the Sickness; confusing Thalia for someone else and the sudden loss of consciousness, but the aggressive behavior didn't seem to fit. But maybe that was simply because he was American? Violence so often seemed the best option to those sorts. Odd for a lawyer though.

It was unfortunate that she hadn't looked out the windows; as an artist, he had had some hope she would be his best hope of getting a glimpse at what may have been outside the car. And finally it came to Dane. The man with the hair in his pocket. She seemed comfortable speaking of Dane, if a bit curious perhaps.

"Mr Little Bird is alive. Likely, the young man is laying in a bed at the hospital, having some pudding this very moment."
The last he had read of the man's condition, all signs were good that he would be fine with some rest. "Thank you, Miss Milton. One of my men will see to it that you can call your sister, or I can arrange for someone to drive you home. A counselor will be with you shortly. They are a bit more comforting to speak with then I am."


He smiled softly. It was standard procedure, considering all the stress she had gone through in the past few hours.

He had gotten what he would need for now; further detail into Katya's death. There was no indications she had been poisoned, at least not on the train, and while it was strange that Jon and she had displayed similar symptoms (disorientation and loss of consciousness to be exact), there seemed to be no further connection between the two.

He collected his papers and stood from the table, collecting his empty coffee cup. "Thank you for your cooperation Miss Milton. A detective may need to see you in the future for additional questions, but I hope we do not need to bother you further."

[Thalia]

Alive. She didn't want to react to that, but probably the conflict was written all over her face. Not that she wanted Jon to be dead, but the idea of him sitting in a hospital bed eating pudding was strangely discomforting. He shouldn't even exist. But at least now that he was very far away the memories blurred a little and the panic felt like it was locked behind glass. She could almost convince herself she hadn't seen what she thought.

The questioning had left her feeling a little exhausted, but now that it was over she returned to her usual animation. Crumbled pieces of gingerbread littered the table in front of her, and there were bits of jam on her thumb, which she stuck in her mouth. She swept the rest of the crumbs into her palm and, not knowing quite what to do with them, cascaded them on to one side of the plate holding the rest of the pastries. "My sister has my spare set of keys," she said in answer to the offer of an escort home. The idea of having to see a counsellor didn't seem to bother her; it was what Aylin did at the Guardian.

"Okay." It was a blanket acceptance of everything he said, touched by a little curiosity since she still wasn't entirely sure why she'd been questioned in the first place. She had the very british notion to thank him in return, particularly since he really did seem overworked, but in the end just watch him stand, and offered a smile. "Good luck with the investigation, Chief Inspector Drayson." If that's what it even was. Probably just routine since someone had died on public transport, and all the confusion of the Sickness stuff too, but it didn't dampen her sincerity.

[Alex]

The first day. It was always one of the most stressful days of anyone's life. Alex remembered the first day of every new school. The first day at MIT with her brother the only soul on the continent she knew. First days were stressful. And Alex's first day at her new job was plagued with a train system going out. She had to take a cab to work, and it wasn't like every other soul in Moscow was not doing the same thing.

Alex was late, on her first day. She apologized profusely to her senior officer, he only patted her on the back and laughed. Alex smiled back at him, he was only trying to comfort her, the waves of calm and only a hit of sarcasm could be felt. Feeling what everyone felt was always more revealing than what they said.

The day wore on, the trains were started again. But one incident on one train caused an uproar. The sickness. Alex had heard rumors of the sickness. The people on the train had apparently as well. A riot of sorts, a fight, a dead girl. It was all very frightening for Alex on her first day. But what better way to get your feet wet, there were many witness' nothing out of the ordinary. But Alex sat behind the two-way mirror and listened to the other officers question them. Their words were not her focus, though she listened carefully to what they said. She watched them all closely, a tick here, a smile when there shouldn't be one. Their emotions told other stories as well.

One passenger was hiding something. Alex couldn't fathom what it was, everyone had been searched, but nothing had been found. Alex let the officers who let the man go, but they laughed and shrugged at her. They were convinced. Alex wrote the man's name down on a peice of yellow legal pad that she kept for such notes. Maybe someone would believe her down the line. She was new here. She expected some retaliation for her efforts.

But it was the two that had been closest to the dead girl that caught Alex's attention the most.

The woman whom Chief Inspector Drayson spoke to first sleeping when Alex walked in the room behind the two-way mirror. Sleep was always one of the most interesting times to watch a person. She'd only had a few occasions to do so when it wasn't her family she'd been watching, and their emotions were guarded even from her. While she may have slept, Alex could feel her emotions as she slept, they were not familiar to her, dreams felt different, these felt almost like she were still awake. Alex jotted down her name and the required notes. She'd have to figure that one out later.

The interview, interrogation, Alex felt more interview since she was not a criminal, at least not in all things that mattered in this particular case. She was only here to get a feeling for her job anyway, the notes she made were purely for her own self. Getting her feet wet.

A slight wisp of worry followed by humor was about the extent of the feelings Alex started off with. The predominate notion Alex got was that she was telling the truth, minor inconsistencies, like she had more to say but not exactly the words. There was sorrow in the loss of the girl, but no fear. The reaction was very atypical for the situation considering the rest had all fled at the sight of the girl falling from the sickness. It was a curiosity. She jotted down another note.

The American on the other hand incited something else, fear? worry? Alex couldn't make a definite guess at it, everything was quickly moving. It was something she was going to have to get used to.

Curiosity ended the interview. Such an odd ending. Alex relaxed as the Chief Inspector left. She'd move to the next room. One last person to look over. This was her new job. This is what she'd be doing from here on out. The world was a chaotic place, Alex hoped to at least put some order to it.

[Drayson]

Drayson paused at the door to glance back at Thalia and nodded his thanks, then departed to the hallway to make the arrangements. Her sister would be phoned, and a counselor would join Thalia to assess her mental state before the woman was released to go home. Baring any future charges pressed by Jon, she was free to go.

An interesting woman, but her response to the news that Jon was still alive was...curious. She hadn't seemed to be lying; she didn't seem to know any of the people involved in the incident. It was just a group of strangers, entirely normal on the metro. But why then did she seem to have such strong feelings about Jon? And why had she seemed so...not displeased, but...uncertain, perhaps? that he was alive?

He stopped to speak to a few of the other detectives, assigning one to assure that Miss Milton's sister was rung, and to check on the results of the DNA tests of the hair found in Mr Gregory's pockets. There was nothing available yet.

Drayson dallied briefly in visiting Dane. A brief trip to the washroom, a fresh cup of coffee, but still there was nothing back on the test results. He sighed quietly, collected his papers, and entered the room Mr Gregory had been left to his own devices in for the past few hours, after a sound knock to alert the man he was about to have company, of course.

He studied Dane a moment as he came in and closed the door, then stepped towards the table. "Good morning, Mr Gregory. I am Chief Inspector McCullough. I have a few questions for you about what happened today in the metro."


Innocent until proven guilty. It was not exactly a legal requirement in the CCD, or to one of his office, but considering the wealth of resources he had at his disposal, he could afford to assume a person innocent for a short time. The gears that turned at his back would produce what he needed long before it became an issue.

[Dane Gregory]

Dane did not like the room he was in. The walls were hideous block cement splashed with monotone paint color and the ceiling pebbled with outdated texturing. His seat was terribly uncomfortable. There was no cushion beneath him, and the metal bars behind dug like rods into his back. There was a cup of tea on the table, but after a preliminary sniff, his disgust pushed it aside. In fact, he seemed to have pushed it as far across the table as possible as malodorous as he found it.

Steam long ago ceased to release pale curls from the surface. The water that brewed this tea was overly boiled, as though having come from a commercial coffee dispenser. Dane shuddered to imagine when the last time those wretched aluminum pipes had been cleaned.

It was cold in here as well, as he quickly learned once the agents took his coat, gloves and scarf from him. He knew exactly why they did it, but when it was requested of him, he slipped from the winter wear like the truly congenial gentleman he should be. Back in the metro station he'd attempted, with some measure of trepidation, to discard the silken treasures in his pocket, but agents swarmed too fast for him to do so discreetly. He could still feel their hands palming their way down his body; the memory cast crude shadows over his expression. Dane did not like to be touched, particularly by strangers, less so by the police. Of course, such thoughts inevitably turned to elsewhere. The black haired monster. He smiled to himself.

But the smile quickly faded. Such thoughts did not sustain his interest for long. Dane sighed. His head fell backward, both a posture of boredom and one of stretching. In doing so he could feel his own adam's apple protruding from the center of his throat. His back and limbs were growing restless. He did not like this room; boxy and lackluster, like a coffin for the impoverished.

His gaze fell upon the flat, cold tea, stagnant in its snowy Styrofoam, for many long moments. Soon, his eyes ceased blinking. He became a hunter intent upon his target, and the majesty of powers limitless swarmed like a storm only he could sense. The tiniest whips of heat he forced to dive into the tepid drink. Though the liquid remained still to his gaze, he knew what microscopic riptides were building beneath the surface; he was their master, after all.

Steam once more curled from the surface of the tea, and Dane smiled satisfactorily to himself. If he weren't so disgusted by the source of the drink, he would have sampled his own work. However, such was not to be today.

The sound of footsteps lifted his gaze from the steaming tea. He sat straighter in the chair, hands gently folded on the table, and was otherwise well prepared, groomed, and stately when a black gentleman entered.

They looked upon one another a moment until Dane stood to offer a handshake. The beastly man's palm dwarfed his. "Good morning, Mr Gregory. I am Chief Inspector McCullough. I have a few questions for you about what happened today in the metro."

His accent was familiar to Dane, which of course made him concentrate on perfecting his own posh voice. A filthy coastman, a brute, the Chief Inspector was; a constable interrogating the noble class. Dane returned to his seat content with the status of their interaction thus far.

"Good morning, Chief Inspector. I am happy to be of any help."
He maintained his grip on the power, but at such a low level the focus barely divided his attention at all, and the enhancement of vision showed him exactly every wrinkle in the man's face and highlight every cringe of expression. This would require all of Dane's skills with manipulation to walk out of CDPS without needing to post bail to do so, and he had no intention of blighting his perfectly innocent criminal record today.

[Dane Gregory]

Drayson was a man of detail. It was an important part of his job, after all. Dane's posture and mannerisms. His state of dress and choice of style; the man was well off, clearly. The cup of tea on the table was taken, registered. He'd glanced at the logs before entering the room, and no one had been within in hours now. Someone had brought him a cup recently, and not made note of it on the board by the door. He would have to look into that later. Such registries were kept for a reason, and although made rather moot by all the cameras and recorders that monitored the room, it was still standard operating procedure to note. "Thank you, Mr Gregory."
His shake was not one to demonstrate his physical prowess compared to the posh Lordling. Just enough to be firm without being painful. There was no need to be rude yet. "I need to better understand what happened on the train, and between yourself and Mr Little Bird."


---

Dane gestured that the Inspector take the other seat,and would not return to his own until he had. McCullough's request elicited all kinds of fond emotions within, but they hissed away, insignificant, behind the furnace of power churning inside. His smile was professional, but flat; a plastic doll had more life. "I apologize if I have been unclear in the many previous times I have told the story. Please do tell me Inspector if you need additional clarification."


Dane shifted in his seat enough to cross one leg over the other. The power ebbed distantly in the back of his mind. "Jon, as I believe his name is, sat next to me on the train when there were many other seats available. He was polite, but I think mistaken in his assessment of my sexual orientation. We spoke kindly until the train stopped and we each moved about the cabin to check on other passengers."
Dane bowed his head ever so slightly in a way that made his hair sheen and the angles of his face catch the light. Many hours of practice in front of a mirror, examining and scrutinizing every facet of his body taught him how to posture himself to glean what he wanted. At the moment, he wished to convey the delicacy that Jon, and almost everyone from his primary school, might have mistaken as homosexual. Of course he'd not actually suspected Jon of any such motivation, but the unfolding of subsequent events made for an easy tale.

"After the initial commotion faded, I struck up a conversation with Thalia. She's interesting, sweet, and attractive. I had hoped to ask for her number,"
his hands gestured with Dane's version of a shrug, but the glint in his eye was conveyed man-to-man. "When Jon realized I was speaking with her, he lost his mind."


----


So the Lordling thought he was in charge did he? Drayson paused in taking the seat briefly, by moving the warm cup of tea back to the table's center and out of his way. It had been placed as far from Dane as he could manage without it leaving the table entirely, so likely it offended him in some manner. When he did sit, his papers and files were placed and the button of his suit jacket was undone. Having one arm in a sling made it that everything seemed to need to be it's own dedicated action. "Well, Americans, yes? An arrogant sort."
The idea of Little Bird having a sudden emotional outburst, unjustified, did not seem to match the man's personality. So what was the cause that sparked the dispute between the two? Whatever it was, it seemed to have gone unseen by anyone on the train. "And what of Miss Chadova? The young woman that passed away."


---


Of course his gaze fell to the Inspector's sling. He openly studied it, quite obviously interested in inquiring about the nature of the injury, but polite men did not bring up such things that were none of their business. Why would he care about the dead girl? If he were less disciplined, he might have rolled his eyes. "I do not understand, sir. She was well one moment, and the next, seized and fell into a fit."
Dane's answer was flat, his irritation at having to discuss her veiled, yet likely still sensed by the Inspector. He did force himself to hold eye contact, however, and perhaps overcompensated in the gesture of seeming relatible.


---


Drayson nodded slightly, matching Dane's gaze as if searching for something, then seemed to accept his statement. It matched those made by the other witnesses, and Drayson had no reason to suspect that Dane had been in any way related to the girl's passing. That was not why he was interested in Dane, however. "Did you see Mr Little Bird strike his head when the train came to a stop? Or any sign of weakness before his sudden collapse?"



-----


Dane's expression changed somewhat. He was clearly thinking through the sequence of events and lining them up with what the Inspector was suggesting. "I saw no such thing, sir. We were seated next to one another when the train came to its stop. We ensured the other was well then moved about the cabin to see to the well-being of others. As I said before."
There was a glimmer in Dane's voice that gave his answer confidence. He suspected the Inspector was trying to corner him into misquoting his own story; which would then brand him a liar and suspect. "I did not see him fall directly. I was pushed down in the panic over the Sickness."



---


He nodded again, making a written note on one of his papers. "It's refreshing to have a witness that hasn't confused everything in the panic."
He turned a page over; he generally preferred the tactile interaction with paper rather then more efficient computers and Wallet systems. "In the confusion, some passengers claim to have seen something outside the train. Can you shed any light on what they may be talking about?"



---


Paper? Really? Dane watched him scratch notes, amused in the way of watching a child fiddle with crayons. The man was archaic, tired, and sadly out of touch. He matched the dilapidated atmosphere; this cement coffin was his, not Dane's. "I think we, myself included, saw nothing but strange shadows cast by the emergency lighting system."
Quickly growing bored with the anticlimatic turn of this conversation, his eyes fell to the tea. It was already cooled from where Dane's powers reheated it. What would happen if he twined the same heated cords through the inside of the Inspector's chest? Would his heart boil?


---


He nodded and scratched the paper again with his pen, and glanced up from under his brow as Dane's gaze lowered to the cup. He studied it with an unusual intensity, and he wondered a moment just what the man was thinking. But those thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door, and an officer opened the door to lean in, "Chief Inspector? You're needed."
He nodded and gave Dane an apologetic nod, "This should not take long, Mr Gregory."
Then stood, collecting his papers and such and moved back to the hallway, the door closing behind him to leave Dane alone once more.


---


Dane followed the Inspector's retreat, then shifted slightly to study the adjacent glass wall. The Inspector was likely on the other side speaking with his minions about dreadfully dull lines of evidence. In the interim, Dane busied himself by reheating the cup of tea. It would be steaming once more, smoldering in the way he pictured the Inspector's skin would given the same treatment, when the man returned.


---


Drayson didn't make it as far as the mirrored room. The results of the hair samples had come back, and one had indeed been identified as Jon Little Bird. The other however...reports and evidence files were accessed from his Wallet, and Drayson was absent near an hour from the room as he read up on the unsolved case.

A young woman had been found near death in the woods outside the city. Barely conscious, and incoherent even in her more lucid moments. She had been tortured, for weeks by the state of her various injuries and physical state. Missing persons reports had been filed of course, and he read on those as well. Her name, her birthdate, what school she went to.

Her own criminal record; a speeding ticket and a parking ticket, both paid in due order and no other indications of trouble. She had rambled something about magic in her dying moments, or so the witnesses that had found the poor girl had said when interviewed. That stuck out most in his mind, thanks to the recent conversation with Alric, and with the run-in with that drug maker, Vladimir. The incident at the metro control station. Far too common lately for his liking. When Drayson returned to the room, there was no polite warning knock. He simply entered, and was joined by two uniformed officers who stood in opposite corners of the room; one in Dane's line of sight, the other behind him.

When Drayson sat, there were far more paper files in his stack, and his Wallet was set on the tabletop as well. A few deft taps and various screens appeared, oriented that Dane could glean nothing of their meaning. "Mr. Gregory. When you were found on the train, you had locks of hair in your pockets. Can you explain where those came from?"



---


Time ticked on, and only by virtue of the expensive timepiece on his wrist, a demonstration of status still habitually displayed by the british upper class, had he any knowledge of the passage of time.

The Inspector was needed, Dane surmised, to teach the other imbeciles in the station how to write with pen and paper, most likely. Some wretched soul likely filled their days translating the Inspector's shoddy handwriting into digital format. He should at least use digital Flypaper.

Over the hour, he moved quite little. Without paper and pencil of his own, agents had confiscated his little drawing kit as well, he fiddled with the tendrils of the power. The aimless shapes did nothing but entertain him, and for all purposes, he seemingly stared into mid air for no reason at all.

The lines faded when three men entered the room. Dane watched the first round the periphery and take up sentry behind him. The second, a pot-bellied man with a wedged nose went to another corner.

He looked up the long distance to the Chief Inspector. Dane's look took on one of surprise. His eyes widened, his brows lifted, and the corners of his mouth pressed tight together. "Did I?"
He asked, tone light-hearted.


---


Drayson studied Dane for a moment, "Miss Elena Campos went missing three months ago. You have a lock of her hair, Mr Gregory. I need to know how you knew her, and when you last saw her, if we are going to find the ones who took her."
He pulled up an image of her, provided by her parents and the last known photo of the dead woman, but watched Dane for his reaction. It was a simple gambit; giving Mr Gregory a chance to reveal what details he did or did not know of the case and of the woman. If he were to find what had happened to her, it would be through Dane likely.


---


Mockingbird was quite aware of the predicament he could soon face. The holoscreen popped up, and with it, Dane's gaze drifted. He knew the woman's face, of course. He'd hovered quite close to it many times. He watched in awe as tears spilled from the corners of those beautiful eyes. "She's pretty,"
Dane replied.

"What'd you say her name is?"
He returned his gaze to the Inspector. Mockingbird knew her name; but Dane did not. Mockingbird gathered she must have crawled out of her new home; but Dane didn't know she was dead. Good riddance, bitch.


---


The man showed no immediate outward reaction to the image. He struck a key and the next that appeared was of what was left of the woman when she had been found. "I have men searching the area she was found. She was held somewhere for these past few weeks, and I suspect once the place is found, there shall be ample evidence to link to whomever did this to her."
The cup of tea was in the same location as before, but once more brought to a fresh boil. If this man turned out to be one of these people that Alric had warned him of, what was Drayson going to do with him?


---


Dane outwardly had no reaction to the gruesome body if perhaps he was slightly too interested in the specifics of her condition. "Good luck with your search, sir."
Dane glanced at the two officers. "Is there anything else I can do for you?"
He was quite ready to leave without being arrested. They had no proof linking Dane to illegal activities. He stood, "I'm sorry to ask, but I'd like to leave."



---


"Actually, you won't be leaving any time soon, Mr Gregory."
Drayson stood up. The man was far too neutral in his responses. Practiced. There was little he could hold Mr Gregory on at the moment...asides a pending of charges from Mr Little Bird, that is. "You shall be shown to a cell. Mr Little Bird may wish to press assault charges when he wakes up. And until you can provide me with a good excuse for Miss Campos' hair in your pocket. Or my men find where she was held."
He would contact Alric, and see what he had to say about Mr Gregory. Drayson could only hope for the moment the Lordling didn't decide he wanted to show himself out.


---


The Inspector suggested Jon would press charges against Dane? His gaze narrowed at that; Dane should be the one pressing charges against Jon. As did he react similarly to the suggestion of a new home of his own. The four walls seemingly collapsed, cement blocks transforming into bars in his mind. His reply was quiet.

The two officers approached, one on either side. Dane looked first to one, then the other. The power that boiled the tea curled on the air behind their heads, but he could not guess he would be fast enough to do aside with all three and escape the building without facing more than he could handle.

The Chief Inspector watched, wary. Dane licked his lips. They had no proof of his involvement with that dead bitch aside circumstantial evidence. The hair could have come from her brush, from clippings at a salon, or willingly given as a memento of love-making. A night, maybe two in jail, alone and unmolested by other cell-mates, might be tolerable...

And then a weight pressed on one shoulder. The other grabbed his other arm. They pulled him to his feet and in moments was wrangling him around the side of the table. Dane jerked his arms free, "I don't like to be touched,"
he warned, but one smirked in response and made to cuff him.

"Stop!"
He tore his arms away and hopped to the side, the power shoved the man back, and Dane spun, finding himself facing the Inspector.


---


Dane's calm exterior began to fracture like the poor quality porcelain it was. He had hoped he had been wrong about the man; that maybe he was just some arrogant, daft fool with no connection to the missing girl asides a pleasant past encounter. He still had no evidence to the contrary. Nothing that would stand up in court, anyway.

His officers moved to cuff him, and then that porcelain finally cracked. Mr Gregory's calm was gone, thrashing away from the officer with the cuffs, and with one look the officer was thrown back. The boiled cup came back to mind. The fired metro worker. The drug dealer.

Drayson met Dane's eyes as the man wheeled to face him, staring down at the Lordling as his good arm came up and forward. His stance shifted, lining his body sideways to Dane, such that the brunt of his weight was put behind the blow, a classic boxing stance, his torso twisted and threw his arm forward, his weight held on his rear most leg and stepped into the blow. He had always favoured boxing over the other martial arts styles. It was classical, stylish, and most importantly, favoured his large size and reach.

[Alex]

Chief Inspector Drayson didn't go immediately into the next room, it gave Alex enough time to settle in and watch the man on the other side of the mirror. He looked almost bored. She'd probably have been too, being kept waiting for hours. But unlike the others she could get nothing from his immediate emotions. Which would have been fine, except Alex had never met anyone not Sentient who could do that. Alex scribbled down a note on her paper to reminder her later. But it was not of any language anyone would understand.

It looked like a bunch of lines to most people, but Lucio was the only other soul could read it. Not even Mara or her dear departed sister could read it. They would pass messages as children and have their sisters in an uproar. Mother would tell them to ignore us, Father would scold us for taunting our loved ones. She pushed aside the memories and focused on the man in front of her. He straightened as the Chief Inspector came into the room. This Mr Gregory was an arrogant man, she didn't need to see into his emotions to know that. His mannerisms gave that off clear as day.

She would have to pay attention much more now. Not that she expected to have to do this often. Surely there could not be that many Sentients in Moscow.

When the actual conversation started Alex soon realized he was practiced at maintaining a certain amount of composure under pressure, as if he needed to use it often. Which made Alex more curious. What did this man do?

Alex laughed to herself as the man shifted ever so subtly to enhance his words, he thought highly of himself. She wished she could get in his head. But she didn't want to pry, she could, if she wanted to. The shield around him was unlikely to be better than her Mothers, and Alex regularly practice breaking her mother's shield. It was part of Alex's talent, she could read just about anyone, if she really wanted to.

It was clear to Alex that Mr Gregory did not like the deceased too well. For being strangers that seemed odd. The Chief Inspector didn’t stay long with the deceased and moved on. Alex was well aware of what had been found in his pockets. But she had no idea what had been found yet.

The topic of Jon Little Bird seemed to invoke a change in Dane. He paused in thought, and answered confidently, but Alex knew that this man was practiced. He had shown that already. Alex surmised he was good at manipulating others. But not like her father or Lucio. Not Sentient….

There was disdain for the notes the Chief Inspector took. Alex smiled at her own notes that were slowly adding up on the large yellow legal pad she used.

Disdain clearly turned to something else. Whatever he was thinking was malicious. Alex was grateful that she could not feel what he did at this very moment. She’d been in some bastards head’s before, but this one, she wasn’t sure she wanted to be anywhere near. He was calm, cool and calculated and he was clearly not completely sane. Alex wanted to interrupt the interrogation. But someone knocked on the door and the Inspector left.

Alex watched Mr Gregory, he turned and stared at the glass window and Alex felt a shiver run down her spine. She was glad he could not know she was there. She hoped that he did not know. His gaze returned to the cup and Alex could see the contemplation of deeds she didn’t want to know pass his face. This was a dangerous man.

Alex sat for an entire hour watching Dane through the glass. She didn’t know what he had done in the past, or what he was truly capable of, but she knew they had to find something, or he’d be free to do whatever it was he did.

The topic of the trophies in his pocket was the first thing Chief Inspector Drayson broached when he came back in. The results had finally come back and Alex’s heart froze when someone brought her the findings.

It was a game to him. He knew the woman, Alex could see it, it was written all over his face. There was feigned ignorance, but Alex knew better. There was contempt. She knew there would be that venom of malice in his emotions if she could feel what he was. She was not sure what this man was.

He was clearly getting uncomfortable. And then things changed, he broke. The officers grabbed him, and he resisted. Alex blinked in confusion as an officer was moved with unseen force. Chief Inspector Drayson didn’t hesitate a moment and cold cocked the bastard.

Alex took a deep breath as the man on the ground’s emotions flooded into the room. She blocked the new sensation, she hadn’t even realized she’d been trying to read him the whole time. He was pure mystery and Alex was both grateful and mystified at her luck. A real case on her first day.