*fades to light*

Tarin groaned slightly in his sleep and rolled over, trying to keep the light from the morning sun from shining in his eyes. The entire night had been completely unexpected, from seeing Lee in the bar, to the woman he’d met still wanting to come home with him. Well…that had at least gone well enough. It was still like going through the motions though and Tarin now fully realized why that lifestyle had began to wear on him even before he met Lee. Now, after Lee, it wasn’t going to work…he’d have to try to move on in different ways, maybe finding someone to regularly date. One night stands weren’t going to cut it.

Tarin opened his eyes, prepared to apologize, or say good morning, or whatever it was you did in this situation, but instead of seeing a sleeping form or a completely empty bed, Tarin opened his eyes to an absolute nightmare.

There was blood everywhere on the sheets on the headboard, puddeling in the canyons made by the sheets. Tarin tried to get out of the bed and succeed only in getting his arms and legs caught in the sheets. Out of the bed he fell with the sheets wrapped around him, he could smell the blood and as he frantically fought his way out of the twisted fabric he wondered if this was just another of those horrific nightmares he’d been having.

Finally free of the sheets, Tarin leapt up and tried his damnedest not to panic. There was even more blood than he had originally thought, it was smeared on the night stand and there was a trail of it as though something had been dragged. Looking down at himself, Tarin realized there was blood all over him too…and all over his clothes…clothes he definitely hadn’t been wearing when he’d gone to sleep.

Tarin, legs shaking, followed the train of blood to the kitchen, terrified of what he was going to find when he got there, but there was nothing. His hands were shaking by now and his stomach started to turn.

He barely made it to the bathroom before he was heaving. What had he done and why didn’t he remember doing it. Where was the woman, the nice, pretty, gentle woman he’d brought home with him the night before and why was there blood spread from one side of his bedroom to the other.

Slowly, pieces of a horrifying puzzle were starting to slip together in Tarin’s head. The nightmares, the dreams, they hadn’t been nightmares or dreams, they’d been reality. Something was happening to him while he slept and it was a with a cold and chilling realization that the final piece slipped into place and Tarin knew what had happened…why he had been so exhausted lately and why he’d woken up twice now in a room full of blood.

Concentrating and trying to figure out who was in his head and why they were there was useless, he was too panicked, but that was the only thing that it could be…he’d never do these things of his own volition…or would he?

He needed help and after he’d cleaned himself up in the bathroom, Tarin half stumbled to the phone, running his hand through his hair and feeling caked blood there. His hand left a bloody hand print on the phone as he picked it up and tried to coax his fingers into dialing the only number he could think of…the only number of someone who could help him…or stop him.

As he counted the rings, Tarin leaned against the kitchen counter and slowly slid to the floor, pulling his knees up to his chest. What was he going to do?

"Flipsy! Stop-! Flipsy-!" Rupert dodged the dancing dog. She wove between his dodges, merrily wagging her tail.

It was morning in Rupert's apartment, and Flipsy thought the noises Rupert made when he spilled coffee on his hand were some kind of game. It was a testament to how much he cursed, that the poodle mistook it for a good thing.

"Flipsy! Bad dog!" He made it to his kitchen table, and set down the steaming coffee mug like a man grasping a life preserver. Flipsy sat down at his feet, her mouth open in the smile of a dog too smart for its owner, and a tail wagging with all the happiness in Hell. Rupert glared down at her. She yipped back.

With a shake of his head, he sat down to a lazy breakfast of two eggs over hard and a cup of coffee he'd risked first degree burns for. It was well worth it. He took a long sip as he stared down at the paper. A police artist's sketch stared back at him. A sketch that had only gotten into his own hands yesterday. Rupert cursed. Flipsy yipped. Jones from Homicide had warned him of a leak in the department, but it was still annoying to see the paper getting their information as soon as they did. The sketch would have been released today anyway, but that wasn't the point. The point was that someone in Homicide was a reporter's rat. They didn't have to deal with that sort of thing in Mutant and Mutant-Related Crimes: their department was so small, rats were easy to trap. Homicide... was a nice sprawling monster, and this case had more people working it than was usual. Under pressure from the governor, they were cannibalizing all the manpower they could to put on a strong public showing of productivity. It was an election year. Rupert himself, with some gentle prodding from Captain Myers, had joined the case. He was technically Jones' partner for this one, but given the other detective's seniority and all the extra hands on the case, he was just another pretty voice in the choir. Honestly, it was a nice change from the personalized pressure of the MMRC.

Still, this case was starting to get under his skin. The murders weren't as brutal as other cases he'd worked, but he'd never worked a serial killer case before. The idea that his actions right now--how fast he put things together, how well he could use his eyes and his ears and his mind at each scene to catch something others were missing--could cut the rising death toll short was a whole new kind of pressure.

Needless to say, his insomnia was having a daisy walk. It had been a few days since he'd gotten any real sleep; the shadows under his eyes made him look like he'd be a good candidate for a serial killer, himself. His doctor had given him pills for times like this. Rupert was sure he could find them in the trash can, if he got desperate enough.

He ate his pre-dawn breakfast quickly. He had an idea--a stupid idea, and certainly a non-court-admissible one--but an idea, none the less. It was the sort of idea he'd like to get out of the way before working hours. He couldn't even begin to imagine how he would explain it to his coworkers if it failed, never mind if it worked. Rupert filled Flipsy's dog bowl with little kibbles, shut off the kitchen light, and locked the door behind him.

He went on foot. He liked going place on foot--just because he couldn't do much by way of exercise anymore didn't mean he couldn't still stay somewhat in shape. He limped a little as he went, courtesy of his Camp encounter with the charming Miss Isabel Duskmoor. That was one scar that had healed badly. The others--the ones on his hands, and arm, and shoulder, and gut--weren't causing him any trouble, so that was something to be grateful for. He could deal with a little limping. It wasn't like he was going to go jogging anytime soon, anyway. The Central Park Station was only a few blocks from his apartment. He wasn't going there, though. It was obscenely early, and he had a bona fide medium to go wake up.

He was just outside of the man's apartment building when his cell phone rang. He fished it out of his pocket like his was pouncing on a mouse. The tension went out of his shoulders when he saw that it was a number he didn't recognize. It wasn't Jones. There hadn't been another murder. Still, who the hell was calling him this early?

He flipped the phone open. "Detective Kelley," he answered formally.

ring....ring

Dread...no panic...no nausea...no panic...was coursing through Tarin's body as he sat, leaning against the counters in his kitchen, afraid to move, pretty much afraid to do much of anything. Tarin was no stranger to being afraid of himself, from the first time he'd merged with another person every time that feelings started in the tips of his fingers and spread through his body he'd been absolutely terrified of what he was going to become. This was different though, and so much worse. He'd seen the news reports, heard the gory details of the body found in the park, and the even gorier details of what had happened to the woman who'd survived...what she was going to have to go through.

He'd done it.

Tarin choked off a panicked half-sob at the thought and let his head fall back against the cabinets, hard. At least he could feel it...that meant he was in control of himself. It had to be a spirit, there had to be someone in his head beside himself. There was no way he could do those things to those innocent women...even thinking about it...or the state he and the apartment were in was enough to make his stomach turn again to the point where he almost threw up.

ring....

The ring tone on the other side of the line snapped Tarin out of his thoughts and he started to wonder if calling a cop...a detective for that matter...was a good idea...it didn't matter now though...it was too late...and he needed to be stopped. Whatever had to happen for that to happen, he needed to be stopped. Tarin knew if anyone could help him it would be Rupert because if someone else walked into this mess he'd be screwed. Tarin paused at that thought...he might be screwed any way...Rupert Kelley seemed a bit like the kind of guy who would shoot first and ask questions later.

ring.... Maybe he wouldn't answer...maybe he was still sleeping and dreaming dreams of flying saucers with cups of scotch sitting on them. Tarin almost laughed at the image...almost and then...

"Detective Kelley,"

Tarin sat for a moment...a few moments trying to find his voice and trying to run his hand through his hair again, settling for gripping it tightly in his fist when his hand stuck in the dried blood that was still there.

"Uh..." Tarin swallowed hard, "Rupert..." He cleared his throat, "This is Tarin...Tarin Brooks..." God, how the hell was he going to explain this so he didn't end up with an entire police squad down on his head.

Tarin took a deep breath, "I've got a problem...a big problem and I think you're the only one who can help me...I...I think I..." His voice broke and Tarin shook his head, and dropped his forhead down onto his knees, hand still clenched in his hair.

"Could you meet me at my apartment? Please...I'm a little desperate..."

He waited, waited and hoped that the reply would be positive. If it wasn't, walking into the police station in broad daylight in his current condition would probably end roughly. Hell, this would probably end roughly and for a moment Tarin considered hanging up the phone, telling Rupert that all of this had been an accident...that he was hung over and had gotten in a big bar fight and was concerned about the repercussions. Almost as if by fate a news story came on...and there was her face...the woman from the night before...Jenn. Nobody had come home last night...the babysitter had called the cops after 4 am. Tarin bit back a horrified groan at the realization that she'd had kids...no, there as nothing else for it.

"Please...."

((ooc: God-Modded door opening done with consent. Tell me if any of that needs to be changed! )

Rupert had almost hung up by the time the man on the other end spoke.

> "Uh... Rupert... This is Tarin...Tarin Brooks... I've got a problem...a big problem and I think you're the only one who can help me...I...I think I... Could you meet me at my apartment? Please...I'm a little desperate..."

It would take a man more sleep deprived that Rupert to miss the distress in Tarin's tone. "I'm on my way already, Tarin. I actually wanted to call in a favor--have you heard of the recent murders?" He pulled open the door to the man's building, and started inside. "I was hoping you could help me contact some of the... the spirits involved." Rupert waited for a reply, then took the phone away from his ear and glanced at its screen: zero bars. Buildings did tend to kill reception. Who knows how much of that the man had actually heard. With a shrug, he flipped the phone shut and started up the staircase to Tarin's apartment. He knew the way. He'd been there before, on a night the man had almost fallen on his head.

He knocked on the door twice, wheezing slightly from the stairs. When Tarin first opened the door, Rupert's first thought was that he'd actually fallen asleep. He'd fallen asleep, and this was just another of his nightmares.

The man was covered in blood. Not 'covered' in the English major, cutesy-description sense of the word: 'covered' in the much more literal sense. It was on his hands, it was caked in his hair--he was covered. There were rare clean spots were it looked like a trip to the bathroom had failed to clean him up. Rupert's second thought was pure concern. "Tarin, are you--?" The concern faded quickly. That was too much blood. The fact that the man was still standing with that much blood on him meant it wasn't his own blood. Rupert's third thought wasn't as concerned. Instinctively, his hand edged closer to the gun in its shoulder holster.

"What the ****, Tarin." He finally settled on. It was a question. It was a statement. And if he didn't get an answer he liked soon, it was a threat.

"I'm on my way already, Tarin. I actually wanted to call in a favor--have you heard of the recent murders? I was hoping you could help me contact some of the... the spirits involved."

"Before you get here...I have to explain...." The phone beeped and then there was nothing but a dead line number...for the second time in twenty-four hours Tarin cursed coincidence for the cruel bitch she could be. Tarin didn't even have time to wonder how close Rupert was before the knock came at the door.

It was so hard to stand, his hands and legs were shaking and Tarin suddenly doubted the wisdom of not cleaning himself up before calling Rupert. It wouldn't have mattered though, the other man had already been on the way...this was supposed to have happened. There was nothing left to do but throw caution to the wind and let fate take over.

The trip to the door seemed miles long...what was Rupert going to think when he found out what had happened? Tarin knew how the detective felt about human life lost at the hands of a mutant, even if their powers were out of control. Still, it would be better to be brought down this way than another, Tarin thought to himself as his hand reached out towards the knob and slowly pulled the door open.

The reaction was pretty much as he'd expected it to be. The look of shock, phasing to concern, then to horror was exactly what Tarin had figured he would see on his friend's face when he stood outside the door.

Tarin wasn't stupid, and he didn't miss the hand inching towards the holster on Rupert's shoulder and he raised his hands, palms up, shaking uncontrollably as he tried to figure out what to say in reply to the question he'd been asked...the one question Tarin didn't really know the answer to.

"I...I don't know Rupert..." Tarin looked away, he couldn't look at the man and say what he was about to say, "I woke up...like this..." Tarin swallowed the lump in his throat as he kept talking, slowly backing into the apartment in hopes of keeping the inevitable confrontation out of the hallway.

"I brought a woman home last night..." his voice broke again and Tarin had to swallow several times, "She...she was there when I fell asleep...and when I woke up there was just all this blood..."

Tarin kept his hands up, his legs shaking so hard now that he could hardly stand, brown eyes lifted from the ground to meet Rupert's and Tarin pleaded, "You've got to help me...I thought the first time was just a nightmare...but you see this too right? This has to be real. I didn't do it...but it's my fault...it can't happen again."

Rupert slowly advanced inside of the door as Tarin backed up. He kicked the door shut with his foot, his eyes never leaving the blood soaked man. He didn't want this confrontation to take place out in the hallway anymore than Tarin did. Someone innocent might get hurt.

"I see it, all right." He replied, his tone steely. He jerked his head towards the man's kitchen. More specifically, towards the man's kitchen chairs. "Why don't you take a seat. You look a little shaky." Shaky, like a man who was... emotionally exhausted? Like a mutant who'd been abusing their powers? Like a man who'd been up all night getting that much blood out of a human? Rupert had seen cuts on a person that could result in that kind of morbidly excessive mess. He'd seen them in crime scene photos, and he'd seen them in person.

It might be the sleep he'd been missing, it might be the fact he was predisposed towards jumping to conclusions, or it might be the fact that this conclusion was so bloody obvious: Rupert was damn sure he'd just found his serial killer.

He knew just enough about Tarin's "merges" to think it might not be Tarin he was actually dealing with right now. Maybe it was, maybe it wasn't; maybe it had been on the phone, but it wasn't now, or it could change at any moment. Maybe it wasn't a merge at all, and the man was just this deranged. Why had Lee left him, so suddenly? Left him for another country?

He'd give the man a chance to explain himself. He wouldn't give him a chance to get away, though. Rupert drew his gun at the same time that he reached a hand behind his back, and took a pair of handcuffs off of his belt. "About the chair," he said simply, holding up the handcuffs meaningfully. He let his gun hang loosely at his side; an understated emphasis on his next words. "I'm afraid I'll have to insist."

"Thank god you see it..." Tarin said, swallowing hard, hands still in the air. Shaky...yeah that was one word for what Tarin was feeling, there were several others that would probably not be hard pressed to describe what it was either. Tarin looked over his shoulder where Rupert was indicating, the kitchen...where the phone was.

Tarin thought about his options for a second, if Rupert was going to call for backup he probably would have already flipped out his phone. He hadn't done that though, and Tarin didn't have a gun pointed between his eyes either...definitely a good sign from someone who he had pegged as a 'shoot first ask questions later' kind of guy. Tarin didn't trust cops, hadn't trusted cops since he'd tried to break open that case about the little girl who'd been brutally murdered in Chicago so many years ago. He trusted Rupert though...he had to...he didn't have anyone else.

He'd apparently taken too long to think though, and Rupert felt the need to draw his gun. Looking down the barrel was an interesting experience and for a split second Tarin considered the fact that he knew a way to make sure nobody else got hurt. He looked up at Rupert and dropped his hands to his sides, wondering if he'd pull the trigger...then he dropped his eyes, it wasn't fair to put a good man like Rupert in a position like that.

Cuffs? They were going to need cuffs? Realization dawned on Tarin and he backed towards the closest chair. "This is a good idea..." he said, taking slow steps and making sure not to make any sudden or threatening movements, "I'm not sure how it's happening...but I don't want to risk you getting hurt either...especially since I'm not even sure what we're dealing with..."

Holding his arms out loosely to the sides he looked down the barrel of that gun again, Tarin stared for a second longer then up at Rupert, "I'm so sorry I involved you in this...when I realized it was me....I didn't know what else to do." back to the gun again....

"Maybe it would be better if you just shot me now...Lee was the only one who could ever fix this when it happened...."


No...he was so close...so close and it was all going to go to waste now. He'd gotten arrogant...he'd gotten so god dammned arrogant thinking that it would be as easy to take over the man's consciousness awake as it was asleep. He'd only ever managed it when the man was asleep or unconscious, why had he thought different this time?

John Erik was going to have to make his move...but the problem was he had far less doubt than did the medium that the cop in front of them would pull the trigger...and what good was all the work if the body he'd found was going to be destroyed? The medium wasn't going to do the right thing though...John Erik knew it...he'd have to wait again...wait like he had for so long. Wait for the moment when he could take over and do what he needed to finish his work.

If Tarin's steps were slow and careful, Rupert's were slow and on edge. He took each step half-expecting for the man to quit the cute compliance act and pull something. He didn't know what, and he didn't let his imagination get started on the subject. There was just Tarin, the gun, and Rupert's deliberately even breaths. He didn't answer the man's many babbles. He only half-way heard them. Until the man was restrained, Rupert honestly didn't give a damn about what he had to say.

Once they were to the chair, he very carefully moved to hook the cuff around one of the man's wrists; if that succeeded, he was planning to very quickly and none-to-gently manhandle the man's other wrist into the other cuff, with a bar of the chair back caught between. Most men weren't too combat ready with their hands behind their backs and a chair dragging.

((ooc: Short post; just makin' sure your inner serial killer didn't want to get in some last-ditch desperate move whilst Rupert was at close range and somewhat distracted with the cuffing. And the mosquitoes will eat me if I stay on the Cbox long enough to ask. Will check back soon to see if you've posted. )

(OOC - Might as well give Rupert a chance to punch Tarin in the face...the opportunity doesn't arise very often.)

Rupert was close and Tarin could feel his heart slamming against his rib cage as he slowly hooked the cuff around his wrist. Part of Tarin wanted Rupert to hurry up, wanted to make sure that there was no chance of anything happening to throw off the extremely delicate balance that had formed as they'd done their little dance.

Rupert obviously hadn't paid a bit of attention to what he'd said...not that it particularly mattered...it was mostly panicked babbling anyway...but the fact still remained that he had a gun. That made Tarin feel better in a strange way.

As he sat, a wave of dizziness slammed into Tarin like almost nothing he'd felt before and all of a sudden he could barely feel his extremities, Rupert moving his other arm to get the cuff locked around it. Suddenly, that arm was fighting back...

"Nooo...." Tarin half slurred, half yelled as his eyes tried to roll in his head,

"You might be ready to lay down and die but I'm not" Tarin didn't know that he'd spoke out loud, the voice seemed to come from directly inside of his head. Tarin jerked slightly in the chair, still half attempting to get his arm free as he struggled to fight off the loss of control that was threatening him.

Forced concentration caused a cold sweat to break out on Tarin's face as his irises faded from their usual murky brown towards white and he gasped deeply, then clenched his teeth together, "Hurry...up Rupert...argh....'s...him..stop it..."

The battle was fierce and his energy was starting to wane, obviously attempting this while the man was awake had been foolish, but something in John Erik had always been completely adverse to being leashed. The cop with the handcuffs was far too much. As he slowly faded into the background of the man's consciousness, John Erik resigned himself to the fact that he was going to have to wait even longer now...he was far too tired to take over...even if the man did happen to fall asleep soon, which was unlikely. He'd wait, and keep a better reign on his emotions this time...this was far too important to lose because of impatience.

((ooc: Opportunity EXPLOITED! If any of that exploitation sits badly with you, please do speak up. I can mod. )

Suddenly, Rupert was listening to the man. He paused in mid-cuffing, in spite of himself, his mouth opening slightly as if to mouth the word 'what?'

The man was having some kind of seizure. Some kind of drunk, torrets seizure.

> "Nooo.... You might be ready to lay down and die but I'm not! Hurry...up Rupert...argh....'s...him..stop it..."

The man's sudden struggles snapped him out of it. He wasn't dealing with a normal person here; he was dealing with a mutant. A damn medium who could "merge", and that blood the guy was smeared with was getting on Rupert's own hand. This wasn't a time to be tourist-gawking at the freak's sudden incoherency and... and disturbingly white eyes. This was a time to go with the second of his gut reactions.

Rupert unceremoniously aimed a stout pistol-whip at the back of Tarin's skull. He was technically trying to just stun the man, but if the freak passed out briefly, he didn't think he was going to lose any sleep. He finished snapping on the second handcuff almost as soon as he was done with his attempt at tenderizing the medium's brainpan. Some might claim that he could have just cuffed the man, and had done with it. Some should shut up and realize that Rupert tended to act from his gut. He'd gone with his second gut reaction, thank you. His first had been to just shoot the freak and have done with it. Rupert personally thought he was showing some damn good self-control right now. He wiped a wet hand on his pants, then winced when he realized what he'd done. That wasn't water, kids.

He walked around to where the medium could see him, a rather safe number of feet further into the apartment. He still had his gun in hand, but it was pointed at the ground. See? Self-control, damn it.

"All right, Medium." Rupert stated levelly. "Now you can ****ing talk. If you've suddenly developed the ability to leak red food dye out of your pores, now's the time to tell me." He ran a hand through his hair. The same hand that he'd tried to wipe dry on his pants. Rupert cringed.

Well...that had gone well...Tarin couldn't help but think as pain and light exploded in the back of his head. Struggling to keep his consciousness because god only knew what would happen if he lost it, Tarin reveled in pain coursing through his body right down to his fingertips. It hurt like hell but it meant he could feel it again...and even if his head was spinning and slight nausea suddenly rose again in his throat, Tarin was glad Rupert had hit him. It was a good way to know that the other man would do what he needed to do...if he needed to do it.

His vision started to clear and Tarin shook his head, his previously limp arms tugging slightly and finding the cuffs to be secure. Good. Rupert moved, Tarin could hear him and he slowly rose his head to meet the cop's eyes as he very politely asked him what had happened...well very polite for Rupert anyway. Especially in this situation.

Tarin swallowed hard before he even tried to speak and belatedly wished that his skull wasn't pounding from the impact of the gun against the back of it. So this was an interrogation now, was it? Well it was the least he deserved for what he'd done. So be it.

Tarin nodded his head, keeping his eyes on Rupert's, eye contact was supposed to convey truth wasn't it? "I guess we've backstepped out of first name basis..." Tarin paused and sighed, then spoke again, slowly, almost staring through the detective standing in front of him.

"I don't know exactly when it happened...since...since Lee left everything has been kind of a haze. I've had nightmares ever sense the night in the camps, and I didn't think these were any different...just more intense." Tarin's voice caught on the last word and he shook it slowly.

"I kept shaking it off...I'd wake up somewhere I didn't go to sleep...llittle things at first...like falling asleep in shorts and waking up in jeans...then I woke up in the tub...with bloody water in it..." he paused again, letting his head fall back and his eyes close before he continued to speak.

"I was disoriented...and I ended up laying back down...I woke up later in the same place I'd gone to sleep...the bathroom was spotless...no towels were wet...I was so stupid..."

Tarin paused, forced his eyes open and finished the story, even though he was repeating a bit of what he'd said earlier, "I went to bar last night...thinking my issues were over Lee...as it turns out I saw here there...I brought a woman back here..." Tarin's voice cracked again and a look of utter anguish crossed his features as he sat handcuffed in the chair.

"She came back here with me...and when I woke up she was gone...and I was like this...I saw her on the news Rupert...I saw all about her...she had kids..." Tarin's own use of the past tense disturbed him to a point that he was almost sick for the third time.

"It's like I said before Rupert...Detective Kelley..." Tarin's voice was almost pleading now, "You've got to do something...just leave me here like this...or like I said before...maybe you should just shoot me and be done with it...I can't live like this and the only person who's ever been able to stop it doesn't ever want to see me again..."

There...it was all out on the table...Tarin waited...there was nothing else to do. The proverbial ball was firmly in Rupert's court.

Eye contact didn't covey truth. That was one of the first things Rupert had learned as a beat officer. Eye contact didn't convey truth: it conveyed that someone wanted to be seen as truthful. Either that, or that they wanted you to buy what they were selling.

> "I guess we've backstepped out of first name basis..."

That was a stupid sell. Cute, but stupid. The fact that the man covered in blood was making cute jokes didn't exactly raise Rupert's esteem of said blood-covered man. Rupert's face twisted briefly as the medium launched into his glorious explanation; twisted, then settled into a deathly calm. If he had any doubts about the man's ties to the recent murders, they were fast being erased by that willing confession of vivid dreams and... and bathtubs of bloody water, and a living woman who had became nothing more than so much blood on a man who was disrespecting her death by not even remembering it, the bastard. Then something the man said really jarred Rupert, if only because it gave him something sane to think about, something he could think about:

> "She came back here with me...and when I woke up she was gone...and I was like this...I saw her on the news Rupert...I saw all about her...she had kids..."

"Wait," he started to interrupt, but the man was still speaking. Last night? The man had killed someone last night? Well of ****ing course he had, genius--but the newscasters had already sunk their teeth into it? Why hadn't he heard? The man's pathetic little of mice and men speech barely registered with Rupert. Why hadn't he heard about that latest murder?

Rupert's cell phone shrilled from his pocket. Almost without thinking, he took it out and glanced at the screen: Jones, from homicide. He had a wild guess that he knew what this phone call was about. Rupert's eyes flicked back to Tarin as he flipped open the phone. "...Yeah," he answered the caller, "I just heard. Yeah. I'm following a lead now. I'll... I'll head to the station as soon as I can." His hand flipped the phone closed. He stared down at it. He looked up at the medium again, his eyes somewhat dazed. Now why the hell had he just done that?

The proverbial ball was in Rupert's proverbial court, and he didn't know what the hell to proverbially do with it. It was the size and shape of a looming migraine and the color of what the ****. It wasn't fully inflated, either. All and all, it was a pretty s***** ball. Rupert took his sweet time kicking it back. "I need a drink," he said finally.

He reentered the kitchen, thoroughly ignoring anything the man may or may not be saying--much like he'd been doing for most of the time since Tarin had answered that apartment door, actually. He shamelessly opened the man's cabinets and rummaged until he found the scotch. He rummaged again until he came up with a cup. He almost grabbed two; with a scathing glance back at the medium, he set the second one back on the shelf and slammed the cabinet door closed. Set the cup on the counter. Poured. Drank in one smooth, burning swallow. Coughed gratefully.

He turned back to the medium, pointing at him with the uncapped spout of the scotch bottle. "You keep babbling about Lee. She can fix this? If this isn't you--if this is whatever the hell you call it, the spirits and the merging--she can fix it? You won't kill anyone else?" He asked one more time, pointing the bottle again with a jerk that sent a splash of damn comforting scotch flying out its end: "This isn't you that's doing... doing this, is it?" He'd just noticed his fingerprints, through the clear glass of the slightly drained bottle: in spite of their run-in with his pants and his hair, they still carried a light touch of red.

He was an accomplice now, wasn't he?

"Before you even start," he growled, slamming the bottle down on the counter, "don't say a damn thing about what I'm doing. I don't want to think about it. If I think about it, I'm probably going to ****ing shoot you. Just tell me how we get Lee here." He'd put up his gun at some point, he realized. Probably about the time he went for the scotch.

****ing proverbial ball.

Ohhhhhh this wasn't going well...not going well at all. Tarin kept on talking, that's what Rupert had wanted him to do...he'd told him to fucking talk...so Tarin was fucking talking. The look on Rupert's face told him though that it wasn't what he wanted to hear.

Tarin had talked right over Rupert when he'd tried to halt him, it would have been too hard to start again once he'd stopped...but then the cell phone rang. Tarin felt every ounce of blood drain out of his face, and drain quickly, he was light headed and his breath caught in his throat as definitely as there was someone or something's hands there, squeezing.

As Rupert answered the phone, he looked at Tarin and Tarin looked back...he felt surprisingly calm about the whole situation. HE was going to jail, he was going to jail for the rest of his miserable life...it was probably for the best though...maybe he could find a nice, big guy to settle down with quickly enough that he wouldn't get the shit knocked out of him too much....if they didn't give him the chair for what he'd done...

"I just heard. Yeah. I'm following a lead now. I'll... I'll head to the station as soon as I can."

Tarin's morbid day dream ended and his eyes widened in shock and slightly dazed confusion as Rupert snapped the phone closed and looked back at him. What the hell was that? He hadn't turned him in...after the handcuffing and the disgust and the blood...all the blood...he hadn't turned him in...yet.

Then he was gone...he needed a drink...Tarin wanted a drink...Tarin wanted a whole bottle of drinks. He had a feeling that wasn't going to happen though...and as he craned his neck to watch Rupert rifling through the cabinets he saw the poignant look cast in his direction and averted his eyes rather than try and say anything.

Tarin's eyebrows rose involuntarily at the speed with which Rupert downed the first cup of scotch. Then the bottle was pointing at him and Tarin, still slightly dazed and surprised by the turn of events could only nod as Rupert informed him in no uncertain terms that he would definitely not be saying anything about what was going to happen.

"Lee...yeah...she's stopped this before...if...if...there's no energy for the spirit to hold on to...to stay merged with then it has to let go..." Tarin paused and then realized what he'd just said...

"Nobody has ever been hurt before...well...besides Lee...." The last was said quietly and Tarin started damming himself again...but he didn't tell Rupert to shoot him this time...apparently that was the thing he chose to ignore. Figured.

"No Rupert...it's not me doing these things..." Tarin said emphatically..."I'd never, ever do something like this...I can't even tell you how much I hate myself right now..."

Oh wait...Rupert probably was going to shoot him...well that was comforting in some respects...but he wanted to bring Lee here? Tarin's eyes widened and he shook his head, "I can't do that to her Rupert...I can't do it...she wanted rid of me...and I don't even know where she went. She always ends up hurt...hurt bad, there has to be another way."

As Rupert stared across the kitchen at the man handcuffed to the chair and vomiting words all over the air they were unfortunately sharing, he could actually feel himself developing a facial twitch. It was small, and it was at the corner of his mouth.

One action became very clear in his mind as the man continued to speak. Rupert set down his empty scotch cup next to the bottle with a clean click. Then he crossed the space between the counter and the chair, raised up one arm, and soundly back-handed Tarin across the mouth.

"I believe I asked you a question," he asked, quite level-headedly. "I want to know how to get in touch with Lee. If I left you with the impression that that was some sort of option for you, then I apologize. Let me explain.

"For some reason, I haven't just shot your ass yet. I could. You're a mutant--genetic testing would confirm that, and even with the Registration Law overturned, the courts still tend to side with living cops over dead mutants.

"I could do anything the **** I wanted with you right now. For some reason, I seem to be helping you. You don't have a ****ing choice in this matter, any more than you'd have a ****ing choice if I had decided to kill you. For all I know, that's the spirit, or whatever the hell it is, making you sound like a whiny self-centered pussy. The last I checked, Lee wanted to get away from you; she didn't want you dead. Right now, that's the two options I've got for you: either you leave this apartment cured, or you leave this apartment in a body bag. If this really isn't you doing these murders, then your little kicked-emo-boy act is uncalled for. We call Lee, she comes, she fixes things, she goes back to Canada. Everyone is happy.

"If this is you doing these murders, and you're lying to me right now; if you ever kill again," Rupert leaned in over Tarin, putting one hand down on the empty chair arm as he leaned his face far into the man's personal space, "then I promise you, I will find out. I will track you down, and then I will hurt you." His eyes were level with the man's own; their noses were a hair's breadth from touching. "Maybe I will kill you. But let me be very clear here, because there's a moral to this story: you do not have a choice. If I kill you now, it's my choice. If I kill you later, it's my choice. You, Tarin Brooks, medium, are ****ing handcuffed to a chair. Now," he straightened up, a smile on his face that he hadn't used since the time he'd forced a young girl to call a coin toss that would decide whether her older sister lived or died,

"How do we get Lee here?"

Tarin had killed. That was a fact. Here was another: Rupert had killed, too. The difference between them was that Rupert hadn't regretted it.

It turned out that Rupert had a strong back hand, the crack that resounded through the apartment bounced off walls that hadn't echoed since he and Lee had moved their stuff in. Tarin's head snapped to the side opposite from where the blow had come from and he winced, tasting blood from his bottom lip and staying there until he could convince himself that his head hadn't come off. Pity party over.

Blinking his furiously watering eyes, Tarin slowly moved his head and stared at Rupert, actual anger building for the first time since he'd woken up...for the first time in a while. He'd get him back for that slap one day...but in all actuality he could think more clearly now.

Rupert was talking and after the ringing in his ears had stopped, Tarin listened, really listened for the first time since Rupert had knocked on his door that morning.

He had killed people, whether or not it had been him in the driver's seat, it was his body that was out there running around and hacking up innocent women. As sick as the thought made Tarin, he pushed away the pity party and focused on what the cop...what the angry cop was saying to him.

The closer Rupert got to him, the more Tarin wished he wasn't handcuffed to chair, the more he chaffed at being reminded how absolutely helpless he was in the situation, and the more he waited for a chance to express the fact that he had to hears, could hear, and was a willing participant in whatever plan Rupert had. Good god he was scary this close, no wonder he'd decided to be a cop. If he wasn't still partially dazed from the all powerful backhand he'd received Tarin would have probably been terrified.

Apparently it didn't matter what Tarin thought, he was the one handcuffed in the chair...Rupert had effectively taken the ball and shoved it straight up Tarin's ass. And now he wanted to know how to get ahold of Lee...how to fix him...cure him....a cure...wouldn't that be great for everyone involved?

"I've already told you Rupert...I don't know wh...wait.." Tarin's head shot up as he focused on something the detective had said earlier, "You said she was in Canada....and I saw her with her sister just the other night...the only thing I can think of is that her brother might know how to get a hold of her...but Robert hates me...with a passion."

Tarin waited for Rupert's response and mulled over everything else the cop had said, then slowly moved his jaw, it hurt like hell. "And Rupert...for what it's worth...thanks for that by the way...the...reality check...I really needed it."