Mightier Still Ch. 2 - Restoration

Title ideas:

Mightier Still - “He who controls others may be strong, but he who masters himself is mightier still."

Certain Point - “If you have not been a villain at a certain point in time, you will never be a hero. And the day you are a hero, you may become a villain the next day."

     Ever-present darkness polluted the air. Jason Morse sat in this heavy cloak of shadows, bored. By handcuffing Morse to a chair in the middle of a pitch black interrogation room, Captain Frazer had intended for him to be driven mad by the darkness and silence. However, Jason had spent a good deal of time in darkness over the last eight years. So long, in fact, that he wasn't bothered by it at all. He welcomed the darkness. 

     Still, an unease set in. It wasn't worry or fear; it was just unease. Morse sat in the darkness trying to place this strange feeling. It wasn't the thrill or excitement he'd expected from being in the hands of chance, it was a sort of dread. As time passed, and thoughts came and went, still the feeling remained, eroding the back of his mind. 

     Time passed slower than ever. In his mind, Morse tried to rationalize it. He had been sitting there, handcuffed to a chair, for around three hours. Had it been longer? Had it been five hours? Had it been two? Uncertainty fused with the dread eating away at his mind. The refuge and solitude he normally found in the darkness was now hostile and agonizing. 

     Finally, at the point of madness, he placed the dread. He recognized the feeling from years past, and began to laugh. It wasn't a joyful laugh; it was coated in disdain. The laugh faded into a moan as the pain grew worse than ever. "Not now, not yet..." he spoke into the darkness.

     Time passed and the door creaked open causing light to filter into the room. The light was blinding to Morse, who was adjusted to the dark. Through the wall of light emerged Detective Connor Murdoch. His slick black hair glimmered in the light from behind him. He wore the same white shirt, black blazer, slacks, and shoes. However, these weren't the same ones that endured a fight in the torrential rain; it was a new pair. Morse figured that he must wear the same thing to work each day. The only thing that was different about him was the fresh gauze across of his forehead. It was partially covered by his slicked hair, but it was still visible below his hairline.

     The Detective shut the door, returning the reign of darkness back to the room. It didn't last long after he flipped the switch to the archaic light over their heads. It cast a gloomy, yet still bright, light through its aged glass. The sudden engulfment of light caused Morse to shut his eyes harshly and grunt. The pain in his head grew worse with the emergence of the light. 

     “Slick! Look at you! I didn’t expect to see you back so soon." Morse exclaimed, obviously trying to get a rise out of him.

     Detective Murdoch pulled out the chair across from Morse. The steel chair ground against the concrete floor, creating a screech sound. Unlike Murdoch’s chair, Morse’s was bolted to the ground, prohibiting any movement whatsoever. Murdoch seated himself and looked into Morse’s cold green eyes. 

     Morse broke the silence, “Slick, could you turn the light off? It’s absurdly bright, and I quite liked the dark. It’s calming.”

     Glaring into Morse’s dead eyes, Murdoch began, “What's your name?” His eyes were situated in an inquisitive way, as if they were asking too.

     “What is my name to you, Detective?” Morse retorted. “You are a detective, aren’t you Slick? I mean, why else would you be in here?"

     Murdoch paused for a bit and build his composure. He began coldly, “I'm doing my job. I can't do anything at the hospital, so I might as well make some progress on your case." Murdoch paused, "You do have a name don’t you?”

     “I’ve had a few…” Morse smirked, his tone was gruff and agonizing, “What’s yours Detective? Better yet, what was hers?” A twisted smile crept up on his face. He glared up at the detective and locked eyes. His smirk began to twitch and his head jerked to the right quickly like an involuntary reflex. He blinked a few times and asked, “Could you turn the light off?"

     “I could, yes,” Murdoch answered sarcastically, "So, how about a question for a question? I ask you one, and you ask me one? Sound good?"

     “Sure."

     “Great, so I’ll start,” Murdoch shrugged, “What's your name?"

     Morse sighed, “Not that it really matters, but you asked. My name is Jason S. Morse. Just call me Morse.”

     “You don’t like to be called Jason?” Murdoch asked, trying to learn more about his captive’s personality.

     “Nah,” Morse began to stifle a laugh, “It never really felt like that was me. That name always seemed like it belonged someone else."

---

     Captain Garfield Frazer stared at his computer screen, the dim light illuminated his face. His eyes grew tired from the light so early in the morning. He rubbed his eyes to try to keep his eyes focused. The bar across the top of his monitor read “2:47 AM”. The ongoing investigation was being streamed right to his screen. Murdoch had insisted that he be the one to conduct the investigation. The kid knew Murdoch’s face, so he would probably want to talk to him one way or another. Despite protesting, Frazer knew that Connor was right. Still, he had expected Connor to show a lot more nerve during the interrogation. He knew that Connor could keep his cool, but his restraint was unbelievable. He knew that behind Murdoch’s cool charade, he was angry.

     Garfield ran his hand through his short, sandy blonde, hair and sighed. He picked up the landline to his right and pushed '4'. The line auto-dialed the analysts across the building. The phone buzzed twice then clicked, "Hello?"

     Garfield spoke into the phone, "Hey Lucina, I've got a name for you."

     "Fire away."

     "The kid said his name was Jason S. Morse. Search for anybody with that name born between 1991 and 1998. He's definitely between sixteen and twenty-three."

     "On it. I'll get back to you soon."

     “Thanks,” Garfield removed the phone from his ear, stopped, then brought it back up. “Search for variations as well. Look for J. Morse, Jason S. M, or anything like that.”

     “Sure thing dad. Why?"

     “The kid said he has had a few names. He also said that the name Jason never felt like him. Search the name he gave us first, but something tells me that he’s lying. He was too casual about the name. If it’s an alias, then he got the name from somebody he knows."

     “Right, because aliases normally mean something to the people who use them. That goes back to what he said about the name Jason never feeling like him. He knows someone who’s name is either exactly the same as or similar to Jason S. Morse."

     “That’s right Lucina. We find Jason, we find our captive’s identity."

     “Sure thing. I’ll find him."

     “Thanks Lucy.” Garfield clicked the phone back into the landline and looked back at his screen. 

---

     Morse shifted in his metal chair for a good fourteen seconds, trying to get in a more comfortable position. Having got nowhere, he addressed the detective, “Listen, my legs are asleep, my back aches, and my hand really stings,” he glanced at the bloody gauze wrapping his right hand, which was the hand that Lucina shot. “Could I get up and walk around or something?"

     “Is that your question?" Murdoch chuckled. 

     Realizing the answer would definitely be “No”, Morse responded, “Guess not. What’s your name, Slick?"

     “Connor, Connor Murdoch."

     Morse smirked, “Nice to meet you Connor. I’d extend my hand, but well…” All of a sudden, his demeanor changed. His grin faded and he began to groan. The groan crescendoed and his hands began to tremble. The pain in his head was back and worse than ever. He shook violently a couple of times than began to settle down. He swore under his breath and began to regain his composure, as if it had never happened.

     “You okay?” Murdoch asked.

     “Splendid.” His smirk returned, “Thanks for wasting your question. My turn.” He sat and thought for a second before he asked, "What time is it?"

     Murdoch glanced at his watch, “2:50. My turn for a question.” He thought for a bit, “What was your goal? You could have chosen anywhere down the road, yet you chose a location just under a mile from the department. You obviously knew our habits, given that you knew where and when we would drive past. What were you hoping to gain from the attack? With an attack so close to the police station, you were almost sure to be caught."

     "That seems to be a bit more than one question, Detective." Morse exhaled and rolled his eyes. "Why were you in the back? You weren't supposed to be."

     Detective Murdoch smiled, "An attack so close was meant to taunt the police. That's why you shot Caroline. You needed her out of the way so you could grab Lucina. It would have been a quick and easy abduction. One shot, one taken."

     Morse's familiar smirk returned, "So her name was Caroline." He continued, "You're better at this than I thought. You never answered my question, though. Why were you in the back?" 

     "My car's in for service. A cylinder misfired on the way to work yesterday. I had to get it towed. Caroline was taking me back to my place after she dropped Lucina off at her home."

     "You're forgetting one simple problem... Just for giggles," Morse smiled, "You say this was an attempted abduction, but how was I planning to get away?"

     “You had three options,” Murdoch began, “You were either intending to kill Lucina, you were intending to get caught, which I am not ruling out, or the most likely scenario, you were going to use the car that you just attacked. It would have been vacant."

     "Yeah, vacant and easily tracked. Are there any other options?"

     "You dump the car and find a new one."

     “Which do you think?” Morse asked.

     “I don’t think you were intending to murder Lucina. If you were, you would have killed Caroline."

     “Great, so what does that leave us with?”

     “You were either intending to get caught, or you were going to take the car, which is the most likely scenario."

     "Good Detective. Are you sure there are no other options? Think less chiche and more," Morse thought, "cooperative."

     "What are you suggesting, that you had an accomplice? I doubt that you have many people lining up to work with you."

     "Perfect, that leaves us with a very small suspect list!"

     "So Morse, for arguments sake lets say you had an accomplice."

     “Great! So Detective, how was I to contact my accomplice? You saw my items. I had a watch, a pocket notebook, a pencil, and lets not forget the handgun. I had no way to contact anyone."

     Murdoch paused to think. Finally, he got an idea, “Time. You have an obsession for time. For your second question, you asked what the time was. If you have a set schedule, which I assume you do, then anybody working with you would stick to such a schedule. Let's say that your accomplice is real, he was to come at a set time and pick you up. It wouldn't have been too long after the abduction, because chilling on the side of the road with an unconscious girl is bound to draw attention, right?"

     "Correct Detective. So, where there any cars that arrived at the scene just after the attack that your officers turned around? And I mean, just after."

     "I wouldn't know."

     Morse grinned, "But your officers would. See if there was anybody that they turned around at or around," he grinned, "most likely right at, 11:32."

     "What would he be driving?"

     “Why ‘he’?"

     “Statistically, kidnappers are about 96% male. Your theoretical accomplice is most assuredly a male.” Murdoch’s expression of excitement changed to one of bewilderment. “Why are you leading me? You’ve been pointing me in a certain direction, a direction that could easily be proved or disproved. You’ve basically told me about your accomplice, if he is real at all, and you’ve been giving me information about yourself. You’ve been… abnormally helpful."

     “Have I really?” Morse asked through his wicked smile, “I could have been misleading you the whole time. I really like messing with people, as I'm sure you know."

     "I doubt that."

     Puzzled, Morse asked, "Why would you doubt that I've been misleading you?"

     Murdoch grinned, "Your answer. Your answer was a rewording of your question. You didn't have a sufficient answer prepared, so you just stated your question. Also, you wouldn't have given specifics to what time your accomplice drove by. That significantly narrows our search field. If you wanted to send us down a rabbit hole, you would have been more vague. Now, we can easily tell if you are telling the truth or not."

     Morse looked impressed, "Just bring him in, okay? His time is over."

     "So," Murdoch began, "What's his name? He does have one right? Or does he have a few as well? I mean, if he is real at all." He grinned sarcastically. 

     "I'm not entirely sure. He never gave me his real name. But, I'm sure you'd recognize the title."

     "I'm listening." Murdoch smiled, thinking the case was just about to wrap up, quick and easy.

     Morse leaned, as best he could, forward. His grin was wicked. He spoke one word, "Quietus."

---

     Lucina brushed her sandy blonde hair, the same shade as her father's, out of her eyes and reached for the phone. She pushed '1' frantically and the phone buzzed. It took less than a second before her father picked up the phone, because he was reaching for it when she called. 

     “Dad!" “Lucina." they said simultaneously. 

     "Sorry," Lucina said quickly, "you go first." She was giddy; she couldn't wait to tell her dad what she had found.

     "Lucina... See if anyone of the names has a tie to the Quietus kidnappings.”

     "That's what I called for. I think I've found our guy." she said happily, "Jason Silas Morris, he would be nineteen by now."

     “Would be?"

     “He’s presumed dead. Eight years ago on May 6, 2006, Jason Morris went missing. He was taken by the Quietus kidnapper. You know that nobody lives too long with Quietus, so he was presumed dead since no body was found. I think that, if he lived, that this is our guy."

     “Jason Morse…” Captain Frazer said inquisitively.

     “Jason Morris.” Lucina finished.

     Captain Frazer stood up, opened his office door, then went down the hall to the interrogation rooms.

---

     "Quietus," Murdoch began, "as in the Quietus kidnapper?"

     "Do you know another guy called 'Quietus'?"

     "I suppose not. So, what connection do you have with the 'Quietus kidnapper'? Are you a friend of his?"

     "Not really, he doesn't have friends. Then again, neither do I." he chuckled. "Gah!" The pain in his head was growing worse. He squinted harshly and pushed the feeling back as far as he could. His hands began to tremble. Suddenly, he was back to normal. It ended as abruptly as it had started.

     "Morse, do you know what he does to them, to the kids?"

     Morse's familiar smirk faded, "You have no idea," he replied bitterly.

     *Kunnk Kunnk Kunnk* Somebody knocked on the door thrice. Murdoch stood quickly, "Excuse me for a second." He strolled over to the door, opened it, and went outside, shutting the door behind him.

     Morse sat alone in the room, letting the silence ring through his ears. "If I'm going down, I'm taking him with me." he thought. He had nothing keeping him from bringing down Quietus. Still, he had better plans than sitting in a cell, rotting. Quietus had taken him from his past life, but this new life was all that Morse knew.

     His arms began to shake and he began to moan. His jaw quivered, and his body began to lunge against the restraints. His fists tightened as his muscles tensed. His vision grew blurry, the pain in his head was incessant. As he glanced up, everything seemed to appear grayer than it was previously. He blinked a couple of times and grew numb, then he returned his glance to the door. Standing directly across from him was somebody he didn't expect. Morse recognized him immediately. 

     "Get out. Do you hear me? Get out!" he shouted into nothingness. Standing across from him was a teenager, exactly his age, wearing dark jeans, a cheap white tee-shirt, and a brown jacket. The kid's right hand was bound in bloody gauze. His shaggy brown hair hung over his sad green eyes. His eyes showed only sorrow and regret.

     "Stop it! Get out of here!" Morse began to shout, "Don't, don't look at me like that!" He struggled violently, "Stop it! I did what you were too weak to do! If it wasn't for me, you wouldn't be here!"

     The door opened, an Murdoch emerged. "Morse, what's wrong?"

     "Shut up Detective, I'm not talking to you!"

     Having already glanced around the room, Murdoch did a double take to make sure he wasn't missing anything. "Jason, I'm the only one here."

     "I told you, don't call me that. I - I'm not, I'm not Jason. I'm not!” He began to shake. Morse could feel himself leaving. He was being replaced.

     "You mean to tell me that you are not Jason Silas Morris, abducted eight years ago by the Quietus kidnapper?" The voice was Garfield's; he had come into the room. "You weren't abducted?"

     Morse began to twitch, "Yes, no, shut up!" He began to repeatedly look to his right, "Stop, shut up, shut up!" Morse looked past Murdoch to the hallucination behind him, "Leave me alone! You know what it feels like, don't you. Every time you get ripped away, you know how it feels. It hurts. It feels like dying each time." He hung his head and began to moan. His words were unintelligible. All Murdoch could understand was the word 'Stop'.

     The last thing Morse felt was a searing pain in the back of his head as he lost consciousness into the sea of gray.

---

     "Gnuuuu..." Jason opened his eyes. It felt like waking up from a long dream. His head felt heavy, but he raised it nonetheless. He tried to stretch but couldn't. Confused, he looked at his arms and saw them locked to the chair. He tried his best to stretch his back, but ultimately got nowhere. He looked forward and got really confused. Across from him were two men looking directly at him. One, wearing a white dress shirt with a black blazer and slacks, was talking. He had a good build.  He was muscular, but his loose blazer didn't show it too much. The other man, about 6’1” was wearing a blue dress shirt covered by a tan overcoat and matching slacks. He was on the phone, mumbling nonsense. No matter what he wore, his stocky build and broad shoulders couldn't be hidden. 

     "Hey, hey," Jason whispered, still dazed, "where am I?" His voice was soft and curious, unlike Morse's gruff and agonizing tone. 

     Captain Clover leaned forward and spoke. His gruff serious tone was hard to miss, "The same place you've been for the last three hours, Tulsa Police Department."

     Jason, still weak, looked up. "Wh- How long?"

     "I just told you, three hours." Garfield stretched each word for emphasis.

     "No, I heard that," he began to shake off the drowsiness. "How long have I been gone?"

     This time, Murdoch spoke his arms were crossed, "Gone from where?" A silence descended in which Murdoch snapped his fingers, "Morse!"

     Jason looked up sharply into Connor’s eyes and understood, “Don’t call me that.” He repeated his question, "How long have I been gone? What’s the date?"

     Murdoch responded, “Then what do you want me to call you? You don’t like Jason and you don’t like Morse. Should I call you Silas?”

     “Jason’s fine. What’s the date?" His tone elevated.

     Murdoch sighed, "August 10, 2014."

     Jason’s face turned pale. "The last day I remember was June 18, 2012." He looked up to see puzzled faces. "I have a thing with time." He looked up at the Detective, "Why am I here?"

     "Honestly, I'm so confused right now." Murdoch whispered to the captain, loud enough for Jason to understand.

     "I guess I should try to explain" Morse mumbled, "I'm Jason Morris, M-O-R-R-I-S, not Morse. I have a condition known as DID."

     "DID?" Garfield asked.

     "Dissociative Identity Disorder." Murdoch filled in, "You mean to tell me that Morse is an alternate personality?"

     "Yes," Jason said, "I know it sounds crazy, but let me explain." Jason began looking around hastily, as if looking for something. "There are certain things that you do when in captivity, certain things that you thought you weren't capable of doing. It's those sort of things that push you to a breaking point.  DID is rare, yes. But it is commonly seen in people who have lived through traumas." He spoke rapidly, "I've had my fair share of those. Everyone that survives a trauma is damaged in some way. That's what Morse is; he's my damage. He did what I couldn't do and dealt with what I couldn't." Jason was frantically jittering the fingers on his right hand. He wasn't aware that he was doing it, though. 

     Garfield's radio buzzed. "Connor, give me a second." He calmly stood up and exited the small room.

     "What's up?"

     "Gar, I think you should get down here. It's about that Morse kid." The gruff voice said through the radio, which the captain recognized as Michael Kheen, chirped.

     "Give me a second Mike; I shouldn't be long."

     "Cap, we need you now."

     Garfield clicked his radio off and headed right to the stairs, which he descended quickly, missing every other step. 

---

     Acting Detective Michael Kheen stood on the first floor by the staircase, surrounded by eight officers. Michael had been working under Connor for around 2 years now and had taken his role as Detective while Connor was “off-duty”. He heard footsteps and turned around.

     “Captain!” he called. He had a stern voice that completely suited his look. His hair was a dark brown, the same shade as his skin. He was a physical beast. His muscles showed through his outfit, which looked quite similar to Murdoch's. 

    Garfield finished stair hopping and came to a stop at the base of the staircase. The staircase was located on the left side of the back wall. "Mike, what is it?" he panted. 

     "We got a call from a guy looking for Morse." Kheen waved the captain over to an officer's desk "I think you should hear it."

     Garfield walked briskly to the desk. Mike picked up the landline and typed in a number on the keypad. There was a short pause, and then he said, "Play it."

     Mike put the phone down and pushed the 'speaker' button. 

     The recording began to play with what sounded like static. The static sound fluctuated for about six seconds, and continued throughout the recording. "911, what's your emergency?

     A haunting, raspy voice became audible. “At 11:37 last night, my plans changed. At 11:52, nine year old Jonathan Garcia went missing." He paused for a while, "Jason Morse." His breathing grew shallow, "I want him dead, and I want his body delivered to Storage Unit 3 at 4352 South 91st East Avenue." 

     Garfield looked up at Michael who looked troubled. 

     The recording continued. "My first word was spoken at exactly 2:47 and sixteen seconds, almost exactly two hours and fifteen minutes from when your officers turned me away last night. No doubt it will take about two minutes for this to get through your system, and even longer for this to reach somebody who could do something about it, so I'll be generous. Jonathan has until eight hours past noon to live. That gives you fifteen hours to find me, or for Jason's corpse to find its was to that storage unit.”

     He paused on last time, "Quite unlike you, I can wait."

      -click-

     Garfield and the officers stood there in silence for a couple seconds. He looked to Michael, "do we have a trace on the cell?"

     "Yes, sir. We've got an officer inbound, but this guy's been at it for at least eleven years. It's got to be disposable."

     Garfield clicked his radio, "Connor. Get downstairs quickly." He put the radio back and asked, "Alright, where does that leave us?"

     "We've got two leads. I've got an analyst looking for Jonathan's parents. Maybe they noticed something."

     "What else have we got?" Gar asked.

     Michael's eyes showed hesitance, "We've got Jason.

---

2:48 AM

August 10, 2014

     "Quite unlike you, I can wait."

     -click-

     Quietus lowered the phone from his ear and smiled; he was thrilled. He coughed to clear his throat, and began to speak normally to himself. If anyone that knew him were to describe him, they would say that his voice was normal, that he was of average size and build for someone his age, and that his look was nothing special. The one word that could describe him was 'average'. 

     He tossed the phone out the window and drove onwards into the night.

---

     Connor stood beside Gar, silent. Michael clicked the recording off and looked up at them. "Now what?" 

     Connor looked at him, "I need to talk to Jason again. Find out where Jonathan's parents are, but don't send anybody yet, I'll talk to Jason then we'll make our plan."

---

     Jason sat in the room, staring at the door. The light was left on, so he began to inspect the room. It was about ten feet by ten feet. The floor was solid concrete, as were the walls. The metal table was directly in the middle of the room, and the chairs were equally set. The door, presumably made from the same metal as the table, was positioned on the left side of the wall opposite him. Light filtered through the lamp directly over his head. Along the right side of ceiling, about eight feet from the floor, was a video camera. Jason assumed that there must be one behind him on the opposite corner. 

     The door quickly opened and Murdoch came through. He straightened his chair, then sat across from him. "Jason," he began, "What do you remember from last night? Did Quietus tell you his plans? Did he tell you where he was going?"

     "I... I don't remember much."

     "What does he look like? Where does he stay?" Murdoch added

     "Whoa, hold on. I need some time to remember."

     "Time is something we don't have. Tell me about him; what do you remember?"

     "Listen to me... It's Connor, right? Detective Connor... Murdoch?"

     Connor nodded.

     "I'll try, but I don't remember a lot, because..." Jason sighed, "It comes back in flashes."

---

"Nothing is easier that denouncing the evildoer. Nothing is more difficult that understanding him."

- Dostoevsky

---

Author's Note: Sorry this is late. I decided that I didn't like the way that Quietus was introduced and how this chapter ties in to the last one. I rewrote a lot of this chapter to tie in directly to the beginning of Ch. 1.

Next chapter will carry on the present timeline as opposed to before the attack. There will be flashbacks of Jason's past (what happened / why he lived) either next chapter, or sometime afterwards.

I am going for a fifteen chapter book, but that might change depending on how the later chapters go.

Please inform me of grammatical (spelling, punctuation, etc.), continuity (errors with story, if it doesn't tie in right), or anything else. 

If you have a suggestion as to how I should use the flashbacks (give them their own chapter, or incorporate as I go. How soon should I incorporate?) leave it below.

Thanks for reading!