Mightier Still Ch.1 - Flashes

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."

     “It comes back in flashes,” Jason began, “I remember the sting of each raindrop. I remember the feeling of being cold and wet, but the rest is… foggy at best.”

     He winced, knowing that he ended that on the wrong note. Looking up at Connor, his suspicions were confirmed by seeing his furrowed brow, illuminated by the archaic lamp over their heads. He struggled a bit, attempting to brush his shaggy dark brown hair out of his face, then paused and gave in to the reality that he was handcuffed to a metal chair bolted to the floor. Flipping his hair back with a head jerk, he continued, “It comes back in time. Still, it doesn’t feel real. It feels like I’m watching a movie or daydreaming.”

     He stalled before finishing, “It doesn’t feel like… like it’s me.”

     Jason stopped and prepared his next couple of answers. Each possible question that Detective Connor Murdoch could ask, he had a couple of answers prepared. Next came the analysis. In his head, his mind raced, creating responses and retorts. Thoughts raced through his mind, creating situations and outcomes. Detective Murdoch waited, trying to get a read on him. Jason didn’t budge. He just let his head fall back and let out a joyous smile. His head was clear for the first time in over eight years. Jason glanced up at Detective Murdoch and studied him for about seven seconds. It was more than he recalled needing. The old, rusted gears in his head started to turn. His smile continued to grow; it was the smile of freedom.

     Almost instantly, the joy in his face faded, and his grin was reduced into a smirk. “Detective Murdoch,” he stuttered, “I… I’m…” He paused, trying to think of what to say. His nineteen-year-old face began to look sullen and worn; he was beginning to remember. “I’m sorry about what happened,” he continued. “I’m sorry about your fiancé, and about what he…” Jason shut his eyes violently and shook his head. “What I did to her. I can’t express to you how much I feel guilty for what happened. I am really sorry about her and about you.”

     Jason glanced up at Connor again, this time focusing on the freshly applauded gauze on his forehead, partially covered by his slicked down black hair. “Well, yeah. Don’t be,” Murdoch said bitterly, “I didn’t get a bullet to the chest, and I’m not hanging on to my life in a hospital.”

     Jason looked down and gathered himself before he continued, “Tell Lucina I’m sorry. I apologize for any-"

     "Save it,” Murdoch cut in, “It’s not her that is missing right now.” Murdoch leaned over the metal table separating them and continued, “Within eighteen minutes of your little fiasco last night, a little boy was taken. He is nine years old, and his name is Jonathan.”

     He leaned back and began to get to the point, “I want you to recount what happened last night as best you can, and then I want to hear everything about this kidnapping. It’s no coincidence that these two events happened so close together, and its no coincidence that you are involved, given your past."

     Murdoch leaned forward a bit, “Jason Morris, look into my eyes. I need you to remember. Tell me about last night."

     Seeing Jason wasn’t budging, he continued, "You’re not a captive anymore, you’re an asset. Whatever happens, you are the only way we can catch him. You are the one person to survive more than a week with Quietus, you have survived eight years.”

     Jason snickered in almost a retort kind of way.

     Connor continued, "I need you to tell me about him. What does he look like? Where does he stay? How does he….” Murdoch paused, thinking of an easy way to maneuver around the question.

     Finding none he asked, “How does he kill them? His MO varies. Some of the kids are starved. Some are… not. He has no clear habits, no relation to the victims, race is no issue, gender is no issue, and location is no issue. The only thing we know about Quietus is that he takes young kids, keeps them a couple of days, kills them, and disposes of the bodies. Some are never found, and that’s why we assumed you were dead."

     Jason sat in silence for a bit. Having taken it all in he began, “Quietus… Such an interesting word…"

     Jason continued, his voice carried a tone of guilt, “The killings stopped. For about a year, the killings stopped. On the anniversary of the latest kidnapping they had a telecast. Do you remember what it said?"

     Jason began to look around, as if the walls were listening to his rambling, "It called this nameless killer, this ordinary man ‘Quietus’. Quietus… something that causes a release from life. That’s why the killings started again."

     Elaborating, he continued, "If you denounce a man and his actions, he dies. But when you immortalize somebody, all that is left for them to do is live. After all, what else is there for an immortal to do but live?"

     Having finished his reproach, Jason’s demeanor changed and he began again, "Eight years… I’ve been gone for eight years…” he forced a chuckle, “To be honest, I don’t remember much about those years. I wasn’t there for most of it. The other guy was there, and those memories aren’t something I want to remember."

     Another pause, “Several times I wish I had just let myself die, or that somehow, I wouldn't have lived to see the next day. Many of the things that Morse did are, unspeakable. But, I don’t remember everything about my captivity. Morse went through most of it, but still, I remember enough."

     Now, Jason looked to Connor, "Be careful if you ever deal with him again. He is a narcissist and a sociopath. He doesn’t feel emotions, he doesn’t understand others, and he is unable to feel remorse or regret. He leaves that much to me."

     Jason paused and began to stifle tears. They were visibly forming in his eyes. Pulling himself together he continued, “Detective, Morse is a survivor. All his actions are done in the interest of self-preservation. Morse will not put anybody before himself. No matter what the cost, he will take it to keep himself alive. That’s how I survived eight years with Quietus. Morse did things that nobody should have to do to someone else. There is no MO because there is more than one kidnapper and more than one killer.”

     Silence filled the room. It rang through Jason’s ears, leaving nothing but emptiness. The pause, lasting about seventeen seconds, seemed to take an eternity. Sighing audibly, Jason began to recount the previous night, “I can remember the rain…"

---

Tulsa, Ok

11:29 PM

August 9, 2014

3 1/2 hours earlier

     The downpour was going on its third hour. For rain as torrential as it was, anything outside was bound to get soaked. Even under the elm tree with the maze of branches and leaves as thick as it was, Jason Morse still managed to get soaked. His dark jeans were almost completely soaked through. His white tee shirt clung to his skin, making his light skin color fade through the shirt. His dark caramel colored jacket hung, unzipped, not doing much to keep him dry. He was wet, yes, but the temperature was surprisingly warm for the state of the weather. Casually, Morse brushed his wet, brown hair out of his foggy green eyes. He was waiting. Quietus, as he was known to the world, had sent him on his mission. He carried his usual faux black leather pocket notebook and his worn pencil. He kept everything from dates, locations, and thoughts in there. Aside from those, he carried a loaded black pistol.

     Glancing at his cheap digital watch, he saw that it was almost time. Having watched this car for days, and having observed the driver’s habits, he was ready for this. Morse paused and waited, staring emptily at the world in front of him. Anybody else would see beautiful trees, gently illuminated by streetlights in the rain. Anybody else would see the grass, waving in the wind, and they would smell it’s smell, the smell of nature. Morse wasn’t anybody. He saw nothing, nothing but his hunting ground... Nothing but his mission.

     Headlights illuminated the street about 300 meters away. Morse heard the car. He had one shot to get this right. If it were the wrong car, everything would go wrong. After deciding that nobody else would be out on this particular road at this particular time and, knowing the driver’s habits, he decided he would risk it. Casually, he lay down in the damp grass beside the curb. His wet clothes were now completely soaked through on the left side. Under his left jacket flap, he held the loaded gun and waited. Through his shut eyes, he could still detect the brightness of the headlights that fell upon him. Not long after the headlights hit him, tires screeched and the headlights came to a halt. A couple seconds passed, and a door opened. He heard the unmistakable sound of shoes on wet asphalt. Caroline Harrison, wearing a black leather jacket, came up to him and began to shake him.

     “Hey, hey. Wake up.” She pleaded.

     It took one motion for Morse to spin around, put the gun to her chest, and pull the trigger. She inhaled sharply. After trying to stagger away, she collapsed on the pavement. Her blood began to spread in the flurry of rain. Quickly, he shot up and began to move, gun aimed, at the car. The interior lights shut off immediately, and the passenger door shot open. A silhouetted figure bolted out and began to run. Morse began to run as well. Unfortunately for the figure, Morse was a lot faster and was gaining ground. He shot past the empty car and chased after the shadowy figure.

     After gaining enough ground, he lunged at her and caught her legs. She fell, hard, into the asphalt. Easily, he overpowered her. He tangled both of her struggling arms under his left arm, and with his right, held the gun to her forehead.

     “Hello there Lucina,” Morse said softly. He looked directly into her soft blue eyes and saw horror.

     Attempting to break free, Lucina struggled violently. Even though she was getting nowhere, she continued her writhing on the pavement. Jason relocated the gun to her right shoulder, and gruffly told her, “Enough.”

*Click*

     Behind Morse, Detective Connor Murdoch leveled his gun directly at the back of his head. His black blazer, white button-up shirt, and black slacks were already soaking. “Drop the gun,” Murdoch commanded. “Stand up, and turn around."

     Morse responded, impressed, “The lights…” He dropped the gun and released his hold on Lucina’s arms. Lucina immediately scurried away and stood up beside Connor. Standing up, Morse continued, "Nobody running from a shooter would bother to turn the lights out inside their car. You were in the backseat!” He began to chuckle, “Well done.”

     Connor ignored that bit, “You’ve got around a minute before several squads of police cars get here to arrest you, so I’ve got that long to decide whether to kill you or not.”

     Morse turned around slowly with his hands up, scanning Connor. He noticed the same ring on his finger as that on Caroline’s. It wasn’t a wedding ring, so they were engaged. “Well, if it makes any difference, she’ll live. It wasn’t a fatal shot. She wasn’t my target."

     The detective's gun was in his right hand, so he was right-handed. He was tall, but not over six foot. He was just a couple of inches taller than Morse himself.

     “Turn around!” Connor barked. He placed his left hand on Morse’s left shoulder as an attempt to forcibly spin him around.

     Morse had been waiting for this. He grabbed the arm with his right hand, and spun behind him. They were now back to back. Morse continued with hitting the stunned detective in the left side of the neck with his elbow. Connor retched forward in pain. Morse kicked the back of his legs, bringing him to his knees.

     Next, Jason kicked him in the back of his head, sending him face first into the asphalt. Connor spun around, bringing the gun to where Morse previously was. Unfortunately for Connor, Morse had predicted this and stepped aside. Morse grabbed the gun, still in the detective’s hands, and began to wrestle him for it, making sure to keep it aimed away from him. Morse spat, “I’ve got just under a minute to kill you.”

     Connor released the gun, sending Morse toppling backwards. Connor leapt on his attacker and began to wrestle the gun from him while Lucina ran to retrieve Morse's dropped gun on the pavement.

*Bang*

*Bang*

     The gunshots rang through the empty street. Connor winced back, but managed to wrestle the gun free. A bullet had skimmed the right side of his forehead, leaving a deep, bloody gash. Aiming the gun, Connor faced Morse. Morse was already in motion by the time that Connor raised the gun. Morse dove under his arm, and then he slammed Connor’s wrist with his fist. Connor yelped in pain. The gun clattered on the ground. In a quick motion, Morse swooped the gun up into his hand. Sirens were audible in the distance. “Thirteen seconds,” Jason thought. Morse aimed the gun at the bloodied detective’s face.

*Bang*

     Morse winced backwards, holding his bloody hand. His gun flew away from him. The sirens were deafeningly close. Grasping his bleeding hand, he looked around. He saw four separate police cars and an ambulance speeding towards them. He hadn't expected so many cops to be available this late at night. Beside him stood Lucina. It was her who had shot the gun in his hand, taking a chunk out of the skin between his thumb and index finger. Car doors flew open and cops flew out. There were at least eight guns pointed straight at him. To his right, he saw Caroline being heaved into the ambulance. A loudspeaker boomed, “Put your hands behind your head and get on the ground.”

     Trying to speak over the sirens, Morse shouted, “In that order specifically, or does it matter?” Sarcasm clear in his words, he appeared unfazed. It was a natural response for him, to overshadow the situation with sarcasm. He had two options. He could go down in a quick late night firefight, or he could let them take him. Almost inaudibly, Jason muttered, “No. Not here. Not yet.” His sarcastic smile crept back up onto his face and he knelt on the ground. He interlocked his fingers behind his head, as commanded. He was beaten.

     Lucina looked around desperately, looking for her father. Finally, she locked eyes with the police captain and ran into his arms. Captain Frazer embraced his daughter lovingly. He then proceeded to go see Connor, getting his wound wrapped by a fellow officer. The ambulance sirens had already disappeared in the distance.

     Connor sat on the back of the police car with an officer’s coat draped over his shoulders. His hands tightly held the coat on his shoulders. His face was ghost pale. He looked up when he saw the captain and tried his best to recover his composition.

     “She’ll be fine,” Frazer began. “She’s being cared for by the paramedics, and the shot wasn’t fatal.” He put his hand on Murdoch’s shoulder.

     Murdoch turned and looked him in the eyes, “Gar… What’s happening?"

     Captain Garfield Frazer responded, “I don’t know. We’re taking the kid in, and we’re going to figure this all out.” An awkward silence ensued and the captain promptly removed his hand from the detective’s shoulder. “Connor, it’s going to be ok. Carol is going to fine, and we are going to work this out.” Connor responded with an unsure nod.

     Looking around, he wondered how it had all gone wrong. It didn’t take long for him to lay eyes on the cause. Jason Morse glanced towards him, and their eyes locked. Jason’s smile became a wicked grin as the handcuffs clicked behind his head. After eight years of living under Quietus, Jason Morse was on his own agenda now.

“No matter how fast light travels, it finds the darkness has always got there first, and is waiting for it.” -Terry Pratchett