When it Rains

Part 5


I managed to get Peter - John, now, I had to remind myself - safely out of the hotel, but then the city awoke, and he was gone before I could catch him. I'd taken notes on the experiment, and used them to try and find him now.

I hated Emma Murdoch when I met her. How could I not? She was beautiful - normal, female, innocent to a degree, and everything that I was not. And she had a claim on my Peter - her John. It wasn't her fault, of course. She was just playing the part, just another chemically constructed history, another fake persona. But when she'd come to see me, there had been something about her that made me dislike her more. Something in the way that she looked at me, that made me think that were I whole, as handsome as I had once been, that she would have been asking me about something completely different from her husband's insanity.

She was no help to me, other than to, I assume, reveal my interest in John to the police. They came around next - a handsome older man with grey eyes the scrutinized me. I'm not sure he believe me. I excused myself as soon as I could.

When the inspector left me, I went to the bath house. I knew they were looking for me, and I wasn't ready to be found yet, not until I'd found John. My attempts to contact him through his supposed wife had failed, and I hadn't been able to reach his uncle - the aquarium was closed despite how long I knocked, and the number was unlisted. So I retreated to my only sanctuary, to think, to try and figure out some way of finding him, contacting him before They did.

Perhaps part of me hoped that there was enough of Peter left inside him - somewhere, even subconsciously - to remember the place where we'd met. But as the closing announcement came on over the loudspeaker, I felt a wash of disappointment.

He hadn't come.

Hand, however, had. I reacted in terror to his presence, pushing away from the side to tread water in the centre of the pool, the water as a barrier between us. As angry as I was, I couldn't help feel a thrill of terror, of shame at remembering what he'd done to me, the horrific, shameful violation that I'd never expected from Them. If he could do that, what else was he capable of?

I listened fearfully to his words - that They knew about John, knew that he could Tune. That They'd found the broken syringe in the bathroom - though apparently They hadn't tried to analyze any of the leftovers. It was a small spark of hope in this otherwise bleak night - They didn't suspect my involvement in this, not yet. They always thought themselves so superior. I hoped it would prove to be Their undoing.

Out on the street during that night's tuning, with the city asleep, I felt a surge of guilt. It had been twelve hours since my injection, and now everyone around him was comatose. He had no warning, without the second syringe. No way of knowing what was going on. I cursed myself for my failure, for losing control. For not thinking far enough ahead to reverse the injections - lessons first, then the power to Tune - but it was too late now. I could only pray that somehow I could find him, or he would find me.

Find me he did, at the most dangerous time I could think of. I heard him call my name - my last name, and it sounded somehow alien on his lips, the ones that had so gently called me Daniel. I turned in a panic, trying to deflect his questions, to calm him until I could get him somewhere safe. "We cannot talk here, it is not safe. If they see us together -- they'll - " They'll suspect me, my involvement, they'll kill you, and I'll lose everything.

He was angry in his confusion, erratic, almost violent. Just as I'd told myself he would be. But expecting it and experiencing it were two different things, and suddenly I was falling over my words at his demands, completely unable to take control, Then his anger crested, and the force of it pushed me, sent me flying through the air to sprawl on the pavement, staring at him in shock

He could do it. The injection had worked, and far better than I could have ever imagined it would. He could Tune. I felt a simultaneous relief and excitement course through me, as much as it hurt that he'd lashed out at me. If I could just make him trust me, help him stay hidden until I managed to re-make the imprint with his lessons, then everything would be fine. I only had to convince him.

"Listen to me, John." I spoke quickly, trying to give him the answers he wanted in as simple a way as possible. "You have -- their power. You can make things happen -- by will -- alone." I couldn't see him to read him, my glasses somewhere in the pavement from the tumble, and hoped that he was listening. I pushed on, gasping for breath from the fall, knowing I had to get him somewhere safe, fast. "They call it -- Tuning -- that is how they make -- the buildings change. Just now you acted -- out of self-defense. A reflex. But I can teach you -- to control your power -- consciously." I drew a shivering breath, ready to beg if I had to. "Let me help you, John. Together we can stop them -- we can take the city back - "

But even as I spoke, I could hear reality shift. I had to get him out of here, but I couldn't see - my damn glasses -

I heard footsteps, and prayed that he'd run. My hands, scrabbling on the pavement, found the wire frames of my glasses, just as a shadow fell over me. I raised my head slowly, a shudder of fear running through me at figure that stood in front of me, at how very close we'd been to being caught.

Hand all but rolled his eyes at me, glancing away in disgust, and immediately I started to panic. Was he angry? Did he suspect? I tried to bite back the fear, but I couldn't help it, couldn't stop myself remembering his hands on my skin, the humiliation, the agony. I tried to explain myself, to clear my name, stammering again, but he silenced me.

"Come, Dr. Schreber, we have much to do."

My eyes fell to the pavement, and I heard myself whisper, "...yes." I could only hope that punishing me was not on his list.


We went back to the underground, but thankfully it seemed like Hand was entirely preoccupied with the thought of catching Murdoch, rather than any indiscretion I might have made. I started to mix the memories, then glanced up at him, wondering if I could use his - Their - distraction to my advantage. "Perhaps I should create -- two copies. In case we need to re-imprint him -- as well."

Hand shrugged, not looking up from the paperwork he was reading. "If you wish, Doctor."

I almost sighed aloud, relief coursing through my veins. It was easy then to switch around the vials when he wasn't paying attention, acting as though everything was normal. Easy to re-mix the original vial I had made, the one with the important lessons on how to control the abilities I'd give him. The vial to end his confusion, give him a clear identity. To teach him to Tune.

They argued amongst themselves long and hard over what to do about Murdoch - thinking themselves so smart, so inferior. I waited it out, calm, quiet. For once I rather hoped that Hand would get his way... I doubted that being imprinted with the original Murdoch template would do anything but make him confused and erratic, and of course, eventually, kill him. A small comfort, though I knew another would take his place.

"This may sting -- a little." It was incredibly satisfying, driving the syringe into his forehead, injecting him with that disgusting cocktail of memories. Goodbye, Mr. Hand, I hope you get what you deserve.

Then I returned to the surface, the precious syringe hidden in plain sight in my bag, to wait for Murdoch. He'd seek me out, he'd found me before. And once he had the injection, he'd understand everything.

~~~


"Doctor Schreber?"

I'd just finished dressing in the bath house, when I heard his voice behind me. I turned and gave a soft sigh before I could stop myself, remembering so vividly our meeting here, remembering his lips on my skin. "I knew you'd come eventually." But no, this wasn't my Peter now, I couldn't forget that. And I couldn't afford to take any more chances.

I pulled a gun on him, demanded he inject himself. Not the smartest move, I must admit in hindsight, considering the abilities I'd already witnessed, but I'd hoped the element of surprise would be on my side. What I didn't expect was the detective, somehow on Murdoch's side despite the criminal that the Strangers had set him up to be. John pocketed the syringe, having no interest in trusting me, not now. They dragged me out to the car, to Shell Beach, and I watched John in misery. He couldn't ignore this, could he? Couldn't just let the city continue to suffer at the hands of the Strangers. He couldn't be that inhumane, he couldn't....

When the frames of my glasses turned red hot under his glare, I knew I'd made a terrible mistake. This wasn't my lover. There wasn't any part of him left.

A soon as the car stopped, I tried to run. He caught me, sent me crashing through the ground. Hauled my aching body to my feet, yelling, threatening.

"Don't hurt me -- I'll tell you everything - !" I gasped, hating the anger in his eyes, hating that this was my fault. I'd tried to save him, and failed; saved him from becoming one type of monster only for him to become another, one with far more power. "It doesn't matter anymore anyway...."

So as the detective rowed us slowly down the canal, I told them the truth of things - everything but my own involvement. To let him know the horror he was aiding, by not helping me. Everything but the answer the strangers were looking for - that I'd given John the ability to tune.

But then as we spoke, as the boat travelled slowly down the canal, as I watched him, I realized that I had passed judgment too quickly, too harshly. This man was entirely lost in this world, with no memory, and with super human powers he couldn't understand and could hardly control. I'd done this to him, and he could hardly be blamed for lashing out in fear, however painful it had been to me. And so I forgave him in that moment, for hurting me. I couldn't hate him, not when there were so many little glimpses of Peter in him still.

Perhaps it wasn't too late, to enlist his help in defeating them. To keep my promise to take care of him. Perhaps once he realized that he was chasing a lie, he would accept my syringe as the only alternative, the only way to truly understand. Perhaps once he saw for himself the truth of the city, he would want to help...

They caught up, of course. Hand and his posse and that woman, though I believed John when he said that he didn't love her. He had no memories of her, after all. But he proved too kindhearted to sacrifice her, and it relieved me in a way, knowing that I hadn't been mistaken about his nature.

In the end, we both ended up back in Their hands. I watched helplessly as they took John away to be fought over, restrained by Hand's watchful eye. Emma was re-imprinted, taken back to the surface, but I felt no loss there. I was more worried about the Stranger that still held the old Murdoch's memories. My tormentor. "I don't suppose you would like to tell us, doctor, how you came to be in league with this man?" A quirked brow, more emotion in Mr. Hand's face than I'd ever seen.

"I am not in league -- with him," I replied, glaring. "They took me prisoner."

"That sounds very convenient, Doctor. The man who was once your lover, taking you prisoner? Somehow finding his way to Shell Beach?"

"He is not the man I -- knew," I spat, not having to fake my anger. "He targeted me as -- your biggest weakness. That is all."

Hand didn't seem convinced, and there was a kind of wildness to his eyes that frightened me even more than he had before, though I hadn't thought it possible. He mad a sharp gesture, and a metal frame formed around me - familiar, they'd put me in one of these before, to contain me. Then he stepped forward, slipping a hand through the iron bars to close over my groin, his foot on the bottom bar to keep me from pulling away, though I tried to jerk back, struggling in fear.

"We will deal with Murdoch first," he told me, a sinuous smirk playing about his lips, "And then it will be your turn, yes? We think we should find out more about this... human connection you spoke of. I think I will find the experience much enhanced this time."

I closed my eyes against the wave of horror and revulsion. "Please...."

"Come now, Doctor. You should be glad. After all, I am now the person your lover was to become." The singular pronoun again - it really had changed him. His voice lowered again, almost rough, and I didn't regret that I had acted to save Peter from becoming this. "I think I will like even more how you squeal when I fuck you."

He let go then, striding away, leaving me weak-kneed and whimpering in fear. Slowly, I mustered all my strength, and put myself back together, dragging the heavy cage step by step as I followed the others to John.

They'd tied him to the wheel, the frame They had used so many times to torture me, and the sight of him laying there helpless there took the last shred of hope I'd had. They'd kill him, now, and it didn't matter any more whether he was John or Peter... he was still a good man, a man I'd once loved, and I'd failed to protect him, failed to keep my promise. Book handed me a syringe - different then the ones I used. Ancient, filled with an ugly black liquid, and I understood Their intentions. Worse than death...

They wanted to make him one of Them.

I approached him slowly, heart aching, the syringe held in trembling hands. Perhaps I could use it on myself. Perhaps there would be enough chaos that he could escape, even if I couldn't. Live on without me. Be safe.

Then I remembered the syringe he'd taken from me. Remembered him slipping it into his jacket pocket. Perhaps there was one last chance, after all, to use Their arrogance against them one more time. I secured John's head, speaking softly to him, mind racing, quietly reaching into his jacket, a wave of relief washing over me as my fingers closed around the metal. Then, taking a deep breath... I switched the syringes.

For a moment, I didn't know if it would work. I saw him struggle to process the imprint, watching, praying for him to take to it, to gain the knowledge he needed. To use it before they figured out what I'd done.

Mr. Book realized first, his hand closing around my wrist tightly, making me cry out, drop the black syringe to smash on the floor. The look in his eyes made me feel almost triumphant as he finally realized who had instigated this, who had caused all this trouble. Realized my betrayal. "What have you done?"

And then, John awoke.

He was beautiful, my dark haired avenging Angel. He broke free of the wheel, melting the horrible symbol of my servitude into nothingness. Our eyes met briefly - a smile, thanking me - then he freed me from my cage and went to work. The underneath was in shambles in moments, the strangers scattered, flung up into the city. The explosion of power flung me there too, and I landed hard on a parked car, winded. Still, I managed to pull myself to my feet, to press into the corner of a building to protect myself from debris, and watched John destroy Book, the fulcrum, the focus of their power.

It was over.

And when it was over, he smiled... and left me.

I walked slowly through the city, almost aimlessly, wondering what would happen now. I saw Emma, almost by chance - Anna now, a swirl of dark hair and red fabric, boarding the bus to Shell Beach.

Well. At least she wasn't likely to cheat on him with this imprint.

Then, the sun rose. For a long time, I just stood and stared at the light on the buildings, letting it calm me. Even if I'd lost Peter... I was still free, finally free. All my years of work had paid off. They were dead. I returned to my office and rolled the maze out into the hallway to be taken out with the trash. I boxed up my notes, my equipment, and tidied it out. I wasn't sure I would use this space again, apart from its library. Or perhaps I would move all together. Find some place with more windows, more light.

I was far too fond of the rats to set them free, so I went upstairs to my apartment and started to re-arrange things to make room for a proper cage for them, by the window. It was then that the phone rang. I stared at it in confusion for a few moments, then slowly crossed the room to pick it up. Who in the city would call me? "... hello?"

"Doctor Schreber?" I recognized the voice immediately and froze. "It's John Murdoch." I must have been silent too long, because the voice on the other end of the line grew concerned. "Are you there?"

"Yes. Yes, I -- apologize. How did you get -- this number?"

He gave a soft laugh. "You're in the phone book, Daniel. May I call you Daniel?"

The familiarity brought with it a wave of anguish, and I closed my eyes for a moment, wishing for things that could not be. "Of course. Is everything all right, John?"

"Yeah... I just wanted to thank you, I guess. For saving me, for all your help."

I lowered myself into the chair by the phone with a soft smile. "John, you have freed -- the city. And myself as well. All my thanks is -- to you."

There was silence for a long moment. "I wanted to apologize as well...."

"John..."

"I was an ass. It's inexcusable. I'm sorry."

I closed my eyes for a moment, though he couldn't see me over the phone line. "You are a -- good man. Please do not ever think -- otherwise."

He was silent again, and I wished that I could see his face. "Thank you, Daniel. Look, if there's anything you ever need, or... if you just want to talk... feel free to call me anytime, all right? I'll give you my number."

I took it down, staring at the numbers on the pad of paper without really believing that he was giving them to me at all. But as we said our goodbyes, a warm feeling of happiness, soft and bright, came over me. I hung up the receiver, staring at it for a long moment. He wasn't my Peter, but... perhaps we could still have something. A friendship.

I made my way down to my lab one more time, picking up the beaker that sat on the windowsill of my office. In the sunlight, the rose bud was beginning to open, just a little, and I took it upstairs with me, setting it on the sill in the bedroom. It would only last a few days, much like my ill fated romance. But it had been beautiful, what I'd had. And because of it, some day, perhaps there would be other roses.

~~~~~~~