Milliways Enterance OOM Prt1
Bright sunlight and perfect weather. Pale shifts of light filter through green trees as blocks away beautiful people are mingling with other beautiful people in assorted beautiful places. Los Angeles. The Perfect Place for a Perfect life for everybody but-
"A serial killer attacks and kills two people in Los Angeles before abducting a little girl and I'm 100 feet away."
Meet Matt Parkman. Los Angeles Beat Cop. Proud member of the thin blue line that does it's best to keep the city of angels in check.
Business as usual. Life is truly not fair "...I might as well be in Siberia."
His feet hurt, the time was constantly on his mind. This...this defined monotony. They could've gotten half a dozen rookies to work this beat without breaking a sweat. He missed his park, hell, at least in the cineplex he could usually stalk to the back and catch a few minutes of an uninterrupted feature before the employees asked him what the hell he was doing...
"-Hey c'mon man. What could you do?" Brandon scratched the back of his neck and shook out his wrist.
"-What do you mean what could I do?" Matt waved another car on through and shot his partner a venomous look, "-I want to be where the action is." It was what drove him. Ever since he was a kid he wanted to be a police officer. Cops were the epitomy of cool. They'd drag the other kids away from him after they'd beat him up, they got to wear guns and badges and have beautiful women throw themsleves at them, they got to really help people.
That was the thing see. Ever since he was little he'd felt completely worthless compared to the rest of the other kids. He'd come home crying or with a note from his teacher and his mother would pat him on the head and mutter consolingly-But he'd gotten tired of it. He'd prove something to his mom and dad (especially his dad. Guh). But he promised the man...
"Man, they don't pay us enough to be where the action is." Brandon had settled into his life, content with being the backup. Easy enough,he had a wife and two kids at home, Matt had-
A burning desire to do something important "-I just want to help. " The cop jammed his hands in his pockets forlornly, staring down along the street, watching the SWAT guys trade gallows humor on the front lawn.
"You wanna help? Get some more tape." Brandon shook out the last roll and dropped it unceremoniously on the ground. Both men suspected that one of the secretaries was selling it on Ebay to "Enthused Collectors"
Cue Lighting and Dramatic music as two sleek black cars with government issue plates parked illegally in the middle of the street. Oh Great There went Detective Briscoe and Detective Simpson along with two women Matt didn't recognize. Feds
The Longstanding rivalry between city, state, and federal authorities still held in check even between the lowliest beatcop and the bottom-of-the barrel fed. Matt and Brandon straightened, dogs with their hackles raised as their Alphas passed through their territory. Two Women (That was weird) One Blond and petite, the other tall with long red hair and-
"-So what do you think?" Brandon hooked a finger onto his belt, "-FBI or CIA?"
Matt was actually thinking that the Redhead had a nice ass and the blond looked like the woman from the Grudge movies, " She's dressed too nice to be FBI." Come to think of it, something about the redheaded woman reminded him of Janice, a thought that brought his eyes downward to the watch on his wrist.
Brandon snapped his fingers, "-Hey Man-They posted the test results today-"
Matt's stomache churned and he shook his head as Brandon's eyes widened.
"-S'nothing wrong with you not passing man, I mean,You're just not a test takin' kind of guy..."
Not three times. Three times was an all time low. Three times was scraping the bottom of the fucking barrel. Hey Matt? Gonna pass this time? Hey-Hey Parkman! Man, wouldn't be the testin' room without you. He'd become a solid fixture. Like the box of stale donuts always outside the room where they sat the rookies who'd pass with flying colors.
He was 29. If he didn't do something soon-
The Breeze danced across his face as he closed his eyes, ignoring Brandon's condolences and mockery of their captain and the rest of the Detectives (-Even now flocking to the feds, some playing the hardass NYPD Blue Cop, others being more curious) The fact that there was a missing child out there slipping his mind faster then you could say-
P-please don't hurt me
He tilted his head to the side. Did he imagine that...
Please don't hurt me
Where the hell was that coming from?
"...Yo man." Brandon frowned, raising a hand toward his partner, "Matt? You okay?"
Matt had moved several inches away from him, staring up at the sky trying to discern where that sound was-
Please don't hurt me
Coming From.
Please don't hurt me
It was so loud....why wasn't anybody else looking up?
Rationality pushed itself to the back of his mind as Matt took the steps two at a time into the house itself.
It was a crimescene. Nothing really prepares you for crimescenes. No matter how jaded you think you are there's always something about the place that makes you twitch. Makes the hairs no the back of your neck stand up.
Please don't hurt me
This one...This one was something special. The Male frozen in his place. The female pinned against the wall by a dozen knives-It looked like Codename V versus Bobby Drake-if the X-Man was an evil mutant.
Matt noticed none of that.
Please don't hurt me
It was like watching a home movie. Some part of him moved outside himself, wondering at the horror of it all, amazed at the details, hearing the screaming and that constantly present whispering
Please don't hurt me
Redhead turned away from the CSI guys and faced him with her arms akimbo, "-You. Are not supposed to be in here."
Quiet. Matt waved his hands at her frantically, Didn't she hear that? Why the hell weren't they all scrambling around? If that kid was there-
Please don't hurt me
Please don't hurt me
Please don't hurt me-
There. Behind the Stairs. It was one of those old timey underclosets. Like where Harry Potter Slept (...Great Metaphor Matt.)
He pushed the table out of the way and threw the lamp side, curses and curious whispers muted
Please don't hurt me
Please don't hurt me-
He opened the door to childhood.
His childhood. The room was a playroom of some kind. Very pink with the occasional tomboyish touches.
And a small child.
Please don't hurt me
She couldn't be more then six. Maybe Seven. She's got a horse doll clutched to her body, eyes wide. This isn't right. No kid should be put into this position-
Please don't hurt me
"...It's okay." Matt panted, "It's okay. Nobody's going to hurt you."
Please don't hurt me
This is getting old. And she's not shutting up
He paused, "Look, see? I'm a cop. I'm one of the good guys." He pointed to his badge, big , shiny, and eyecatching, "-I'm not gonna let anyone hurt you. No no." Please come out of there.
(T)He Hurt my mom and dad. Please don't hurt me
Matt moved forward against his will, collecting the kid in his arms before bumping his head on the way out. Wrapping her against his body he moved backwards through the crimescene-
Her parents frozen and mutilated faces watching them leave.
----
"How'd you do that man?" Brandon's patting him on the back. As a partner he's proud, and as a father he's thankful, "-Lucky guess?"
"...I heard her."
Brandon's grin never waviered, "...Huh?"
Matt frowned at him, "...You couldn't hear her? Half the neighborhood should've been poking their heads outta their doors. She was radiating up and down the block man."
This was too weird. Had he only imagined it? Had it been the occasional "lucky" break that he heard some of the old-timers talk about?
Brandon's face set itself in a dead line, "....What?"
It's finally happened. Matt's lost it. Damn, I lost the pool.
Reality hit him hard in the face. I'm imagining that
"-Right man. Right. Anyway, the captain wants to talk to you after the FBI. they're in the backyard." Brandon checked his watch, "And I am offically off patrol. Give my best to Janice okay?"
Dude goes all wiggy, follows his nose like he's listenin' to somethin nobody else can hear...Man. Poor guy finally snapped. Wonder what Janice Thinks?
Matt watched his partner leave, mouth agape.
-----
The pool was a bright blue cut in half by the vaccume cord and two little yellow water wings, strategically placed. That drew him in. He couldn't explain why or what was so fascinating about that particular shape, or why it was so familiar
"-Hey Parkman."
They were 15 minutes late. how long are they gonna be?
Someday when he was top-brass he would never keep his underlings waiting. He checked his watch again, an image of Janice standing outside their therapist's office tapping her foot as she leaned against the wall. That occasional sigh of annoyance, the urgent checking of her watch-
"Hey Parkman." Red and Blonde moved across the deck as a pair. (-The running joke about the FBI. They do everything in pairs, from investigating to taking a piss-)
"...How'd you know where that little girl would be?"
This was getting ridiculous. What the hell was everyone on? She'd been talking clear as day.
"...How'd I know where she'd be?" He checked his watch again, "I heard her whispering."
"You found a little girl because you heard her whisper?" Red looked skeptical, but her confusion was nothing compared to the blond who planted her feet squarely apart, clearly looking for a fight, "...Explain to me how you're outside and you hear a kid whisper on the inside of the house? In a room beneath the stairs no less?"
I have really good hearing? honestly he didn't know, and that thought scared the crap out of him, "....I-I don't know I thought everyone could hear her."
Another glance at the watch.
"Do you have someplace you'd rather be Officer?"
Yeah. At home. at the precinct. anywhere else, "-As a matter of fact I do. It's ah-It's my wife. Couples counciling. we're ah- we're having some problems at home."
You did not lie to the top brass when you're asked directly. Janice was-
He did not like to admit that he had problems.
Redhead stalked forward, smiling up at him a sly wolfish grin.
This guy's worthless.
"Cut him loose. He doesn't have anything."
The Blond had a nametag (That was interesting) reading Hanson
This guy can't be Sylar. This dude's too....babyfaced. Nice looking. Un. fucking. believable.
Sylar. Who or what was Sylar? Was he-
Images of the little girl sobbing into the social worker's arms, a man with his brain removed and a body pinned against the wall...
Sylar did it
He felt sick. Something in his stomache twisted. He'd never met the guy, but something about the crime, the very existence of such a person made his stomache twist. It was abbrrant.
"Hold it Parkman." Hanson stalked toward him.
Great. He stopped short, "Yes Ma'am?"
"Your captain tells me you've failed the Promotion to Detective Exam three times." She followed him through the path to the front yard-nearly loosing her balance when he stopped walking.
He clenched his jaw shit.
"...Yeah? So?"
"You must really want to be a Detective Bad." He felt his anger rise. She looked just like Detective Briscoe. Just like Simpson after he passed and decided to lord it over his fellow academy graduate, "Do you really think you're detective material?"
"-Yes Ma'am I do." He turned to face her, "...What does that have to do with any of this?"
"...Enough to set this up so you could look like a hero?" Blonde sure had a steely gaze-
That hit a nerve. Matt grimaced, "...What? you think-You think I killed these people? I didn't kill them Sylar did."
How do you know that name?
Goddamnit. There it was again. Matt shook his head as Hanson frowned, face paling in shock, "....How do you know that name?"
"...I-I heard it?" Shitshitshit, "...I heard it from you."
A bad choice of words.
"....Alright that's it." Hanson grabbed at his arm, "You're under arrest."
"-What?"
"You're going to explain this to me."
"-What?"
Dread coiled in the pit of his stomache as she gripped his wrists. He was led past the new shift, completely ignored by Blonde's (Hanson. Her name is Hanson) partner until the squadcar door opened and he was pushed unceremoniously through.
"A serial killer attacks and kills two people in Los Angeles before abducting a little girl and I'm 100 feet away."
Meet Matt Parkman. Los Angeles Beat Cop. Proud member of the thin blue line that does it's best to keep the city of angels in check.
Business as usual. Life is truly not fair "...I might as well be in Siberia."
His feet hurt, the time was constantly on his mind. This...this defined monotony. They could've gotten half a dozen rookies to work this beat without breaking a sweat. He missed his park, hell, at least in the cineplex he could usually stalk to the back and catch a few minutes of an uninterrupted feature before the employees asked him what the hell he was doing...
"-Hey c'mon man. What could you do?" Brandon scratched the back of his neck and shook out his wrist.
"-What do you mean what could I do?" Matt waved another car on through and shot his partner a venomous look, "-I want to be where the action is." It was what drove him. Ever since he was a kid he wanted to be a police officer. Cops were the epitomy of cool. They'd drag the other kids away from him after they'd beat him up, they got to wear guns and badges and have beautiful women throw themsleves at them, they got to really help people.
That was the thing see. Ever since he was little he'd felt completely worthless compared to the rest of the other kids. He'd come home crying or with a note from his teacher and his mother would pat him on the head and mutter consolingly-But he'd gotten tired of it. He'd prove something to his mom and dad (especially his dad. Guh). But he promised the man...
"Man, they don't pay us enough to be where the action is." Brandon had settled into his life, content with being the backup. Easy enough,he had a wife and two kids at home, Matt had-
A burning desire to do something important "-I just want to help. " The cop jammed his hands in his pockets forlornly, staring down along the street, watching the SWAT guys trade gallows humor on the front lawn.
"You wanna help? Get some more tape." Brandon shook out the last roll and dropped it unceremoniously on the ground. Both men suspected that one of the secretaries was selling it on Ebay to "Enthused Collectors"
Cue Lighting and Dramatic music as two sleek black cars with government issue plates parked illegally in the middle of the street. Oh Great There went Detective Briscoe and Detective Simpson along with two women Matt didn't recognize. Feds
The Longstanding rivalry between city, state, and federal authorities still held in check even between the lowliest beatcop and the bottom-of-the barrel fed. Matt and Brandon straightened, dogs with their hackles raised as their Alphas passed through their territory. Two Women (That was weird) One Blond and petite, the other tall with long red hair and-
"-So what do you think?" Brandon hooked a finger onto his belt, "-FBI or CIA?"
Matt was actually thinking that the Redhead had a nice ass and the blond looked like the woman from the Grudge movies, " She's dressed too nice to be FBI." Come to think of it, something about the redheaded woman reminded him of Janice, a thought that brought his eyes downward to the watch on his wrist.
Brandon snapped his fingers, "-Hey Man-They posted the test results today-"
Matt's stomache churned and he shook his head as Brandon's eyes widened.
"-S'nothing wrong with you not passing man, I mean,You're just not a test takin' kind of guy..."
Not three times. Three times was an all time low. Three times was scraping the bottom of the fucking barrel. Hey Matt? Gonna pass this time? Hey-Hey Parkman! Man, wouldn't be the testin' room without you. He'd become a solid fixture. Like the box of stale donuts always outside the room where they sat the rookies who'd pass with flying colors.
He was 29. If he didn't do something soon-
The Breeze danced across his face as he closed his eyes, ignoring Brandon's condolences and mockery of their captain and the rest of the Detectives (-Even now flocking to the feds, some playing the hardass NYPD Blue Cop, others being more curious) The fact that there was a missing child out there slipping his mind faster then you could say-
P-please don't hurt me
He tilted his head to the side. Did he imagine that...
Please don't hurt me
Where the hell was that coming from?
"...Yo man." Brandon frowned, raising a hand toward his partner, "Matt? You okay?"
Matt had moved several inches away from him, staring up at the sky trying to discern where that sound was-
Please don't hurt me
Coming From.
Please don't hurt me
It was so loud....why wasn't anybody else looking up?
Rationality pushed itself to the back of his mind as Matt took the steps two at a time into the house itself.
It was a crimescene. Nothing really prepares you for crimescenes. No matter how jaded you think you are there's always something about the place that makes you twitch. Makes the hairs no the back of your neck stand up.
Please don't hurt me
This one...This one was something special. The Male frozen in his place. The female pinned against the wall by a dozen knives-It looked like Codename V versus Bobby Drake-if the X-Man was an evil mutant.
Matt noticed none of that.
Please don't hurt me
It was like watching a home movie. Some part of him moved outside himself, wondering at the horror of it all, amazed at the details, hearing the screaming and that constantly present whispering
Please don't hurt me
Redhead turned away from the CSI guys and faced him with her arms akimbo, "-You. Are not supposed to be in here."
Quiet. Matt waved his hands at her frantically, Didn't she hear that? Why the hell weren't they all scrambling around? If that kid was there-
Please don't hurt me
Please don't hurt me
Please don't hurt me-
There. Behind the Stairs. It was one of those old timey underclosets. Like where Harry Potter Slept (...Great Metaphor Matt.)
He pushed the table out of the way and threw the lamp side, curses and curious whispers muted
Please don't hurt me
Please don't hurt me-
He opened the door to childhood.
His childhood. The room was a playroom of some kind. Very pink with the occasional tomboyish touches.
And a small child.
Please don't hurt me
She couldn't be more then six. Maybe Seven. She's got a horse doll clutched to her body, eyes wide. This isn't right. No kid should be put into this position-
Please don't hurt me
"...It's okay." Matt panted, "It's okay. Nobody's going to hurt you."
Please don't hurt me
This is getting old. And she's not shutting up
He paused, "Look, see? I'm a cop. I'm one of the good guys." He pointed to his badge, big , shiny, and eyecatching, "-I'm not gonna let anyone hurt you. No no." Please come out of there.
(T)He Hurt my mom and dad. Please don't hurt me
Matt moved forward against his will, collecting the kid in his arms before bumping his head on the way out. Wrapping her against his body he moved backwards through the crimescene-
Her parents frozen and mutilated faces watching them leave.
----
"How'd you do that man?" Brandon's patting him on the back. As a partner he's proud, and as a father he's thankful, "-Lucky guess?"
"...I heard her."
Brandon's grin never waviered, "...Huh?"
Matt frowned at him, "...You couldn't hear her? Half the neighborhood should've been poking their heads outta their doors. She was radiating up and down the block man."
This was too weird. Had he only imagined it? Had it been the occasional "lucky" break that he heard some of the old-timers talk about?
Brandon's face set itself in a dead line, "....What?"
It's finally happened. Matt's lost it. Damn, I lost the pool.
Reality hit him hard in the face. I'm imagining that
"-Right man. Right. Anyway, the captain wants to talk to you after the FBI. they're in the backyard." Brandon checked his watch, "And I am offically off patrol. Give my best to Janice okay?"
Dude goes all wiggy, follows his nose like he's listenin' to somethin nobody else can hear...Man. Poor guy finally snapped. Wonder what Janice Thinks?
Matt watched his partner leave, mouth agape.
-----
The pool was a bright blue cut in half by the vaccume cord and two little yellow water wings, strategically placed. That drew him in. He couldn't explain why or what was so fascinating about that particular shape, or why it was so familiar
"-Hey Parkman."
They were 15 minutes late. how long are they gonna be?
Someday when he was top-brass he would never keep his underlings waiting. He checked his watch again, an image of Janice standing outside their therapist's office tapping her foot as she leaned against the wall. That occasional sigh of annoyance, the urgent checking of her watch-
"Hey Parkman." Red and Blonde moved across the deck as a pair. (-The running joke about the FBI. They do everything in pairs, from investigating to taking a piss-)
"...How'd you know where that little girl would be?"
This was getting ridiculous. What the hell was everyone on? She'd been talking clear as day.
"...How'd I know where she'd be?" He checked his watch again, "I heard her whispering."
"You found a little girl because you heard her whisper?" Red looked skeptical, but her confusion was nothing compared to the blond who planted her feet squarely apart, clearly looking for a fight, "...Explain to me how you're outside and you hear a kid whisper on the inside of the house? In a room beneath the stairs no less?"
I have really good hearing? honestly he didn't know, and that thought scared the crap out of him, "....I-I don't know I thought everyone could hear her."
Another glance at the watch.
"Do you have someplace you'd rather be Officer?"
Yeah. At home. at the precinct. anywhere else, "-As a matter of fact I do. It's ah-It's my wife. Couples counciling. we're ah- we're having some problems at home."
You did not lie to the top brass when you're asked directly. Janice was-
He did not like to admit that he had problems.
Redhead stalked forward, smiling up at him a sly wolfish grin.
This guy's worthless.
"Cut him loose. He doesn't have anything."
The Blond had a nametag (That was interesting) reading Hanson
This guy can't be Sylar. This dude's too....babyfaced. Nice looking. Un. fucking. believable.
Sylar. Who or what was Sylar? Was he-
Images of the little girl sobbing into the social worker's arms, a man with his brain removed and a body pinned against the wall...
Sylar did it
He felt sick. Something in his stomache twisted. He'd never met the guy, but something about the crime, the very existence of such a person made his stomache twist. It was abbrrant.
"Hold it Parkman." Hanson stalked toward him.
Great. He stopped short, "Yes Ma'am?"
"Your captain tells me you've failed the Promotion to Detective Exam three times." She followed him through the path to the front yard-nearly loosing her balance when he stopped walking.
He clenched his jaw shit.
"...Yeah? So?"
"You must really want to be a Detective Bad." He felt his anger rise. She looked just like Detective Briscoe. Just like Simpson after he passed and decided to lord it over his fellow academy graduate, "Do you really think you're detective material?"
"-Yes Ma'am I do." He turned to face her, "...What does that have to do with any of this?"
"...Enough to set this up so you could look like a hero?" Blonde sure had a steely gaze-
That hit a nerve. Matt grimaced, "...What? you think-You think I killed these people? I didn't kill them Sylar did."
How do you know that name?
Goddamnit. There it was again. Matt shook his head as Hanson frowned, face paling in shock, "....How do you know that name?"
"...I-I heard it?" Shitshitshit, "...I heard it from you."
A bad choice of words.
"....Alright that's it." Hanson grabbed at his arm, "You're under arrest."
"-What?"
"You're going to explain this to me."
"-What?"
Dread coiled in the pit of his stomache as she gripped his wrists. He was led past the new shift, completely ignored by Blonde's (Hanson. Her name is Hanson) partner until the squadcar door opened and he was pushed unceremoniously through.