Endgame
I fail at daily posting. Here have some nano ~ small part that keeps in the time line and some that are meant for a later date. XD; I just couldn't resist the Luther.
Title: Endgame (9/30+)
Fandom: Star Ocean: Till the End of Time
Pairing: Luther/Fayt, mentions of Albel/Fayt
Rating: NC 17 overall
Warnings: A/U, blood, gore, slash, mindfuckery, incest, typos as far as the eye can see, no proof reading, cliches ... it's NANOWRIMO writing, that should be a warning of its own.
Summary: A series of seemingly unconnected murders draws Detective Leingod into a morbid game of hide and seek. As he hunts a phantom across the worlds, real or not, through high tech metropolis and abandoned asylum, he finds himself chasing more than just a murderer, but his own forgotten past. And what secret lies with the elusive Owner of Sphere, Luther Lansfield? Is he a powerful ally, ... or a deadly foe after all?
"Frahm died because of an antidote?" Zelpher's eyes, which had been closed as she had listened to Fayt opened to narrow slits of blue.
He shifted in his chair, a little bit uncomfortable with the scrutinizing stare.
"We assume so. It has not yet been confirmes. Due to the state of Frahm's corpse the toxiological examination is rather hard and as such is taking a longer time than normally. We are expecting the results back in about three to four days. Although the department is fairly sure that the screening will confirm the presence of Physostigmine in her bloodstream as..." Fayt hesitated to speak on, fingers thightening on the papers. What he was going to say would either close the case right away, or, if Zelpher and Chief Traydor shared his opinion, it would take on a whole new dimension.
"As we found Frahm's finger prints on the syringe that was used to inject the antidote."
"She applied it herself? A suicide?"
"Why wasn't I informed of this." Chief Traydor's voice had gone dangerously quiet, her folded hands thightening their grip. Fayt could understand why she was not pleased. If Elena Frahm's death would be ruled as a suicide she would not have had to involve the Prosecution, and to have done so would reflect badly on her judgement.
"The results just got in. But, personally, going by what we know so far I would not think that Elena Frahm has committed suicide. Even if she were to have been the one to inject herself with the physostigmine."
"Explain, please."
"Certainly, Miss Zelpher. As of now we assume that Frahm had a guest at the time of her death. She was dressed in an evening gown, overdressed for someone who was going to dine alone, had cooked a rather great amount. The table was set for two with candles, we found the other table set freshly washed in th dishwasher. I think, she might have expected to be poisoned. The wine bottle we found at the scene, a rather expensive brand, did not match the ones we found in the fridge. It might have been a present from her guest and she thoght it laced."
"You think that she invited someone she thought would murder her?"
"I know it sounds rather strange." Fayt hastened to reassure the prosecutor. "But I just can not imagine that it was suicide. It would be too much of a coincidence. Especially with Lander's death in such a close proximity. It would not be the first time that someone opened the door to their murderer. To confirm that I wanted to ask if it would be possible to gain access to the security logs of the apartment building. The chance that the relevant logs are still aviable is small, but maybe something can be retrieved."
He turned towards Zelpher, who seemed to be contemplating his words. "Alright. I will see to it that the allowance will be filed. We can not be sure that there was not some kind of foul play involved. So it is worth a shot."
"Thank you, there is also one more thing I would like to discuss, if you don't mind."
He noticed the frown ghosting over Maria's face, before her features smoothed out again in a cool facade.
"Certainly, Detective Leingod. If Miss Zelpher still has time, that is."
The red head simply nodded. "I still have time, so it is no problem."
"Thank you." He cleared his throat. "During my investigations into Elena Frahm's background it has come to my attention that recently there seem to have been a lot of deaths in the scientific society. Miss Frahm was invited to the funerals of three collegues, all of which were no older than her, in the last half year. Frahm still had the invitations for the funerals."
Both women had paled considerably, all to aware of what he was implying. They were considering the same thing as him. Five deaths in such a close proximity seemed unlikely to be an coincidence, especially with a relation between them. And five, five was also the critical number were, normally, a murderer would be no longer be considered as such, but a serial killer.
"Why hasn't anyone noticed this before?"
"Probably," Fayt answered Maria's question," because the deaths, did not happen in the same city, never mind the same country." He seperated a stack of the papers and spread them on top of the desk, revealing them to be files on two men and one woman. "Two of them are European, the other South American. No one probably paid attention to it. I wouldn't have noticed it either, if Miss Frahm did not keep the invitations in a drawer. And that is not everything. Considering what we had missed I started a search for recent cases, which had remained unsolved, involved a questionable form of death or stood in any other form of relation with Frahm and Landers. I am far from through yet, but there have been a few that made me wonder."
"Are you implying that it might be a world wide operating serial killer?"
"Mishell Vorner, twelve years old, literary child genius, died due to third degree burns. No fire has been reported close to the scene, nor were there any indications of fire, like remaining chemicals associated with open flame, found. Misty Lear, thirty eight, world famous chemist, found dead in her bed, cause was an over dose of sleeping pills. Everyone who knew her said that her death was a surprise as she did not seem the type to end her own life. Lias Flau, twenty six, in the right circles rather famous as sword smith, cause of death unknown. Those are just three examples which I found in the last few hours. I can not say for sure that there is any relation between them and the possible murder of Frahm and Landers, but there seems to be an awefully high death count among talented and famous people lately. One of the residents of Frahm's house, a chemist by the name of Mackwell, mentioned it too. I think it might be possible that there is a connection."
"That is quite the thoery that you have there, Detective Leingod. Do you have any proof?" Zelphers voice was calm, not betraying anything of her thoughts on opinions on the information Fayt had presented.
"No." He finally admitted at length. "No, I have not got any evidence as of now. But I would like to investigate along those line some more. As said, it seems like too much of a coincidence for me to ignore the possibility that it might be more."
"That might be the case, detective. I can see where you are coming from and what made you consider the possibilities. But that." Her voice was firm, eyes fixed onto his face and Fayt knew before the words left her painted lips what they would be. "is the very reason I can't endorse the endavor. I can not present a case at court based on hear say and the possibility that ti might be so. Especially not one of this size."
Even if he had been expecting it, it was bitter to hear. Though he nodded, trying to not show his disappointment.
"I understand."
"As of now we will investigate in the murder of Dion Landers and Elena Frahm against unknown. I will handle the legal side of matters for now. You can expect the warrant within a day, Detective Leingod."
The red haired woman stood up, brushing down her skirt as she did so, before she took her purse from beside her chair. She dug briefly through its content, before producing a plain white card wchich she handed to him.
"My number. Please keep me up to date on the investigation. I would like to stay in regular contact."
Fayt took the paper from her hand carefully. It was obviously expensive, thick, and the surface felt more like silk than paper to the callused tips of his fingers. He turned it, eyes tracing over the elegantly curving script spelling her name, adress and telephone number.
"Thank you. I will."
She smiled once more, extending her hand towards Chief Traydor, who shook it briefly, before turning to Fayt, who stood up, to do the same.
"I hope that this will be a productive and sucessful partnership. Chief Traydor, Detective Leingod, it was a pleasure to meet you."
"What were you thinking, Fayt?" Outrage and anger was evident in Maria's voice and Fayt winced, flinching under the blazing gaze that was directed at him. If the work desk was not between them the blue haired man was fairly sure that Maria would have tried to strangle him, curse the consequences. "You can't just make allusions like that! WIthout proof! Do you know how awkward this could have turned?"
"I am quite aware of that, Chief. But I had to try."
"Try? You practically forced the issue."
A frown appeared on his face at those words, brows drawing together and lips pressed into a thin line.
"I did not force the issue, Chief. I merely voiced my concerns on what has been happening. And you can not deny that it is strange."
"I am not denying anything, Fayt." The woman sighed, sitting back into her chair she ran a hand through her long hair, visibily trying to calm down. "But you can't just jump the prosecution like that. Even if Miss Zelpher were inclined to listen to you, she can hardly do anything for you. As she said, mere hear say is not enough to make a case."
"But we can't just ignore it either."
"I am not telling you to ignore it, Fayt." The blue haired woman sounded tired to Fayt's ears, the anger completely gone from her tone. "But I would have prefered that you talked this through with me beforehand and not simply spring it as a surprise. I know," she interrupted him. "That you don't need to do it. You are a talented detective, Fayt, one of the best we have. I would not let you work alone if it weren't the case, but you are also young and with that comes rash acts such as this one." She gestured vaguely, encompassing the room and the situation they had found themself in. "But I would like you to trust us, and trust me with such information and thoughts. I would like to think that I am not only your boss, but a friend too."
You are, he wanted to say. The woman who was not that much older than himself was a good friend, an older sister nearly. But he could not rely on her for anything. This had been his decission and he would stick to it.. "It is bad enough that we have so few things to work with in the Landers and Frahm case to begin with. We have nothing in the Landers one and If the fingerprints on the syringe are really Frahm's, the injected substance correspondences with the one that killed her and the security tapes show nothing it might just be ruled as a creative, if strange way, to commit suicide. Please, concentrate on this for now, Fayt. Even if your theory might be true, it would not fall in our jurisdication anyway."
"I understand," he answered at length, frustration evident in his voice, in the jerking movements of his limbs as he stood up. No, he really did not understand at all. People were dieing, strangely so, all over the world with barely a few weeks between them, all of them known, all of them highly intelligent. Why shouldn't he care? Why shouldn't he point it out? He might be wrong with his assumptions, but wasn't it better to at least check it out, before anything more happened? Who cared if it was not in their jurisdication? The Federation obviously had not noticed anything yet or they would have interfered with his case already. Not in their jurisdiction... wasn't it their duty to save lifes?
"Fayt..."
"No, really, I do. I will ty my best to solve the Landers and Frahm case and not worry about anything else just now."
His hand was on the door handle, already pushed it down when Maria spoke up again.
"Fayt. I mean it. I wont hesitate to suspend you if you act outside of your borders."
"I know." He managed a faint smile for the woman, looking over his shoulder at her. "I wont give you reason to suspend me, Chief."
~*~*~*~
Later piece
He could still remember the first time he had met Lucifer.
He had studied Lucifer's file for over a week before making the first appointment, careful, even though he had wanted to meet him as soon as possible. The child had sounded intriguing, the boy's file full with reports, I.Q. tests, their scores past the scale, official statements, conducted interviews... Lucifer was a certified genius at the age of four.
And a murderer at the age of eight. Maybe even earlier.
It had been hard to associate all these papers with a child, harder even to imagine what the boy behind the scores looked like. It had sounded like a concept too foreign to be true, someone at the age of a gradeschooler who understood matters normally reserved for college students and was likely to even expand on them. His mind had automatically associated all the information contained within the file with an adult, his subconsciousness picturing a grown man, someone cold and intellegent, heartless enough to plan the murder of their parents. He was unable to imagine a child, even if the youth's true age was hammered into his mind with every new paper he read through.
He could still remember the disappointment when he had first seen Lucifer.
The boy had already been waiting for him in his office, brought there by the officials. They had warned him that the youth was hard to approach, dangerous and highly intellegent. As if he didn't know already.
He had opened the door silently, unnoticed, allowing him a moment to observe his patient undisturbed. The boy had sat with his back to the door. Thin and pale, the too big off-white sweatshirt nearly falling off of a bony shoulder and short blond hair a tousled mess. A scrawny kid that looked out of place in the oppulence of his office. Surely the dark polished wood and brass would smother him, the heavy plush chair swallow him, if the sunlight already seemed to pass through him. Etheral, breakable. Nothing more than a wisp, waiting to fade. Discontent and disappointment had flared through him. It seemed absurd suddenly, like a farce. This specter, gangly and full of gnobby bones under taunt skin, awkward in a way that only someone not yet used to their frame could be, was supposed to be the fabled genius child.
Then the boy had turned around and he had for the first time -seen Lucifer-.
His breath had hitched, forgotten in his throat. He remembered blond hair, haloed by the afternoon sun, which fell through the wide windows, strands gently kissing smooth cheeks. They boy had smiled, a smile that should never have been on a child's mouth. Knowing, teasing, whispering without words of secrets untold. Forbidden lore on the tip of a pink tongue, far from innocent. Then he made the mistake to look up, to meet the youth's eyes, first shadowed beneath a messy fringe, a sweep of lashes so long that they nearly looked obscene on a boy, then clear, bright as they met his gaze.
Frozen lakes, endless and cold. They were the blue of winter, of earth frozen over and he felt a shiver run down his spine. These eyes...these eyes saw him They saw him, stripped him down, down to the bone, laid his secrets bare and judged him. Unworthy. They saw the world and judged her and her people. Condemned.
These were not the eyes of a child. These were the eyes of someone far beyond age.
Of a murderer.
These were the eyes of the Devil.
He was truly Lucifer.
Their sessions had spanned over a year. He had dreaded and anticipated his time with Lucifer. The child had scared and fascinated him, the man had him beyond frightened and ensnared. The boy's intellect had been sharp and he had found himself outwitted at every corner. He was mocked. Lucifer's words were painting a picture, spinning a tale. Wasn't it him who was the victim here. A child misunderstood, frightened and alone. Weren't his parents the one deserving of what he got? He didn't have a choice. He called forth a world of abuse, subtle, horrible, the tale of a child unwanted and misunderstood, cut off from peers and the love of those that should have cared. Simply a boy left alone, too strange to deal with, and driven to desperation in his loneliness and pain. Who could blame him for his action? Who could condeem Lucifer for his actions? It was self defense, he had to lash out or break beneath the weight placed on his small shoulders.
Lucifer was the innocent one.
Oh, he could believe him. He did. Filling papers and forms. Psychological abuse, abandonment issues, Freudian, insecurity... He couldn't believe what a fool he had been, so easily drawn in by the words of the boy and his tear jerking story of unaknowledge abuse.
He had found himself played for a fool, he might have never known that the child was mocking him, it was so easy to fall for his lies, spun around the truths in delicate webs. He would have released him, would have declared him innocent and sound of mind, if not in need of psychological treatment for the trauma he substained, poor misunderstood boy. He would have, had it not been for those few days, moments really, were Lucifer spoke frankly. Small truths, horrible and twisted, glimpses of who he was.
What he was.
What he still is.
Remorseless.
"If I could go back to that night, I would do things differently."
Lucifer had been looking out of the window, face indifferent and gaze far off. He never knew what the boy saw, certainly not the institute garden, where other patients slowly walked to and fro, caged like animals in a zoo.
They were the less dangerous ones.
He had looked up from his notes, sparse as they were. This had been the first time the boy had mentioned the night he had killed his parents without prompting, nevermind showed any sign of what might be remorse. He had not made much headway with his case, motives, the trauma that should be there...nothing. What had moved the youth to such a drastical step had still been unknown, the reasons still hidden deep within the twisted, tender whorls of the boy's brain. During their first session Lucifer had recounted the night of the murder with cold, clinical precision. It had been disturbing to listen to a voice so young talk about planned patricide as if it was the most normal thing in the world.
"They wanted to seperate me from my twin. I couldn't allow that." A simple, childish reason that had set lose a distaster.
After that there had been a change, subtle, but noticeable. The boy would not speak of what had happened, had been evasive when asked. They had talked of the time before that then, haltingly, but surely. This though, was another change.
"What would you have done instead? Talked to them? Or someone else maybe?" He had tried to prompt the blond as nothing else was forthcoming. There had to be more to it!
Lucifer had not even bothered to look at him, gaze still focused on something beyond his vision.
"No. I wouldn't have let myself be caught."
No, Lucifer truly had known no remorse. How could he when he considered himself in the right? But even so, years later, hands painted in blood, maybe...maybe the child had simply been born without it.
Angry.
The crayol had fairly flown over the paper, letters and numbers and symbols scrawled in a careless child's hand in garish green. Lucifer had been fixated on them even before he had been brough to his office, hands full of papers and awkwardly scribbling while he walked. The boy had kept it up while he questioned him, the answers he got distracted at best. He had sighed, lulled into the silence that had slowly stretched between them only interrupted by the rustling of sheets of paper. Until a frustrated scream tore out of Lucifer's throat and the crayol went flying, managing to shatter one of the window panes with the force it had been thrown.
He had simply stared, stunned, at the boy who was standing before his desk, shoulders heaving with heavy breaths and cheeks flushed with anger. HIs lips were twisted, a snarl showing his teeth in a nearly animalistic rage, blue eyes alight with glacial fire, darting and restless. Shing madly in an unholy light.
"...Lucifer?"
He had watched how the boy pulled himself together, consciously regulated his breath and schooled his features back into a cold, careful mask. Fine tremors that had shook the thin frame evened out until thin muscles stood out under transculent skin like whipcords, tensed to the breaking point but still, unmoving. It was disturbing to watch, as the youth had shattered into shards he was now piecing back together, smothing over the cracks until nothing more than the smooth surface remained, hiding the destruction beneath eggshells until the only thing that had hinted at Lucifer's outburst from a moment ago was the color high in his cheeks and the feverish sheen in his eyes.
"Nothing. Our session is about over. I will be going then."
He had turned without waiting for an answer, rigid steps on coltish legs had taken him to the door.
"Wait, what about your papers?"
An inane question, but the only one he had been able to produce at that time. He had gathered them in his hands, sheets and sheets of calculations and formulas that made his head spin just looking at them.
Lucifer had stopped only briefly, hand on the doorknob.
"You can keep them. They are of no worth to me. There is a mistake in it somewhere."
The boy had left him, too dumfonded and startled over the uncharacteristic outburst to react and call him back, demand answers to the questions that would easily be evaded at a later date, but not now, not when emotions he did not know the boy possessed so readily were boiling just under the surface. He had stood there, Lucifer's presence still lingering in the room like static, crackling and bitter, hands full of papers which rustled softly in the breeze which came through the broken window.
Shattered things and words far beyond his comprehension.
That was all Lucifer ever left him with.
Playful.
"It's frustrating being like this."
The boy had been kicking his legs as he sat, feet scraping over the carpetted floor with every move. Lucifer had grown in the last few months, clothes that had nearly swallowed him at first no longer quite so awkward on his frame. The blond had looked down, watching the sway of his shoes as if it was the most interesting thing in the world. He himself had been working on his papers, something that had happened more an more often lately. Lucifer, he had come to learn, would only talk when he wanted to, keeping his silence and willing away the hour that they spent together.
He put down his pen, folding his arms on top of the table as he put his attention back onto the boy.
"What do you mean, this? Being put up here?"
The blond had smiley, thinly, but definitely amused, had looked at him from underneath a fringe that had grown too long. He would have to have a talk with the nurses to get someone to trim it. It must annoy the youth.
"No, I am talking about a other prison."
"This isn't a prison, Lucifer. We are here to help you." He had known that he was lying. It might have been called a mental institute, a hospital, but in the end Lucifer had been held here against his will, as were most of the other patients...if they even had a will of their own left yet. The blond had been all too aware of it too, had called him out with mocking disbelieve.
"Is that what you think?"
The feet had scraped over the carpet again, and the blond had leant forward, both hands grasping the edge of the chair. He looked childish and playful, with teasing laughter in his eyes.
"I am here to help you."
The laughter that followed was like the tinkling of silver bells, a poisonous angel's laugh. The boy had been amused with him.
"Then sign the release papers and set me free."
"You know I can't do that."
"I am aware of that, but it was worth a try."
He had answered so, but the truth of the matter ... the truth of the matter had been that he had wanted to set him free. They boy had no place here. He had not belonged behind stifling walls, had not belonged behind doors, closed and locked that smoothered his light. But letting him go? No, that was not an option either. The danger Lucifer posed aside, he had known, even then, that he had long ago become ensnared by glacial eyes and the devil's tongue.
"If you were to cooperate with me, I am sure you could be released soon. You - "
Even if he had spoken of release, of the possibility of freedom. Who had the strenght to let the Lightbringer go when they had him in their grasp?
"I didn't want to talk about that. If you had listened you would know that."
The boy's face had soured, his movements had stopped as he straightened his his chair, expression closing off. The light of the child which he so jealousily guarded was gone, had once more been replaced with ice.
"Lucifer..."
"Can we cut this session short? I am tired and I feel like I might be getting sick." The boy had cut him off, had stood up and wandered to the door without waiting for an answer. The blond had not even bothered to conceal his lie. He...he had only sighed and given in.
"...fine. I will call for the guard."
Longing.
Another day, like so many others. Lucifer had been sitting quietly again, his feet still and a calm gaze directed to the window. It had been a thoughtful silence, one that he was glad to have. The boy had been uncooperative lately, going back to his lies or generally making a nuiscants of himself, mocking him and those that kept him.
"Do you still want to know what was frustrating me, doctor?"
The question had been sudden and for a moment he had been lost, not knowing what the boy was talking about, before he remembered their conversation, days ago. The day that had marked Lucifer's sour mood.
"Frustrating? Ah, you mean that other prison. Certainly. Please, tell me." He had folded his hands, curious. Even more so as the boy tilted his head to look at him. His hair had been cut since then, fringe just barely kissing his brow, which left wide blue eyes uncovered. He felt a thrill at the open gaze that met his, to have the youth's full attention for once.
"This body. It frustrates me in a way that makes my stay here seem insignificant." Lucifer had been reading lately, had gone through book after book in the library. Classical literature, fairytales, psychology and philosophy. The wards had told him that there was hardly a thing the boy would not pick up and devour. And it was showing. The structure of his sentences, the words he choose, they were changing, slowly but surely. Setting him ever more apart from those his age. A hate for his body. It seemed logical, even if it was perfect, it was what seperated him, alienated him from those his mind would sough as partners. While his mind was which kept him from those his body belonged to, the children who seemed young and stupid to him. It seemed logical that Lucifer would come to hate one or the other. And it seemed fitting that it would be his body.
"What do you dislike about your body? You are a healthy and rather handsome young boy, you should love yourself." He had thought that it would be something they could work with, finally something that was graspable. Self hate could be the source of so many problems. How naive he had been to think this, that maybe Lucifer had finally revealed the root of what twisted him. It would have been so easy, something that just did not fit the boy.
"I didn't say dislike, nor hate. How could I dislike something that looks exactly like my beloved twin? I am simply frustrated by it." The blond had answered him with the tone of voice one used for a child when explaining something obvious, a bit of amusement, a bit of annoyance and infinite patience for the sad creature that simply did not know better. His hand hag fluttered to his chest, touching over his chest, close to the heart as he had mentioned his twin. The love that had driven him, still did, so painfully obvious. That was the root of the problem. Looking back, he might have known it even then. Love and jealousity, possessiveness and fear. That were the driving forces of Lucifer.
"Why then the frustration?"
"I feel out of place in it. Like it isn't mine." The blond had gotten to his feet, and he had let him, sat watching as the boy had taken a few steps. Even in the awkward frame of a boy, with limbs too long and disproportional by a growth spurt there had been elegance hidden in his movements. Like a colt taking it first few steps, the beautiful creature it would once become already underneath it's skin." I know I have the capacity to do things, but due to this childish frame they are not yet within my reach." He had spread his arms wide, pale fingertips peeking endearingly from the sleeves of his sweater. " I need to grow, I do know that, but that does not change the fact, that it goes too slowly for my taste. My potential is restricted by its container."
"You will grow up, Lucifer. We all do." Even this child would grow, he had known and he had found himself exhilarated by the thought. What man would the boy become? This boy who had already been so beautiful and terrible at such a young age?
"I know. It just seems so far away."
A man just as beautiful and terrible. Who had the world at the tips of his fingers, who sowed love and hate, adoration and fear as he pleased. A horrible menance and the answer to a prayer.
"The gift of youth. When you are old and look back on it, you will think the time you had rather short."
How naive he had been, watching the boy who had stood in his office, with his arms spread, fragile like a butterfly and etheral. In the light of the setting sun his smile had been red.
"Hm. That may be true. But I can't wait for it. The day when I will spread my wings."
The day when Lucifer would spread his wings, when he would be set free... I had come sooner than any of them had expected.
He had not seen the man that had entered his office before. He had been expecting Lucifer for another one of their talks. Instead the guards had brought this man. In a stuffy suit with horn rimmed glasses, face carefully blank and hair slicked back, a folder under one arm. He had not known what he had wanted, maybe his expertise was needed for a case? Or someone needed his input. He had thought that he would have to decline, he did not have the time to take on anything else just now. Lucifer was taking all his time.
He had not been expecting the papers handed to him at all.
Adoption papers for the boy, signed and agreed to a week before.
And...
"What? You can't be serious!"
"I assure you, I am. Now, if you would be so kind to sign Lucifer's release papers?"
He had been angry, enraged. How could they? How dare they? Beneath the adoption papers, the claim of guardianship over Lucifer handed to some man he had never heard of, a statement of some doctor and the insitutes papers of release. Filled out but for his signature, assuring the boy's healthy state of mind.
"I can't! I am telling you, the boy is a danger! To himself and others. He is far from healed! Hell, for all we know he might as well be homocidal!"
His fists had hit the desk, scattering his documents, pen and papers, something fell to the ground with a clatter. He had not paid attention, his ire was fixed on the man before him. The one that had come to take Lucifer away from him.
"I have to disagree. Doctor Ansala assures me that Lucifer is quite sound of mind and ready to be released into the capable hands of my client."
"You can't be serious. Lucifer is my patient. What can this...this Doctor Ansala know?!"
Ansala. He had known that name. A hailed psychologist that had retired because nothing had been of interest for him anymore. No challenge and no one worthy to teach his craft. Had he found what he himself had seen in the blond? Was that the reason why he had written this paper? Or had it simply been a case of money talking?
"A whole lot apparently. He has talked to the boy a few times already and there is nothing that would indicate any...homocidal tendencies, as you have put it."
When had they talked? Lucifer had never mentioned anything about it. He had felt betrayed, had felt lied to. And the calm face of the man did not do anything to help his temper. The other's expression had implied that it was already decided.
"You are trusting the words of someone who has talked to Lucifer for a few times above mine? I have worked with him for over a year and I am telling you, no one knows the boy better than I!"
"Maybe you are knowing him a bit too much."
That small smile had made him hesitate, smug and self assured it had made him stop his triade for a moment. He that man...? The other could not mean that he would...? How preposterous!
"What? Are you implying I - !"
"I am implying nothing at all. But it seems that your view might have been..compromised by the time you spent with Lucifer. You have conducted your sessions with him alone, have you not? The guards told me that they had been ordered out of the room and instructed not to return until your ...talk with the patient was over."
And if they had been implying. They had been blackmailing him. And stupidly he had opened himself to it. He would never have touched Lucifer. As much as the boy had fascinated him, as much as he had gravitated towards him and admired the beauty and the mind the small frame possessed. He would never have touched him. Lucifer had been sacred. For those hyenas, those thieves to stoop so low! But...he had had to let him go. He had to give in to those people. They would have used those lies. And Lucifer... Lucifer would have confirmed them. He had known that.
"You - "
The blond would have lied. Would have spun tales of abuse once more, would have twisted them around his fingers with lies and pretty words and tales that tugged at the heartstrings. He would play them all for fools. He had known that Lucifer would have put him into jail for his own freedom. So he had done the only thing he could do.
"The release papers, doctor. Now, please."
He had sat him free.
Title: Endgame (9/30+)
Fandom: Star Ocean: Till the End of Time
Pairing: Luther/Fayt, mentions of Albel/Fayt
Rating: NC 17 overall
Warnings: A/U, blood, gore, slash, mindfuckery, incest, typos as far as the eye can see, no proof reading, cliches ... it's NANOWRIMO writing, that should be a warning of its own.
Summary: A series of seemingly unconnected murders draws Detective Leingod into a morbid game of hide and seek. As he hunts a phantom across the worlds, real or not, through high tech metropolis and abandoned asylum, he finds himself chasing more than just a murderer, but his own forgotten past. And what secret lies with the elusive Owner of Sphere, Luther Lansfield? Is he a powerful ally, ... or a deadly foe after all?
"Frahm died because of an antidote?" Zelpher's eyes, which had been closed as she had listened to Fayt opened to narrow slits of blue.
He shifted in his chair, a little bit uncomfortable with the scrutinizing stare.
"We assume so. It has not yet been confirmes. Due to the state of Frahm's corpse the toxiological examination is rather hard and as such is taking a longer time than normally. We are expecting the results back in about three to four days. Although the department is fairly sure that the screening will confirm the presence of Physostigmine in her bloodstream as..." Fayt hesitated to speak on, fingers thightening on the papers. What he was going to say would either close the case right away, or, if Zelpher and Chief Traydor shared his opinion, it would take on a whole new dimension.
"As we found Frahm's finger prints on the syringe that was used to inject the antidote."
"She applied it herself? A suicide?"
"Why wasn't I informed of this." Chief Traydor's voice had gone dangerously quiet, her folded hands thightening their grip. Fayt could understand why she was not pleased. If Elena Frahm's death would be ruled as a suicide she would not have had to involve the Prosecution, and to have done so would reflect badly on her judgement.
"The results just got in. But, personally, going by what we know so far I would not think that Elena Frahm has committed suicide. Even if she were to have been the one to inject herself with the physostigmine."
"Explain, please."
"Certainly, Miss Zelpher. As of now we assume that Frahm had a guest at the time of her death. She was dressed in an evening gown, overdressed for someone who was going to dine alone, had cooked a rather great amount. The table was set for two with candles, we found the other table set freshly washed in th dishwasher. I think, she might have expected to be poisoned. The wine bottle we found at the scene, a rather expensive brand, did not match the ones we found in the fridge. It might have been a present from her guest and she thoght it laced."
"You think that she invited someone she thought would murder her?"
"I know it sounds rather strange." Fayt hastened to reassure the prosecutor. "But I just can not imagine that it was suicide. It would be too much of a coincidence. Especially with Lander's death in such a close proximity. It would not be the first time that someone opened the door to their murderer. To confirm that I wanted to ask if it would be possible to gain access to the security logs of the apartment building. The chance that the relevant logs are still aviable is small, but maybe something can be retrieved."
He turned towards Zelpher, who seemed to be contemplating his words. "Alright. I will see to it that the allowance will be filed. We can not be sure that there was not some kind of foul play involved. So it is worth a shot."
"Thank you, there is also one more thing I would like to discuss, if you don't mind."
He noticed the frown ghosting over Maria's face, before her features smoothed out again in a cool facade.
"Certainly, Detective Leingod. If Miss Zelpher still has time, that is."
The red head simply nodded. "I still have time, so it is no problem."
"Thank you." He cleared his throat. "During my investigations into Elena Frahm's background it has come to my attention that recently there seem to have been a lot of deaths in the scientific society. Miss Frahm was invited to the funerals of three collegues, all of which were no older than her, in the last half year. Frahm still had the invitations for the funerals."
Both women had paled considerably, all to aware of what he was implying. They were considering the same thing as him. Five deaths in such a close proximity seemed unlikely to be an coincidence, especially with a relation between them. And five, five was also the critical number were, normally, a murderer would be no longer be considered as such, but a serial killer.
"Why hasn't anyone noticed this before?"
"Probably," Fayt answered Maria's question," because the deaths, did not happen in the same city, never mind the same country." He seperated a stack of the papers and spread them on top of the desk, revealing them to be files on two men and one woman. "Two of them are European, the other South American. No one probably paid attention to it. I wouldn't have noticed it either, if Miss Frahm did not keep the invitations in a drawer. And that is not everything. Considering what we had missed I started a search for recent cases, which had remained unsolved, involved a questionable form of death or stood in any other form of relation with Frahm and Landers. I am far from through yet, but there have been a few that made me wonder."
"Are you implying that it might be a world wide operating serial killer?"
"Mishell Vorner, twelve years old, literary child genius, died due to third degree burns. No fire has been reported close to the scene, nor were there any indications of fire, like remaining chemicals associated with open flame, found. Misty Lear, thirty eight, world famous chemist, found dead in her bed, cause was an over dose of sleeping pills. Everyone who knew her said that her death was a surprise as she did not seem the type to end her own life. Lias Flau, twenty six, in the right circles rather famous as sword smith, cause of death unknown. Those are just three examples which I found in the last few hours. I can not say for sure that there is any relation between them and the possible murder of Frahm and Landers, but there seems to be an awefully high death count among talented and famous people lately. One of the residents of Frahm's house, a chemist by the name of Mackwell, mentioned it too. I think it might be possible that there is a connection."
"That is quite the thoery that you have there, Detective Leingod. Do you have any proof?" Zelphers voice was calm, not betraying anything of her thoughts on opinions on the information Fayt had presented.
"No." He finally admitted at length. "No, I have not got any evidence as of now. But I would like to investigate along those line some more. As said, it seems like too much of a coincidence for me to ignore the possibility that it might be more."
"That might be the case, detective. I can see where you are coming from and what made you consider the possibilities. But that." Her voice was firm, eyes fixed onto his face and Fayt knew before the words left her painted lips what they would be. "is the very reason I can't endorse the endavor. I can not present a case at court based on hear say and the possibility that ti might be so. Especially not one of this size."
Even if he had been expecting it, it was bitter to hear. Though he nodded, trying to not show his disappointment.
"I understand."
"As of now we will investigate in the murder of Dion Landers and Elena Frahm against unknown. I will handle the legal side of matters for now. You can expect the warrant within a day, Detective Leingod."
The red haired woman stood up, brushing down her skirt as she did so, before she took her purse from beside her chair. She dug briefly through its content, before producing a plain white card wchich she handed to him.
"My number. Please keep me up to date on the investigation. I would like to stay in regular contact."
Fayt took the paper from her hand carefully. It was obviously expensive, thick, and the surface felt more like silk than paper to the callused tips of his fingers. He turned it, eyes tracing over the elegantly curving script spelling her name, adress and telephone number.
"Thank you. I will."
She smiled once more, extending her hand towards Chief Traydor, who shook it briefly, before turning to Fayt, who stood up, to do the same.
"I hope that this will be a productive and sucessful partnership. Chief Traydor, Detective Leingod, it was a pleasure to meet you."
"What were you thinking, Fayt?" Outrage and anger was evident in Maria's voice and Fayt winced, flinching under the blazing gaze that was directed at him. If the work desk was not between them the blue haired man was fairly sure that Maria would have tried to strangle him, curse the consequences. "You can't just make allusions like that! WIthout proof! Do you know how awkward this could have turned?"
"I am quite aware of that, Chief. But I had to try."
"Try? You practically forced the issue."
A frown appeared on his face at those words, brows drawing together and lips pressed into a thin line.
"I did not force the issue, Chief. I merely voiced my concerns on what has been happening. And you can not deny that it is strange."
"I am not denying anything, Fayt." The woman sighed, sitting back into her chair she ran a hand through her long hair, visibily trying to calm down. "But you can't just jump the prosecution like that. Even if Miss Zelpher were inclined to listen to you, she can hardly do anything for you. As she said, mere hear say is not enough to make a case."
"But we can't just ignore it either."
"I am not telling you to ignore it, Fayt." The blue haired woman sounded tired to Fayt's ears, the anger completely gone from her tone. "But I would have prefered that you talked this through with me beforehand and not simply spring it as a surprise. I know," she interrupted him. "That you don't need to do it. You are a talented detective, Fayt, one of the best we have. I would not let you work alone if it weren't the case, but you are also young and with that comes rash acts such as this one." She gestured vaguely, encompassing the room and the situation they had found themself in. "But I would like you to trust us, and trust me with such information and thoughts. I would like to think that I am not only your boss, but a friend too."
You are, he wanted to say. The woman who was not that much older than himself was a good friend, an older sister nearly. But he could not rely on her for anything. This had been his decission and he would stick to it.. "It is bad enough that we have so few things to work with in the Landers and Frahm case to begin with. We have nothing in the Landers one and If the fingerprints on the syringe are really Frahm's, the injected substance correspondences with the one that killed her and the security tapes show nothing it might just be ruled as a creative, if strange way, to commit suicide. Please, concentrate on this for now, Fayt. Even if your theory might be true, it would not fall in our jurisdication anyway."
"I understand," he answered at length, frustration evident in his voice, in the jerking movements of his limbs as he stood up. No, he really did not understand at all. People were dieing, strangely so, all over the world with barely a few weeks between them, all of them known, all of them highly intelligent. Why shouldn't he care? Why shouldn't he point it out? He might be wrong with his assumptions, but wasn't it better to at least check it out, before anything more happened? Who cared if it was not in their jurisdication? The Federation obviously had not noticed anything yet or they would have interfered with his case already. Not in their jurisdiction... wasn't it their duty to save lifes?
"Fayt..."
"No, really, I do. I will ty my best to solve the Landers and Frahm case and not worry about anything else just now."
His hand was on the door handle, already pushed it down when Maria spoke up again.
"Fayt. I mean it. I wont hesitate to suspend you if you act outside of your borders."
"I know." He managed a faint smile for the woman, looking over his shoulder at her. "I wont give you reason to suspend me, Chief."
~*~*~*~
Later piece
He could still remember the first time he had met Lucifer.
He had studied Lucifer's file for over a week before making the first appointment, careful, even though he had wanted to meet him as soon as possible. The child had sounded intriguing, the boy's file full with reports, I.Q. tests, their scores past the scale, official statements, conducted interviews... Lucifer was a certified genius at the age of four.
And a murderer at the age of eight. Maybe even earlier.
It had been hard to associate all these papers with a child, harder even to imagine what the boy behind the scores looked like. It had sounded like a concept too foreign to be true, someone at the age of a gradeschooler who understood matters normally reserved for college students and was likely to even expand on them. His mind had automatically associated all the information contained within the file with an adult, his subconsciousness picturing a grown man, someone cold and intellegent, heartless enough to plan the murder of their parents. He was unable to imagine a child, even if the youth's true age was hammered into his mind with every new paper he read through.
He could still remember the disappointment when he had first seen Lucifer.
The boy had already been waiting for him in his office, brought there by the officials. They had warned him that the youth was hard to approach, dangerous and highly intellegent. As if he didn't know already.
He had opened the door silently, unnoticed, allowing him a moment to observe his patient undisturbed. The boy had sat with his back to the door. Thin and pale, the too big off-white sweatshirt nearly falling off of a bony shoulder and short blond hair a tousled mess. A scrawny kid that looked out of place in the oppulence of his office. Surely the dark polished wood and brass would smother him, the heavy plush chair swallow him, if the sunlight already seemed to pass through him. Etheral, breakable. Nothing more than a wisp, waiting to fade. Discontent and disappointment had flared through him. It seemed absurd suddenly, like a farce. This specter, gangly and full of gnobby bones under taunt skin, awkward in a way that only someone not yet used to their frame could be, was supposed to be the fabled genius child.
Then the boy had turned around and he had for the first time -seen Lucifer-.
His breath had hitched, forgotten in his throat. He remembered blond hair, haloed by the afternoon sun, which fell through the wide windows, strands gently kissing smooth cheeks. They boy had smiled, a smile that should never have been on a child's mouth. Knowing, teasing, whispering without words of secrets untold. Forbidden lore on the tip of a pink tongue, far from innocent. Then he made the mistake to look up, to meet the youth's eyes, first shadowed beneath a messy fringe, a sweep of lashes so long that they nearly looked obscene on a boy, then clear, bright as they met his gaze.
Frozen lakes, endless and cold. They were the blue of winter, of earth frozen over and he felt a shiver run down his spine. These eyes...these eyes saw him They saw him, stripped him down, down to the bone, laid his secrets bare and judged him. Unworthy. They saw the world and judged her and her people. Condemned.
These were not the eyes of a child. These were the eyes of someone far beyond age.
Of a murderer.
These were the eyes of the Devil.
He was truly Lucifer.
Their sessions had spanned over a year. He had dreaded and anticipated his time with Lucifer. The child had scared and fascinated him, the man had him beyond frightened and ensnared. The boy's intellect had been sharp and he had found himself outwitted at every corner. He was mocked. Lucifer's words were painting a picture, spinning a tale. Wasn't it him who was the victim here. A child misunderstood, frightened and alone. Weren't his parents the one deserving of what he got? He didn't have a choice. He called forth a world of abuse, subtle, horrible, the tale of a child unwanted and misunderstood, cut off from peers and the love of those that should have cared. Simply a boy left alone, too strange to deal with, and driven to desperation in his loneliness and pain. Who could blame him for his action? Who could condeem Lucifer for his actions? It was self defense, he had to lash out or break beneath the weight placed on his small shoulders.
Lucifer was the innocent one.
Oh, he could believe him. He did. Filling papers and forms. Psychological abuse, abandonment issues, Freudian, insecurity... He couldn't believe what a fool he had been, so easily drawn in by the words of the boy and his tear jerking story of unaknowledge abuse.
He had found himself played for a fool, he might have never known that the child was mocking him, it was so easy to fall for his lies, spun around the truths in delicate webs. He would have released him, would have declared him innocent and sound of mind, if not in need of psychological treatment for the trauma he substained, poor misunderstood boy. He would have, had it not been for those few days, moments really, were Lucifer spoke frankly. Small truths, horrible and twisted, glimpses of who he was.
What he was.
What he still is.
Remorseless.
"If I could go back to that night, I would do things differently."
Lucifer had been looking out of the window, face indifferent and gaze far off. He never knew what the boy saw, certainly not the institute garden, where other patients slowly walked to and fro, caged like animals in a zoo.
They were the less dangerous ones.
He had looked up from his notes, sparse as they were. This had been the first time the boy had mentioned the night he had killed his parents without prompting, nevermind showed any sign of what might be remorse. He had not made much headway with his case, motives, the trauma that should be there...nothing. What had moved the youth to such a drastical step had still been unknown, the reasons still hidden deep within the twisted, tender whorls of the boy's brain. During their first session Lucifer had recounted the night of the murder with cold, clinical precision. It had been disturbing to listen to a voice so young talk about planned patricide as if it was the most normal thing in the world.
"They wanted to seperate me from my twin. I couldn't allow that." A simple, childish reason that had set lose a distaster.
After that there had been a change, subtle, but noticeable. The boy would not speak of what had happened, had been evasive when asked. They had talked of the time before that then, haltingly, but surely. This though, was another change.
"What would you have done instead? Talked to them? Or someone else maybe?" He had tried to prompt the blond as nothing else was forthcoming. There had to be more to it!
Lucifer had not even bothered to look at him, gaze still focused on something beyond his vision.
"No. I wouldn't have let myself be caught."
No, Lucifer truly had known no remorse. How could he when he considered himself in the right? But even so, years later, hands painted in blood, maybe...maybe the child had simply been born without it.
Angry.
The crayol had fairly flown over the paper, letters and numbers and symbols scrawled in a careless child's hand in garish green. Lucifer had been fixated on them even before he had been brough to his office, hands full of papers and awkwardly scribbling while he walked. The boy had kept it up while he questioned him, the answers he got distracted at best. He had sighed, lulled into the silence that had slowly stretched between them only interrupted by the rustling of sheets of paper. Until a frustrated scream tore out of Lucifer's throat and the crayol went flying, managing to shatter one of the window panes with the force it had been thrown.
He had simply stared, stunned, at the boy who was standing before his desk, shoulders heaving with heavy breaths and cheeks flushed with anger. HIs lips were twisted, a snarl showing his teeth in a nearly animalistic rage, blue eyes alight with glacial fire, darting and restless. Shing madly in an unholy light.
"...Lucifer?"
He had watched how the boy pulled himself together, consciously regulated his breath and schooled his features back into a cold, careful mask. Fine tremors that had shook the thin frame evened out until thin muscles stood out under transculent skin like whipcords, tensed to the breaking point but still, unmoving. It was disturbing to watch, as the youth had shattered into shards he was now piecing back together, smothing over the cracks until nothing more than the smooth surface remained, hiding the destruction beneath eggshells until the only thing that had hinted at Lucifer's outburst from a moment ago was the color high in his cheeks and the feverish sheen in his eyes.
"Nothing. Our session is about over. I will be going then."
He had turned without waiting for an answer, rigid steps on coltish legs had taken him to the door.
"Wait, what about your papers?"
An inane question, but the only one he had been able to produce at that time. He had gathered them in his hands, sheets and sheets of calculations and formulas that made his head spin just looking at them.
Lucifer had stopped only briefly, hand on the doorknob.
"You can keep them. They are of no worth to me. There is a mistake in it somewhere."
The boy had left him, too dumfonded and startled over the uncharacteristic outburst to react and call him back, demand answers to the questions that would easily be evaded at a later date, but not now, not when emotions he did not know the boy possessed so readily were boiling just under the surface. He had stood there, Lucifer's presence still lingering in the room like static, crackling and bitter, hands full of papers which rustled softly in the breeze which came through the broken window.
Shattered things and words far beyond his comprehension.
That was all Lucifer ever left him with.
Playful.
"It's frustrating being like this."
The boy had been kicking his legs as he sat, feet scraping over the carpetted floor with every move. Lucifer had grown in the last few months, clothes that had nearly swallowed him at first no longer quite so awkward on his frame. The blond had looked down, watching the sway of his shoes as if it was the most interesting thing in the world. He himself had been working on his papers, something that had happened more an more often lately. Lucifer, he had come to learn, would only talk when he wanted to, keeping his silence and willing away the hour that they spent together.
He put down his pen, folding his arms on top of the table as he put his attention back onto the boy.
"What do you mean, this? Being put up here?"
The blond had smiley, thinly, but definitely amused, had looked at him from underneath a fringe that had grown too long. He would have to have a talk with the nurses to get someone to trim it. It must annoy the youth.
"No, I am talking about a other prison."
"This isn't a prison, Lucifer. We are here to help you." He had known that he was lying. It might have been called a mental institute, a hospital, but in the end Lucifer had been held here against his will, as were most of the other patients...if they even had a will of their own left yet. The blond had been all too aware of it too, had called him out with mocking disbelieve.
"Is that what you think?"
The feet had scraped over the carpet again, and the blond had leant forward, both hands grasping the edge of the chair. He looked childish and playful, with teasing laughter in his eyes.
"I am here to help you."
The laughter that followed was like the tinkling of silver bells, a poisonous angel's laugh. The boy had been amused with him.
"Then sign the release papers and set me free."
"You know I can't do that."
"I am aware of that, but it was worth a try."
He had answered so, but the truth of the matter ... the truth of the matter had been that he had wanted to set him free. They boy had no place here. He had not belonged behind stifling walls, had not belonged behind doors, closed and locked that smoothered his light. But letting him go? No, that was not an option either. The danger Lucifer posed aside, he had known, even then, that he had long ago become ensnared by glacial eyes and the devil's tongue.
"If you were to cooperate with me, I am sure you could be released soon. You - "
Even if he had spoken of release, of the possibility of freedom. Who had the strenght to let the Lightbringer go when they had him in their grasp?
"I didn't want to talk about that. If you had listened you would know that."
The boy's face had soured, his movements had stopped as he straightened his his chair, expression closing off. The light of the child which he so jealousily guarded was gone, had once more been replaced with ice.
"Lucifer..."
"Can we cut this session short? I am tired and I feel like I might be getting sick." The boy had cut him off, had stood up and wandered to the door without waiting for an answer. The blond had not even bothered to conceal his lie. He...he had only sighed and given in.
"...fine. I will call for the guard."
Longing.
Another day, like so many others. Lucifer had been sitting quietly again, his feet still and a calm gaze directed to the window. It had been a thoughtful silence, one that he was glad to have. The boy had been uncooperative lately, going back to his lies or generally making a nuiscants of himself, mocking him and those that kept him.
"Do you still want to know what was frustrating me, doctor?"
The question had been sudden and for a moment he had been lost, not knowing what the boy was talking about, before he remembered their conversation, days ago. The day that had marked Lucifer's sour mood.
"Frustrating? Ah, you mean that other prison. Certainly. Please, tell me." He had folded his hands, curious. Even more so as the boy tilted his head to look at him. His hair had been cut since then, fringe just barely kissing his brow, which left wide blue eyes uncovered. He felt a thrill at the open gaze that met his, to have the youth's full attention for once.
"This body. It frustrates me in a way that makes my stay here seem insignificant." Lucifer had been reading lately, had gone through book after book in the library. Classical literature, fairytales, psychology and philosophy. The wards had told him that there was hardly a thing the boy would not pick up and devour. And it was showing. The structure of his sentences, the words he choose, they were changing, slowly but surely. Setting him ever more apart from those his age. A hate for his body. It seemed logical, even if it was perfect, it was what seperated him, alienated him from those his mind would sough as partners. While his mind was which kept him from those his body belonged to, the children who seemed young and stupid to him. It seemed logical that Lucifer would come to hate one or the other. And it seemed fitting that it would be his body.
"What do you dislike about your body? You are a healthy and rather handsome young boy, you should love yourself." He had thought that it would be something they could work with, finally something that was graspable. Self hate could be the source of so many problems. How naive he had been to think this, that maybe Lucifer had finally revealed the root of what twisted him. It would have been so easy, something that just did not fit the boy.
"I didn't say dislike, nor hate. How could I dislike something that looks exactly like my beloved twin? I am simply frustrated by it." The blond had answered him with the tone of voice one used for a child when explaining something obvious, a bit of amusement, a bit of annoyance and infinite patience for the sad creature that simply did not know better. His hand hag fluttered to his chest, touching over his chest, close to the heart as he had mentioned his twin. The love that had driven him, still did, so painfully obvious. That was the root of the problem. Looking back, he might have known it even then. Love and jealousity, possessiveness and fear. That were the driving forces of Lucifer.
"Why then the frustration?"
"I feel out of place in it. Like it isn't mine." The blond had gotten to his feet, and he had let him, sat watching as the boy had taken a few steps. Even in the awkward frame of a boy, with limbs too long and disproportional by a growth spurt there had been elegance hidden in his movements. Like a colt taking it first few steps, the beautiful creature it would once become already underneath it's skin." I know I have the capacity to do things, but due to this childish frame they are not yet within my reach." He had spread his arms wide, pale fingertips peeking endearingly from the sleeves of his sweater. " I need to grow, I do know that, but that does not change the fact, that it goes too slowly for my taste. My potential is restricted by its container."
"You will grow up, Lucifer. We all do." Even this child would grow, he had known and he had found himself exhilarated by the thought. What man would the boy become? This boy who had already been so beautiful and terrible at such a young age?
"I know. It just seems so far away."
A man just as beautiful and terrible. Who had the world at the tips of his fingers, who sowed love and hate, adoration and fear as he pleased. A horrible menance and the answer to a prayer.
"The gift of youth. When you are old and look back on it, you will think the time you had rather short."
How naive he had been, watching the boy who had stood in his office, with his arms spread, fragile like a butterfly and etheral. In the light of the setting sun his smile had been red.
"Hm. That may be true. But I can't wait for it. The day when I will spread my wings."
The day when Lucifer would spread his wings, when he would be set free... I had come sooner than any of them had expected.
He had not seen the man that had entered his office before. He had been expecting Lucifer for another one of their talks. Instead the guards had brought this man. In a stuffy suit with horn rimmed glasses, face carefully blank and hair slicked back, a folder under one arm. He had not known what he had wanted, maybe his expertise was needed for a case? Or someone needed his input. He had thought that he would have to decline, he did not have the time to take on anything else just now. Lucifer was taking all his time.
He had not been expecting the papers handed to him at all.
Adoption papers for the boy, signed and agreed to a week before.
And...
"What? You can't be serious!"
"I assure you, I am. Now, if you would be so kind to sign Lucifer's release papers?"
He had been angry, enraged. How could they? How dare they? Beneath the adoption papers, the claim of guardianship over Lucifer handed to some man he had never heard of, a statement of some doctor and the insitutes papers of release. Filled out but for his signature, assuring the boy's healthy state of mind.
"I can't! I am telling you, the boy is a danger! To himself and others. He is far from healed! Hell, for all we know he might as well be homocidal!"
His fists had hit the desk, scattering his documents, pen and papers, something fell to the ground with a clatter. He had not paid attention, his ire was fixed on the man before him. The one that had come to take Lucifer away from him.
"I have to disagree. Doctor Ansala assures me that Lucifer is quite sound of mind and ready to be released into the capable hands of my client."
"You can't be serious. Lucifer is my patient. What can this...this Doctor Ansala know?!"
Ansala. He had known that name. A hailed psychologist that had retired because nothing had been of interest for him anymore. No challenge and no one worthy to teach his craft. Had he found what he himself had seen in the blond? Was that the reason why he had written this paper? Or had it simply been a case of money talking?
"A whole lot apparently. He has talked to the boy a few times already and there is nothing that would indicate any...homocidal tendencies, as you have put it."
When had they talked? Lucifer had never mentioned anything about it. He had felt betrayed, had felt lied to. And the calm face of the man did not do anything to help his temper. The other's expression had implied that it was already decided.
"You are trusting the words of someone who has talked to Lucifer for a few times above mine? I have worked with him for over a year and I am telling you, no one knows the boy better than I!"
"Maybe you are knowing him a bit too much."
That small smile had made him hesitate, smug and self assured it had made him stop his triade for a moment. He that man...? The other could not mean that he would...? How preposterous!
"What? Are you implying I - !"
"I am implying nothing at all. But it seems that your view might have been..compromised by the time you spent with Lucifer. You have conducted your sessions with him alone, have you not? The guards told me that they had been ordered out of the room and instructed not to return until your ...talk with the patient was over."
And if they had been implying. They had been blackmailing him. And stupidly he had opened himself to it. He would never have touched Lucifer. As much as the boy had fascinated him, as much as he had gravitated towards him and admired the beauty and the mind the small frame possessed. He would never have touched him. Lucifer had been sacred. For those hyenas, those thieves to stoop so low! But...he had had to let him go. He had to give in to those people. They would have used those lies. And Lucifer... Lucifer would have confirmed them. He had known that.
"You - "
The blond would have lied. Would have spun tales of abuse once more, would have twisted them around his fingers with lies and pretty words and tales that tugged at the heartstrings. He would play them all for fools. He had known that Lucifer would have put him into jail for his own freedom. So he had done the only thing he could do.
"The release papers, doctor. Now, please."
He had sat him free.