"Persistence of Memory Pt. 2," Miracles, PG-13
A Miracles Fanfic
by Laurel (Sailorhathor)
Rating: Parental Supervision Suggested for children under 13
Dates: Written Oct-Nov. 2008
Word Count: 12,625
Summary: Takes place in late 2003. Alva realizes it's time to tell Paul the devastating secret he's been keeping. But will he have the chance before an entity wishing its freedom takes what he holds most dear from him?
Timeline: Takes place after "We Were the Dead." This would be about ten months after Paul came to work for SQ; post-series.
Warnings: Scary haunted house-type phenomena. Descriptions of injuries that may be too much for those who are easily grossed out (I tried to keep it to a minimum, though). The last scene contains brief, nonexplicit dubious sexual consent between OMC/OFC.
Betas: Thanks to Harshini for the beta and the great feedback!
Author's Notes: See Pt. 1.
"The demons, they said... they said... that Shane is the mad pipe bomber," Mrs. Grimes finished, and burst into tears.
Astonished, Alva asked, "The one from the news?"
"Yes. But it can't be true. It can't! He's my baby. Those things I found in his room, they - "
Her words were cut off by a deafening explosion. Alva and Mrs. Grimes were blown back against his Wagoneer. The windows in the car shattered into dust and shards. Car alarms all along the block went off. Dazed, Alva looked toward the one-story house to find that the right side of it was just gone. It was replaced by jagged pieces of perimeter wall, rimmed at the edges with black, and burning debris. Pieces of wood were still showering down into the yard. Fires burned here and there amongst a burst pipe, which spurted water into the sky.
With stunned clarity, Alva saw the doll, Krissy, sitting on the grass, completely undamaged. Her hand was to her forehead in a dramatic gesture of woe.
The sound of Mrs. Grimes' voice brought him out of his dumbfounded stupor. "Shane! SHAAAAANE!" She stumbled to her feet and ran toward the house.
Alva was up right after her. "Mrs. Grimes, wait! It's not safe!" Then he realized that he didn't see Paul and Evie coming out of the house, their faces black with soot, leaning on each other like a scene from an action movie. Oh, God... "Paul! Evelyn! Are you all right?" He stumble-ran toward what was left of the house. "PAUL! EVIE!"
Just as Alva reached the open front door, he heard Mrs. Grimes scream from the direction of Shane's room. "Shane, Shane, no, nooooo!" Alva ran around debris and fire until he passed through what would have been Shane's door, but was now just a partial wall, black and smoking. Mrs. Grimes was on the floor, cradling the body of her son, who was so burned that Alva couldn't recognize his face anymore. The woman was screaming hysterically, calling Shane's name; Alva guessed he'd never answer.
Then he looked to his right.
His vision grayed, and he momentarily swayed on his feet. What he saw was a dizzying mix of burned flesh and blood, smoldering clothing and singed-off hair, all accompanied by a haze of smoke and nauseating odors. A burned out battery, baked flesh, coppery blood.
Paul and Evie.
Alva fell to his knees and crawled closer to the bodies of the two people he loved most in the world; a shaking hand reached out to Evie's neck.
"Evelyn? Evie?" he heard himself say, his voice croaking and small. He found no pulse. Her skin slid under his fingertips.
Swallowing down a scream, Alva pulled his hand back like he'd touched a hot stove. He turned to Paul. Looking like that, he couldn't be alive. He had to be alive. Oh God, how could you let him die before I had a chance to tell him? Don't you let him die!
But he was dead. Paul was dead. Alva wasn't even sure where to check for a pulse, what with... all the blood... blast must've torn through half his... jugular went like a...
The thought that he was being selfish, wanting Paul to survive such horrible injuries, ran through his mind like a hysterical person. After all, the entire right side of Paul's head was a mess of bright red and black... flaps of skin hanging off... even so, Alva held his hand in front of Paul's mouth. Of course, of course, he felt no breath.
He noticed with sickening comprehension that both Paul and Evie had nails sticking haphazardly out of their chests. So the mad pipe bomber liked to use nails in his bombs. Wasn't that clever of the sick little bastard.
Miraculously, Alva found a body part on each person that wasn't damaged - Paul's left hand and Evie's right. He put her hand in Paul's and then held both hands between his own. And then he cried.
The cries turned into angry, cheated howls of agony. The word, "Noooooooo..." could be made out. Alva kissed their fingers, the backs of their hands, bent over them and held the intertwined hands to his forehead, all while the unspeakable realization washed over him again and again like crashing waves, dashing him against the rocks.
They were dead. They were dead, they were dead.
Alva sees with lucid clearness Evie and Paul at her desk, bent over the paper. He comes downstairs, sleepy, yawning. She brings him a mug of coffee, both hands cupped around it. "Morning," Paul says with a smirky grin. "Ghosts in the state capital. You wanna check it out?"
Comforting in its banality, this was their morning routine. The details sometimes varied, but it was always like this. The three of them, doing it together. Living, working, silently loving.
That would never happen again. That would never happen again.
"It's not fair!" Alva screamed. He held their limp hands out in front of him and looked up at the sky. "IT'S NOT FAAAAIR!"
For a moment, he quieted, hands shaking, listening to the sounds around him and holding Paul and Evie's hands to his lips. A fire engine siren approaching in the distance. Mrs. Grimes' slow, repetitive weeping. Water from the burst pipe hitting the floor. Flames licking at the remnants of the house. People yelling in alarm.
And then he screamed again. An anguished wail. And he let it all out.
"I should have told you how I felt," he said to Evie, weeping. "You were like my little sister, always nagging, bickering, looking after me. Trying to fix me up. Strong and independent. Always giving me what for. 'Alva, were you raised by wolves?' You're too stubborn to die this way." Alva took a hitching breath. "No, too stubborn." He looked at Paul. "And you... you..." Tears overcame him for a moment, and his words came out shaky, wavery, cracking with emotion. "...I came here to find you. I came here to find you!" Alva suddenly yelled. "You can't die, do you hear me?! You're my brother, you're my brother, you're my brother!"
After another bout of heavy, remorseful sobs, he continued speaking the words he hadn't been able to say until this moment. "We have the same father. I was going to tell you. That's what we were going to talk about tonight. Tonight. It can't end like this. It can't, it..." Alva swallowed hard; it hurt. "I wish I'd told you. I wish I had told you everything when I had the chance." A deep breath, and he shrieked, "Oh God, just give me another chance to tell them!"
"THAT CAN BE ARRANGED."
The voice bore into Alva's brain like a cold shot of water. He became aware that there was no sound around him now; the siren, the crying, the water coming down; all had ceased. All sound but the licking of flames. But, even that sound had changed in quality. It was more centralized, more liquid, like -
Like the sound of the fire entity from his dreams.
Dreading what he might see, Alva peered behind him. It was there.
Mrs. Grimes had frozen like a statue, her unmoving face a mask of grief. Somehow, this entity had arrested all time. The water from the burst pipe hung there, every last drop immobile in midair. Gray smoke had emerged from Mrs. Grimes necklace in a swirl that ended in the fire being. So Paul was right; the necklace was the source of the trouble. It looked like a levitating, whirling cloud of liquid flame. The longer Alva gazed at it, the more he could make out human-like features, swimming in the fire. A face, an intense, sneering face, with what might be a mustache and thin beard, a flaming gold earring hanging from its right ear. The entity crossed its arms made of fire.
"DID YOU HEAR ME, ALVA KEEL?"
Trying to get a hold of himself, Alva realized quickly that the voice came from the entity. He didn't ask how it knew his name; the thing has been "stalking" him, hadn't it? "Yes, yes," he said with a sniffle. "I hear you."
"DO YOU WANT TO SAVE PAUL AND EVELYN?"
Dazed, Alva just nodded. The entity's voice didn't exactly cause him pain, but the sound of it was uncomfortable, bouncing off his eardrums. He was simultaneously attracted to and repelled by it. Somehow he knew it was a terrible being with glorious power.
"IT CAN BE ARRANGED."
"What - what are you?" Alva asked, voice shaking.
"IT IS AS YOU THOUGHT. I AM A FORM OF ELEMENTAL. A GHUL DJINN."
Out of fear, Alva gasped and recoiled from it, holding his hands over Paul and Evie's bodies protectively.
"DO NOT FEAR. I AM NOT A LOWER FORM OF GHUL. WE DO NOT ALL SUBSIST ON THE FLESH OF THE DEAD AND DYING. NO, I AM A GHUL DJINN. YOU KNOW OF OUR LORE?"
Alva tried to calm himself, to recall what he knew of this entity. "You, ah... you have the power to bend reality. You can give your master whatever he desires. In essence, a djinn can do just what the popular myths say - you have the power to grant wishes." A desperation had crept into his voice, the desperation of knowing how to put this knowledge to use.
"YEEE~EEES..." The djinn's tone dripped with a predatory motive. "BUT WE MUST BE KEPT FED AS WELL. AS I SAID, WE DO NOT FEED ON HUMAN REMAINS... BUT..."
Swallowing down his trepidation, Alva said, "What do you feed on?"
The flames that formed its mouth seemed to turn up in a smile. "WE FEED ON HUMAN MEMORY."
Something about that filled Alva with dread. "Memory?"
"YES. YES, HUMAN MEMORY." An orange-red tongue flicked over its lips. "BACK HOME, A MAN KEPT ME AS HIS PROPERTY, AND FED ME WITH THE MEMORIES OF HIS FAMILY AND NEIGHBORS. NOT A NICE MASTER AT ALL. HE FOOLISHLY TURNED HIS BACK, AND HIS WIFE SOLD ME TO THE AMERICAN IN THE MARKETPLACE. THE AMERICANS HAVE NO IDEA HOW TO USE ME. BUT YOU DO."
"I think... I think I do."
"AH, BUT THERE IS SOMETHING YOU DO NOT UNDERSTAND. THERE IS A PRICE TO PAY FOR EVERY WISH I GRANT YOU." The djinn looked with manufactured sadness on Evie and Paul. "SURELY, YOU HAVE WISHES YOU WANT TO MAKE?"
Alva nodded vigorously. "You... you can bring them back." He almost began to cry again.
"THERE NOW, CONTROL YOUR EMOTIONS. YES, I CAN RESTORE THEIR LIVES. BUT... FOR EACH LIFE, YOU MUST GIVE ME... ONE MEMORY." The djinn's spoke these last two words like it was quite starved, a dog salivating over a tender steak.
"You mean... my memories?"
The creature could not restrain its hunger any longer. "YES, OH YES!" It breathed hard, savoring the tastes it knew were to come. "YOU VISITED A CEMETERY A FEW BLOCKS FROM HERE ONLY TWO WEEKS AGO. THE EMOTIONS COMING FROM YOU, THEY WERE SO STRONG, I COULD FEEL THEM. THEY WERE SO FRENZIED, SO DESPERATE, SO DEEP. THEIR FLAVORS DANCED ON THE VERY TIP OF MY TONGUE." The djinn stuck out its tongue again, demonstrating. "I KNEW THERE HAD TO BE SOME DELECTABLE MEMORIES BEHIND THOSE EMOTIONS. YOU WORK IN SECRETS, ALVA KEEL. I WANT TO SAVOR THEM.
"SO, I ENGINEERED THIS ENTIRE CHARADE," the djinn confessed, sweeping a hand of flame out in a flourish. "I MADE IT SEEM AS IF THIS HOUSE WAS POSSESSED BY DEMONS. ALL THE TRICKS, MINE. I KNEW IT WOULD DRAW YOU HERE. I KNEW YOU WOULD RECOGNIZE ALL THE TRAPPINGS FROM YOUR OWN EXPERIENCE." The creature snickered. "I EVEN MADE SURE THE BOY'S DOOR WAS UNLOCKED WHEN PAUL AND EVELYN CAME TO INVESTIGATE HIS ROOM. SO THEY WOULD SEE THE BOMB. IT ALL CAME TOGETHER LIKE CLOCKWORK." With that, it threw its head back and laughed.
Anger rose in him so suddenly that Alva found himself on his feet, charging the djinn. "You murdered them? You murdered my family!" He got a foot from the creature and was overcome by the heat it gave off, stumbling back with a cry of pain.
"DON'T BE MAD, ALVA KEEL. WE'RE FRIENDS, YOU AND I. YOUR FAMILY, THEY WENT OUT AS HEROES. THEY GRAPPLED WITH THE BOY FOR CONTROL OF THE BOMB. TOO BAD IT WENT OFF ACCIDENTALLY, TOO BAD." The djinn was laughing again, satisfied with itself.
Alva charged the djinn once more, growling; he tried to punch it, but his fist simply passed into the flames and was burned. He leapt back with a scream, holding his hand against his chest and panting.
"HERE, HERE, CALM YOURSELF. YOU KNOW YOU CAN'T HURT ME IN THAT MANNER. BUT, YOU ARE GRIEVING. IT DOESN'T HAVE TO BE THAT WAY." It indicated Paul and Evie again. "ONE MEMORY FOR EACH LIFE. IT DOESN'T SEEM SO MUCH TO ASK."
Running it through his mind, Alva wet his lips, and looked for a trick. "How does it work?"
The djinn grinned. "I WILL RESTORE THEIR LIVES. THEY WILL BE EXACTLY AS THEY WERE, UNHARMED. FOR THIS, YOU WILL GIVE ME TWO MEMORIES. TWO THINGS YOU WILL NO LONGER KNOW, BECAUSE YOU DO NOT REMEMBER THEM. THERE WILL BE SOME TRICKLE DOWN, AS ASSOCIATED MEMORIES WILL BECOME DISJOINTED, AND MAY NO LONGER MAKE SENSE. THEY MAY DISAPPEAR ALSO. BUT THIS WILL BE MINIMAL. YOU HAVE MY WORD."
There was a trick. There had to be. "Which memories?"
The djinn smiled innocently. "THAT... WILL BE MY CHOICE."
"No... no, I can't agree to it without knowing what memories you'll take."
Shrugging, the djinn turned as if to leave. "THEN THEY STAY DEAD."
"No, wait!" Alva didn't like the way it smiled as it turned back toward him. But what else could he do? "You'll bring them back to life, unharmed?"
It nodded once.
"Will my memories ever return?"
The djinn nodded once more. "IF THERE COMES A TIME WHEN SOMEONE HAPPENS UPON EVIDENCE OF THESE MEMORIES, AND RECOUNTS THEM TO YOU, THEY WILL RETURN."
Alva's expression considerably brightened. "Oh. Oh, that doesn't sound so bad."
"THERE IS ONE MORE TERM. ONCE BOTH MEMORIES HAVE RETURNED TO YOU, I WILL WIN MY FREEDOM FROM THIS INFERNAL NECKLACE TO WHICH I AM CURRENTLY BOUND. DO YOU AGREE?"
"Yes," he said. "I agree."
The djinn again threw its head back and laughed. "SPLENDID. THEN SPEAK YOUR WISH."
Taking some time to decide how he wanted to phrase it, Alva finally said, "I wish Paul and Evie were alive again, as unharmed as they were before the explosion. When that bomb goes off, they shouldn't be anywhere near it."
"DONE." The djinn stretched out a fire tendril, like an arm. "AS SOON AS I COLLECT MY PRICE."
Hesitant, Alva eventually moved closer; the fire did not burn him this time when the tendril curled around the back of his head. A second tendril came up and a finger-like protrusion hovered before the spot between Alva's eyes. "HM... INTERESTING." The djinn searched his mind for the memories it wanted to consume. "MMM, NO... NO, NOT THAT ONE. HMM... AH. AHHHH, GOOD. GOOD, GOOD. ALRIGHT. THIS WILL ONLY HURT FOR A MOMENT. FOR THE LIFE OF EVELYN SANTOS, THE FIRST MEMORY I TAKE FROM YOU... WILL BE THE REASON WHY YOUR FATHER IS A DANGEROUS MAN. YOU WILL NO LONGER KNOW WHAT HE IS CAPABLE OF IN A SUPERNATURAL SENSE."
"Oh, no, no, not that one! I need to know - "
Disregarding his protests, the djinn tapped the space between Alva's eyes. He instantly cried out in pain. Waves of energy reverberated from the spot. For a moment, Alva's entire body shook and his eyelids fluttered, like he might lose consciousness. The djinn made satisfied noises. Then Alva blinked rapidly and seemed to regain his senses.
"IT IS AS I TOLD YOU, YOU DO NOT CHOOSE THE MEMORIES I TAKE."
"I know, I agreed to it. Just get it over with," he replied, and braced for the pain.
"VERY WELL. THE SECOND MEMORY I WILL TAKE - "
"Second? You haven't taken one."
"I HAVE ALREADY TAKEN THE FIRST, BUT YOU DON'T REMEMBER."
"Which memory did you - "
"QUIET! IT IS DONE. EVELYN'S LIFE WILL BE RETURNED TO HER. NOW... FOR THE LIFE OF PAUL CALLAN, I TAKE FROM YOU..." The djinn couldn't help but smile down at him, knowing how good such an emotionally charged memory would taste. "...THE MEMORY THAT YOU AND PAUL HAVE THE SAME FATHER."
Alva tried to block the tendril of fire, screaming, "Nooooooooooo!"
The last thing he felt was the djinn's finger tapping him between the eyes.
And then, the sun was beaming down warmly on his face.
A voice, deep within him, spoke one sentence so quietly that he barely heard it. "...you will not remember this encounter..." it said, and then it was gone. His own scream echoed in his ears, far away, like a man trapped in a tunnel.
"Keel?"
Alva looked a little to his left. There stood Paul, staring at him with a troubled expression. "Hm?"
"Are you all right?"
"It's like you left us for a second," Evie added. She was standing on the opposite side of Mrs. Grimes.
Alva looked around. They were outside, congregating by the Wagoneer. Evie held one of Mrs. Grimes' hands; the woman was crying forlornly.
"I'm fine, I was just... what were we talking about?"
Giving a very characteristic reaction, Paul scoffed and gestured to the upset woman. "Keel, Mrs. Grimes was just telling us that she thinks her son is the pipe bomber! Now, I think we should - "
The peace of the suburban neighborhood was shattered by the explosion that rocked the Grimes house. All were blown back against Alva's car. When he was able to regain his senses, Alva saw Paul and Evelyn trying to restrain Mrs. Grimes, who wailed for her son, still in the house. "Shane! SHAAAANE!"
Alva looked at the house. If Shane was still in there, he doubted the young man was all right. "Mrs. Grimes, you must stay out of the house. It's not safe." Alva took out his cell phone to call the fire department. "Not safe at all."
*****
"It's kind of a shame. A kid that young, dying because of a senseless accident."
Alva looked up from the paperwork Evie had just finished printing off their computer. She was currently across the room, smacking the printer and cursing for it to just print the next document already. "Paul, he wasn't such a kid now, was he? Twenty-four."
"Still... it doesn't bother you that a human life was lost?"
"No. Not when that life was responsible for the malicious pipe-bombing deaths of twenty-one people." Alva went back to his paperwork.
Evie backed him up. "He was fumbling with the bomb when it went off in his face. Serves him right. Kid probably would have blown up dozens of people with that explosive."
Getting up, Paul remarked, "I just can't be so happy about it," and paced to the other side of the office.
Evie and Alva exchanged a look. She went over to Paul. "Hey, I know how you feel. It's hard to be a part of something like that. The way Mrs. Grimes was carrying on, I thought I was going to cry too."
He shrugged. "I guess Shane got what he deserved. I just can't help but... but wish that we'd gotten there to stop him before the bomb went off."
"Be careful what you wish for," Alva called to him. "What if you had been in that room when the bomb went off? You'd be wishing for something completely different then."
"I suppose." Paul walked back over and sat across the conference table from him. "So, how are we filing this one?"
"Demon-possessed house," Alva replied, sticking a labeled tab onto the file folder for the case. "It's possible the demons caused the bomb to go off. I mean, all the signs are there. If we'd only gotten to continue our investigation, I'm sure that's what we would have concluded."
Paul folded his hands together on the table. "What makes you so sure?"
Considering that for a moment, Alva's eyebrows dipped in the middle, his eyes deeply troubled. Then he relaxed, shaking his head. "I don't know. Just a hunch."
Paul, shrugging again, fell silent. Suddenly, he remembered something, and he asked, "Wasn't there something we were going to talk about tonight?"
"Hm." Alva gave it some deep thought. "There was. But, I seem to have forgotten it. Well..." He patted Paul's hand. "...we'll talk about it some other time."
"You sure?" Paul said with a laugh.
"Of course." Placing another label on the file folder, Alva added, "It'll come to me."
*****
Yard sales were not the usual activity Dr. Sebastian Keel took part in, especially on a busy convention weekend. But this one was special.
The sixty-five year old man with the dark hair and dark eyes approached the Grimes home, or, what was left of it. Tables lined the front yard and driveway, covered in assorted junk and a few useful housewares. Clothes, most of them belonging to a young man, hung from a rope that had been strung between two trees. Dr. Keel looked over a few items, running his fingers over a clock, a toaster, a stack of books, pretending he wasn't eavesdropping on the conversation between the two women sitting behind the table.
"I just wish Harry was here," Mrs. Grimes lamented. She put a wadded tissue to her nose. "He should be here... to watch his son's things be sold off." Her face crumpled and she hid it in the tissue.
"Sandra, your husband will be back in two days," the other woman said, rubbing Sandra Grimes' back and shoulders. "He needs to tie up those loose ends in England before Jacob Anders takes over, right? Don't cry."
"I know... nothing would have kept Harry from coming home after he'd heard what happened. The firm never could have made him stay in London after that. It's just... this is so hard."
"Of course it is, Sandra. Of course it is. He was your son. But we've gone through Shane's things already, and the things you wanted to keep are all packed up... and the police are done with it... so it's better not to have all these extra reminders around." The woman lifted Sandra's chin. "Don't you think?"
Sandra Grimes nodded. "You're right, Joan. You're right. I just... I wish Harry was here." She put her nose into the tissue again while Joan comforted her.
Dr. Keel's fingers ran over a black locket lying on the table among a scattering of other jewelry. "My, what happened here?" he asked, indicating the damaged house, partially covered in tarps and plastic material.
Joan looked up. Something about the man's eyes sent an instant chill up her back. Then she visibly relaxed and smiled at him. "You haven't been reading the papers?"
"Well, lass, I'm from out of town, you could say."
"Oh, I apologize. I should have known from the accent." She turned more toward him, her hand flitting along the hem of her shirt that lined her cleavage. "Are you British?"
"Scottish, my lady." Dr. Keel gave her his most charming smile. "In town for a doctor's convention."
"Oh, you're a doctor. How wonderful, saving lives and all."
A bit offended by the flirtatious tone in her friend's voice, Sandra interrupted. "There was an explosion. We're moving."
"I'm sorry to hear that," he said sympathetically. Dr. Keel picked up the necklace with the green cat's eye in the middle. "This is quite beautiful. How much is it?"
Now, sitting in the dusty living room of his new American home, Sebastian held the necklace up, letting it turn on the chain as he admired it. He had purchased a couch and a coffee table, but that was all. The McNeal home, now his second home, would need a great deal of work before he could actually live in it, even if it was for short trips to the states now and then. But, even so, he would make it his own.
He tossed the necklace on the coffee table. Looked at it some more. Then he commanded, "Come out."
Instantly, the djinn emerged from the locket in a puff of gray smoke and liquid fire. "MASTER," it said, and bowed.
Sebastian raised two fingers in greeting, simply shaking them once. "I am the new owner of the necklace. It is good that you acknowledge that. It will save us a great deal of time." He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "My guides tell me that you had an encounter with my sons two weeks ago. Something major happened. I want you to tell me all about it."
"CERTAINLY. I - ... SOMEONE IS COMING." The djinn disappeared.
A board in the closest entryway creaked. The woman from the yard sale, Joan, stepped into the living room. One trembling hand on the carved wood of the entryway and the other running nervously over her cleavage, she said, "I came as fast as I could."
"That's a good girl. Now, step over here where I can see you."
Joan walked to the middle of the room, standing in front of Sebastian. She giggled. "I... I never do things like this. I don't even know why I came. There was... just something about your eyes. They called to me."
"It's alright, you don't need to explain." Sebastian looked her over. "You certainly are a pretty lass. In your forties, are you?"
Joan shivered all over in anticipation. "Forty-three."
"My, but you look all hot and bothered." He slid deeper into the cushions. "I think you should take your clothes off now."
Joan reached to unzip her dress, then suddenly stopped, eyes wide with horror. "I don't even know your name."
Sebastian glared into her eyes with such intensity that she uttered a small, aroused cry. "It doesn't matter. Strip."
When the woman settled into his lap, Sebastian grinned and directed a comment to the necklace in which the djinn resided. "You can tell me all about it afterward," he snickered, and sank his hands into Joan's hair.
More Notes: Deejay was the first person I ever saw present the idea that Alva and Paul have the same father, that they are half-brothers. When I heard it, I thought it was one of the sweetest, most endearing things they ever could have done on "Miracles." Of course, they didn't, but it would have been the best thing ever, for those two to discover they had true family in each other.
I have this thing for Paul sitting on furniture. I have no idea where it comes from; it wasn't supported in canon as far as I can remember. But often, when I picture Paul working and hanging around the SQ office, he's sitting on the table and what not. I just decided to go with it as a quirk of my fanon.
Details of Challenge #25: The Lost Case. Miracles fan Kaija noticed something unexpected about the episode, "The Patient." There is a place in the episode where the closed captioning differs from the spoken dialogue in one spot. Where Paul explains what he "does for fun" and talks about the trip he and Keel took to Pennsylvania, he mentions the set of identical twins born to different mothers. BUT the CC says, "There was a rabid German shepherd. Its owners thought it was possessed by their dead grandfather."
Persistence of Memory is (c) 2008 Demented Stuff
Miracles is (c) 2003 Spyglass Entertainment and Touchstone Television
by Laurel (Sailorhathor)
Rating: Parental Supervision Suggested for children under 13
Dates: Written Oct-Nov. 2008
Word Count: 12,625
Summary: Takes place in late 2003. Alva realizes it's time to tell Paul the devastating secret he's been keeping. But will he have the chance before an entity wishing its freedom takes what he holds most dear from him?
Timeline: Takes place after "We Were the Dead." This would be about ten months after Paul came to work for SQ; post-series.
Warnings: Scary haunted house-type phenomena. Descriptions of injuries that may be too much for those who are easily grossed out (I tried to keep it to a minimum, though). The last scene contains brief, nonexplicit dubious sexual consent between OMC/OFC.
Betas: Thanks to Harshini for the beta and the great feedback!
Author's Notes: See Pt. 1.
"The demons, they said... they said... that Shane is the mad pipe bomber," Mrs. Grimes finished, and burst into tears.
Astonished, Alva asked, "The one from the news?"
"Yes. But it can't be true. It can't! He's my baby. Those things I found in his room, they - "
Her words were cut off by a deafening explosion. Alva and Mrs. Grimes were blown back against his Wagoneer. The windows in the car shattered into dust and shards. Car alarms all along the block went off. Dazed, Alva looked toward the one-story house to find that the right side of it was just gone. It was replaced by jagged pieces of perimeter wall, rimmed at the edges with black, and burning debris. Pieces of wood were still showering down into the yard. Fires burned here and there amongst a burst pipe, which spurted water into the sky.
With stunned clarity, Alva saw the doll, Krissy, sitting on the grass, completely undamaged. Her hand was to her forehead in a dramatic gesture of woe.
The sound of Mrs. Grimes' voice brought him out of his dumbfounded stupor. "Shane! SHAAAAANE!" She stumbled to her feet and ran toward the house.
Alva was up right after her. "Mrs. Grimes, wait! It's not safe!" Then he realized that he didn't see Paul and Evie coming out of the house, their faces black with soot, leaning on each other like a scene from an action movie. Oh, God... "Paul! Evelyn! Are you all right?" He stumble-ran toward what was left of the house. "PAUL! EVIE!"
Just as Alva reached the open front door, he heard Mrs. Grimes scream from the direction of Shane's room. "Shane, Shane, no, nooooo!" Alva ran around debris and fire until he passed through what would have been Shane's door, but was now just a partial wall, black and smoking. Mrs. Grimes was on the floor, cradling the body of her son, who was so burned that Alva couldn't recognize his face anymore. The woman was screaming hysterically, calling Shane's name; Alva guessed he'd never answer.
Then he looked to his right.
His vision grayed, and he momentarily swayed on his feet. What he saw was a dizzying mix of burned flesh and blood, smoldering clothing and singed-off hair, all accompanied by a haze of smoke and nauseating odors. A burned out battery, baked flesh, coppery blood.
Paul and Evie.
Alva fell to his knees and crawled closer to the bodies of the two people he loved most in the world; a shaking hand reached out to Evie's neck.
"Evelyn? Evie?" he heard himself say, his voice croaking and small. He found no pulse. Her skin slid under his fingertips.
Swallowing down a scream, Alva pulled his hand back like he'd touched a hot stove. He turned to Paul. Looking like that, he couldn't be alive. He had to be alive. Oh God, how could you let him die before I had a chance to tell him? Don't you let him die!
But he was dead. Paul was dead. Alva wasn't even sure where to check for a pulse, what with... all the blood... blast must've torn through half his... jugular went like a...
The thought that he was being selfish, wanting Paul to survive such horrible injuries, ran through his mind like a hysterical person. After all, the entire right side of Paul's head was a mess of bright red and black... flaps of skin hanging off... even so, Alva held his hand in front of Paul's mouth. Of course, of course, he felt no breath.
He noticed with sickening comprehension that both Paul and Evie had nails sticking haphazardly out of their chests. So the mad pipe bomber liked to use nails in his bombs. Wasn't that clever of the sick little bastard.
Miraculously, Alva found a body part on each person that wasn't damaged - Paul's left hand and Evie's right. He put her hand in Paul's and then held both hands between his own. And then he cried.
The cries turned into angry, cheated howls of agony. The word, "Noooooooo..." could be made out. Alva kissed their fingers, the backs of their hands, bent over them and held the intertwined hands to his forehead, all while the unspeakable realization washed over him again and again like crashing waves, dashing him against the rocks.
They were dead. They were dead, they were dead.
Alva sees with lucid clearness Evie and Paul at her desk, bent over the paper. He comes downstairs, sleepy, yawning. She brings him a mug of coffee, both hands cupped around it. "Morning," Paul says with a smirky grin. "Ghosts in the state capital. You wanna check it out?"
Comforting in its banality, this was their morning routine. The details sometimes varied, but it was always like this. The three of them, doing it together. Living, working, silently loving.
That would never happen again. That would never happen again.
"It's not fair!" Alva screamed. He held their limp hands out in front of him and looked up at the sky. "IT'S NOT FAAAAIR!"
For a moment, he quieted, hands shaking, listening to the sounds around him and holding Paul and Evie's hands to his lips. A fire engine siren approaching in the distance. Mrs. Grimes' slow, repetitive weeping. Water from the burst pipe hitting the floor. Flames licking at the remnants of the house. People yelling in alarm.
And then he screamed again. An anguished wail. And he let it all out.
"I should have told you how I felt," he said to Evie, weeping. "You were like my little sister, always nagging, bickering, looking after me. Trying to fix me up. Strong and independent. Always giving me what for. 'Alva, were you raised by wolves?' You're too stubborn to die this way." Alva took a hitching breath. "No, too stubborn." He looked at Paul. "And you... you..." Tears overcame him for a moment, and his words came out shaky, wavery, cracking with emotion. "...I came here to find you. I came here to find you!" Alva suddenly yelled. "You can't die, do you hear me?! You're my brother, you're my brother, you're my brother!"
After another bout of heavy, remorseful sobs, he continued speaking the words he hadn't been able to say until this moment. "We have the same father. I was going to tell you. That's what we were going to talk about tonight. Tonight. It can't end like this. It can't, it..." Alva swallowed hard; it hurt. "I wish I'd told you. I wish I had told you everything when I had the chance." A deep breath, and he shrieked, "Oh God, just give me another chance to tell them!"
"THAT CAN BE ARRANGED."
The voice bore into Alva's brain like a cold shot of water. He became aware that there was no sound around him now; the siren, the crying, the water coming down; all had ceased. All sound but the licking of flames. But, even that sound had changed in quality. It was more centralized, more liquid, like -
Like the sound of the fire entity from his dreams.
Dreading what he might see, Alva peered behind him. It was there.
Mrs. Grimes had frozen like a statue, her unmoving face a mask of grief. Somehow, this entity had arrested all time. The water from the burst pipe hung there, every last drop immobile in midair. Gray smoke had emerged from Mrs. Grimes necklace in a swirl that ended in the fire being. So Paul was right; the necklace was the source of the trouble. It looked like a levitating, whirling cloud of liquid flame. The longer Alva gazed at it, the more he could make out human-like features, swimming in the fire. A face, an intense, sneering face, with what might be a mustache and thin beard, a flaming gold earring hanging from its right ear. The entity crossed its arms made of fire.
"DID YOU HEAR ME, ALVA KEEL?"
Trying to get a hold of himself, Alva realized quickly that the voice came from the entity. He didn't ask how it knew his name; the thing has been "stalking" him, hadn't it? "Yes, yes," he said with a sniffle. "I hear you."
"DO YOU WANT TO SAVE PAUL AND EVELYN?"
Dazed, Alva just nodded. The entity's voice didn't exactly cause him pain, but the sound of it was uncomfortable, bouncing off his eardrums. He was simultaneously attracted to and repelled by it. Somehow he knew it was a terrible being with glorious power.
"IT CAN BE ARRANGED."
"What - what are you?" Alva asked, voice shaking.
"IT IS AS YOU THOUGHT. I AM A FORM OF ELEMENTAL. A GHUL DJINN."
Out of fear, Alva gasped and recoiled from it, holding his hands over Paul and Evie's bodies protectively.
"DO NOT FEAR. I AM NOT A LOWER FORM OF GHUL. WE DO NOT ALL SUBSIST ON THE FLESH OF THE DEAD AND DYING. NO, I AM A GHUL DJINN. YOU KNOW OF OUR LORE?"
Alva tried to calm himself, to recall what he knew of this entity. "You, ah... you have the power to bend reality. You can give your master whatever he desires. In essence, a djinn can do just what the popular myths say - you have the power to grant wishes." A desperation had crept into his voice, the desperation of knowing how to put this knowledge to use.
"YEEE~EEES..." The djinn's tone dripped with a predatory motive. "BUT WE MUST BE KEPT FED AS WELL. AS I SAID, WE DO NOT FEED ON HUMAN REMAINS... BUT..."
Swallowing down his trepidation, Alva said, "What do you feed on?"
The flames that formed its mouth seemed to turn up in a smile. "WE FEED ON HUMAN MEMORY."
Something about that filled Alva with dread. "Memory?"
"YES. YES, HUMAN MEMORY." An orange-red tongue flicked over its lips. "BACK HOME, A MAN KEPT ME AS HIS PROPERTY, AND FED ME WITH THE MEMORIES OF HIS FAMILY AND NEIGHBORS. NOT A NICE MASTER AT ALL. HE FOOLISHLY TURNED HIS BACK, AND HIS WIFE SOLD ME TO THE AMERICAN IN THE MARKETPLACE. THE AMERICANS HAVE NO IDEA HOW TO USE ME. BUT YOU DO."
"I think... I think I do."
"AH, BUT THERE IS SOMETHING YOU DO NOT UNDERSTAND. THERE IS A PRICE TO PAY FOR EVERY WISH I GRANT YOU." The djinn looked with manufactured sadness on Evie and Paul. "SURELY, YOU HAVE WISHES YOU WANT TO MAKE?"
Alva nodded vigorously. "You... you can bring them back." He almost began to cry again.
"THERE NOW, CONTROL YOUR EMOTIONS. YES, I CAN RESTORE THEIR LIVES. BUT... FOR EACH LIFE, YOU MUST GIVE ME... ONE MEMORY." The djinn's spoke these last two words like it was quite starved, a dog salivating over a tender steak.
"You mean... my memories?"
The creature could not restrain its hunger any longer. "YES, OH YES!" It breathed hard, savoring the tastes it knew were to come. "YOU VISITED A CEMETERY A FEW BLOCKS FROM HERE ONLY TWO WEEKS AGO. THE EMOTIONS COMING FROM YOU, THEY WERE SO STRONG, I COULD FEEL THEM. THEY WERE SO FRENZIED, SO DESPERATE, SO DEEP. THEIR FLAVORS DANCED ON THE VERY TIP OF MY TONGUE." The djinn stuck out its tongue again, demonstrating. "I KNEW THERE HAD TO BE SOME DELECTABLE MEMORIES BEHIND THOSE EMOTIONS. YOU WORK IN SECRETS, ALVA KEEL. I WANT TO SAVOR THEM.
"SO, I ENGINEERED THIS ENTIRE CHARADE," the djinn confessed, sweeping a hand of flame out in a flourish. "I MADE IT SEEM AS IF THIS HOUSE WAS POSSESSED BY DEMONS. ALL THE TRICKS, MINE. I KNEW IT WOULD DRAW YOU HERE. I KNEW YOU WOULD RECOGNIZE ALL THE TRAPPINGS FROM YOUR OWN EXPERIENCE." The creature snickered. "I EVEN MADE SURE THE BOY'S DOOR WAS UNLOCKED WHEN PAUL AND EVELYN CAME TO INVESTIGATE HIS ROOM. SO THEY WOULD SEE THE BOMB. IT ALL CAME TOGETHER LIKE CLOCKWORK." With that, it threw its head back and laughed.
Anger rose in him so suddenly that Alva found himself on his feet, charging the djinn. "You murdered them? You murdered my family!" He got a foot from the creature and was overcome by the heat it gave off, stumbling back with a cry of pain.
"DON'T BE MAD, ALVA KEEL. WE'RE FRIENDS, YOU AND I. YOUR FAMILY, THEY WENT OUT AS HEROES. THEY GRAPPLED WITH THE BOY FOR CONTROL OF THE BOMB. TOO BAD IT WENT OFF ACCIDENTALLY, TOO BAD." The djinn was laughing again, satisfied with itself.
Alva charged the djinn once more, growling; he tried to punch it, but his fist simply passed into the flames and was burned. He leapt back with a scream, holding his hand against his chest and panting.
"HERE, HERE, CALM YOURSELF. YOU KNOW YOU CAN'T HURT ME IN THAT MANNER. BUT, YOU ARE GRIEVING. IT DOESN'T HAVE TO BE THAT WAY." It indicated Paul and Evie again. "ONE MEMORY FOR EACH LIFE. IT DOESN'T SEEM SO MUCH TO ASK."
Running it through his mind, Alva wet his lips, and looked for a trick. "How does it work?"
The djinn grinned. "I WILL RESTORE THEIR LIVES. THEY WILL BE EXACTLY AS THEY WERE, UNHARMED. FOR THIS, YOU WILL GIVE ME TWO MEMORIES. TWO THINGS YOU WILL NO LONGER KNOW, BECAUSE YOU DO NOT REMEMBER THEM. THERE WILL BE SOME TRICKLE DOWN, AS ASSOCIATED MEMORIES WILL BECOME DISJOINTED, AND MAY NO LONGER MAKE SENSE. THEY MAY DISAPPEAR ALSO. BUT THIS WILL BE MINIMAL. YOU HAVE MY WORD."
There was a trick. There had to be. "Which memories?"
The djinn smiled innocently. "THAT... WILL BE MY CHOICE."
"No... no, I can't agree to it without knowing what memories you'll take."
Shrugging, the djinn turned as if to leave. "THEN THEY STAY DEAD."
"No, wait!" Alva didn't like the way it smiled as it turned back toward him. But what else could he do? "You'll bring them back to life, unharmed?"
It nodded once.
"Will my memories ever return?"
The djinn nodded once more. "IF THERE COMES A TIME WHEN SOMEONE HAPPENS UPON EVIDENCE OF THESE MEMORIES, AND RECOUNTS THEM TO YOU, THEY WILL RETURN."
Alva's expression considerably brightened. "Oh. Oh, that doesn't sound so bad."
"THERE IS ONE MORE TERM. ONCE BOTH MEMORIES HAVE RETURNED TO YOU, I WILL WIN MY FREEDOM FROM THIS INFERNAL NECKLACE TO WHICH I AM CURRENTLY BOUND. DO YOU AGREE?"
"Yes," he said. "I agree."
The djinn again threw its head back and laughed. "SPLENDID. THEN SPEAK YOUR WISH."
Taking some time to decide how he wanted to phrase it, Alva finally said, "I wish Paul and Evie were alive again, as unharmed as they were before the explosion. When that bomb goes off, they shouldn't be anywhere near it."
"DONE." The djinn stretched out a fire tendril, like an arm. "AS SOON AS I COLLECT MY PRICE."
Hesitant, Alva eventually moved closer; the fire did not burn him this time when the tendril curled around the back of his head. A second tendril came up and a finger-like protrusion hovered before the spot between Alva's eyes. "HM... INTERESTING." The djinn searched his mind for the memories it wanted to consume. "MMM, NO... NO, NOT THAT ONE. HMM... AH. AHHHH, GOOD. GOOD, GOOD. ALRIGHT. THIS WILL ONLY HURT FOR A MOMENT. FOR THE LIFE OF EVELYN SANTOS, THE FIRST MEMORY I TAKE FROM YOU... WILL BE THE REASON WHY YOUR FATHER IS A DANGEROUS MAN. YOU WILL NO LONGER KNOW WHAT HE IS CAPABLE OF IN A SUPERNATURAL SENSE."
"Oh, no, no, not that one! I need to know - "
Disregarding his protests, the djinn tapped the space between Alva's eyes. He instantly cried out in pain. Waves of energy reverberated from the spot. For a moment, Alva's entire body shook and his eyelids fluttered, like he might lose consciousness. The djinn made satisfied noises. Then Alva blinked rapidly and seemed to regain his senses.
"IT IS AS I TOLD YOU, YOU DO NOT CHOOSE THE MEMORIES I TAKE."
"I know, I agreed to it. Just get it over with," he replied, and braced for the pain.
"VERY WELL. THE SECOND MEMORY I WILL TAKE - "
"Second? You haven't taken one."
"I HAVE ALREADY TAKEN THE FIRST, BUT YOU DON'T REMEMBER."
"Which memory did you - "
"QUIET! IT IS DONE. EVELYN'S LIFE WILL BE RETURNED TO HER. NOW... FOR THE LIFE OF PAUL CALLAN, I TAKE FROM YOU..." The djinn couldn't help but smile down at him, knowing how good such an emotionally charged memory would taste. "...THE MEMORY THAT YOU AND PAUL HAVE THE SAME FATHER."
Alva tried to block the tendril of fire, screaming, "Nooooooooooo!"
The last thing he felt was the djinn's finger tapping him between the eyes.
And then, the sun was beaming down warmly on his face.
A voice, deep within him, spoke one sentence so quietly that he barely heard it. "...you will not remember this encounter..." it said, and then it was gone. His own scream echoed in his ears, far away, like a man trapped in a tunnel.
"Keel?"
Alva looked a little to his left. There stood Paul, staring at him with a troubled expression. "Hm?"
"Are you all right?"
"It's like you left us for a second," Evie added. She was standing on the opposite side of Mrs. Grimes.
Alva looked around. They were outside, congregating by the Wagoneer. Evie held one of Mrs. Grimes' hands; the woman was crying forlornly.
"I'm fine, I was just... what were we talking about?"
Giving a very characteristic reaction, Paul scoffed and gestured to the upset woman. "Keel, Mrs. Grimes was just telling us that she thinks her son is the pipe bomber! Now, I think we should - "
The peace of the suburban neighborhood was shattered by the explosion that rocked the Grimes house. All were blown back against Alva's car. When he was able to regain his senses, Alva saw Paul and Evelyn trying to restrain Mrs. Grimes, who wailed for her son, still in the house. "Shane! SHAAAANE!"
Alva looked at the house. If Shane was still in there, he doubted the young man was all right. "Mrs. Grimes, you must stay out of the house. It's not safe." Alva took out his cell phone to call the fire department. "Not safe at all."
*****
"It's kind of a shame. A kid that young, dying because of a senseless accident."
Alva looked up from the paperwork Evie had just finished printing off their computer. She was currently across the room, smacking the printer and cursing for it to just print the next document already. "Paul, he wasn't such a kid now, was he? Twenty-four."
"Still... it doesn't bother you that a human life was lost?"
"No. Not when that life was responsible for the malicious pipe-bombing deaths of twenty-one people." Alva went back to his paperwork.
Evie backed him up. "He was fumbling with the bomb when it went off in his face. Serves him right. Kid probably would have blown up dozens of people with that explosive."
Getting up, Paul remarked, "I just can't be so happy about it," and paced to the other side of the office.
Evie and Alva exchanged a look. She went over to Paul. "Hey, I know how you feel. It's hard to be a part of something like that. The way Mrs. Grimes was carrying on, I thought I was going to cry too."
He shrugged. "I guess Shane got what he deserved. I just can't help but... but wish that we'd gotten there to stop him before the bomb went off."
"Be careful what you wish for," Alva called to him. "What if you had been in that room when the bomb went off? You'd be wishing for something completely different then."
"I suppose." Paul walked back over and sat across the conference table from him. "So, how are we filing this one?"
"Demon-possessed house," Alva replied, sticking a labeled tab onto the file folder for the case. "It's possible the demons caused the bomb to go off. I mean, all the signs are there. If we'd only gotten to continue our investigation, I'm sure that's what we would have concluded."
Paul folded his hands together on the table. "What makes you so sure?"
Considering that for a moment, Alva's eyebrows dipped in the middle, his eyes deeply troubled. Then he relaxed, shaking his head. "I don't know. Just a hunch."
Paul, shrugging again, fell silent. Suddenly, he remembered something, and he asked, "Wasn't there something we were going to talk about tonight?"
"Hm." Alva gave it some deep thought. "There was. But, I seem to have forgotten it. Well..." He patted Paul's hand. "...we'll talk about it some other time."
"You sure?" Paul said with a laugh.
"Of course." Placing another label on the file folder, Alva added, "It'll come to me."
*****
Yard sales were not the usual activity Dr. Sebastian Keel took part in, especially on a busy convention weekend. But this one was special.
The sixty-five year old man with the dark hair and dark eyes approached the Grimes home, or, what was left of it. Tables lined the front yard and driveway, covered in assorted junk and a few useful housewares. Clothes, most of them belonging to a young man, hung from a rope that had been strung between two trees. Dr. Keel looked over a few items, running his fingers over a clock, a toaster, a stack of books, pretending he wasn't eavesdropping on the conversation between the two women sitting behind the table.
"I just wish Harry was here," Mrs. Grimes lamented. She put a wadded tissue to her nose. "He should be here... to watch his son's things be sold off." Her face crumpled and she hid it in the tissue.
"Sandra, your husband will be back in two days," the other woman said, rubbing Sandra Grimes' back and shoulders. "He needs to tie up those loose ends in England before Jacob Anders takes over, right? Don't cry."
"I know... nothing would have kept Harry from coming home after he'd heard what happened. The firm never could have made him stay in London after that. It's just... this is so hard."
"Of course it is, Sandra. Of course it is. He was your son. But we've gone through Shane's things already, and the things you wanted to keep are all packed up... and the police are done with it... so it's better not to have all these extra reminders around." The woman lifted Sandra's chin. "Don't you think?"
Sandra Grimes nodded. "You're right, Joan. You're right. I just... I wish Harry was here." She put her nose into the tissue again while Joan comforted her.
Dr. Keel's fingers ran over a black locket lying on the table among a scattering of other jewelry. "My, what happened here?" he asked, indicating the damaged house, partially covered in tarps and plastic material.
Joan looked up. Something about the man's eyes sent an instant chill up her back. Then she visibly relaxed and smiled at him. "You haven't been reading the papers?"
"Well, lass, I'm from out of town, you could say."
"Oh, I apologize. I should have known from the accent." She turned more toward him, her hand flitting along the hem of her shirt that lined her cleavage. "Are you British?"
"Scottish, my lady." Dr. Keel gave her his most charming smile. "In town for a doctor's convention."
"Oh, you're a doctor. How wonderful, saving lives and all."
A bit offended by the flirtatious tone in her friend's voice, Sandra interrupted. "There was an explosion. We're moving."
"I'm sorry to hear that," he said sympathetically. Dr. Keel picked up the necklace with the green cat's eye in the middle. "This is quite beautiful. How much is it?"
Now, sitting in the dusty living room of his new American home, Sebastian held the necklace up, letting it turn on the chain as he admired it. He had purchased a couch and a coffee table, but that was all. The McNeal home, now his second home, would need a great deal of work before he could actually live in it, even if it was for short trips to the states now and then. But, even so, he would make it his own.
He tossed the necklace on the coffee table. Looked at it some more. Then he commanded, "Come out."
Instantly, the djinn emerged from the locket in a puff of gray smoke and liquid fire. "MASTER," it said, and bowed.
Sebastian raised two fingers in greeting, simply shaking them once. "I am the new owner of the necklace. It is good that you acknowledge that. It will save us a great deal of time." He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "My guides tell me that you had an encounter with my sons two weeks ago. Something major happened. I want you to tell me all about it."
"CERTAINLY. I - ... SOMEONE IS COMING." The djinn disappeared.
A board in the closest entryway creaked. The woman from the yard sale, Joan, stepped into the living room. One trembling hand on the carved wood of the entryway and the other running nervously over her cleavage, she said, "I came as fast as I could."
"That's a good girl. Now, step over here where I can see you."
Joan walked to the middle of the room, standing in front of Sebastian. She giggled. "I... I never do things like this. I don't even know why I came. There was... just something about your eyes. They called to me."
"It's alright, you don't need to explain." Sebastian looked her over. "You certainly are a pretty lass. In your forties, are you?"
Joan shivered all over in anticipation. "Forty-three."
"My, but you look all hot and bothered." He slid deeper into the cushions. "I think you should take your clothes off now."
Joan reached to unzip her dress, then suddenly stopped, eyes wide with horror. "I don't even know your name."
Sebastian glared into her eyes with such intensity that she uttered a small, aroused cry. "It doesn't matter. Strip."
When the woman settled into his lap, Sebastian grinned and directed a comment to the necklace in which the djinn resided. "You can tell me all about it afterward," he snickered, and sank his hands into Joan's hair.
More Notes: Deejay was the first person I ever saw present the idea that Alva and Paul have the same father, that they are half-brothers. When I heard it, I thought it was one of the sweetest, most endearing things they ever could have done on "Miracles." Of course, they didn't, but it would have been the best thing ever, for those two to discover they had true family in each other.
I have this thing for Paul sitting on furniture. I have no idea where it comes from; it wasn't supported in canon as far as I can remember. But often, when I picture Paul working and hanging around the SQ office, he's sitting on the table and what not. I just decided to go with it as a quirk of my fanon.
Details of Challenge #25: The Lost Case. Miracles fan Kaija noticed something unexpected about the episode, "The Patient." There is a place in the episode where the closed captioning differs from the spoken dialogue in one spot. Where Paul explains what he "does for fun" and talks about the trip he and Keel took to Pennsylvania, he mentions the set of identical twins born to different mothers. BUT the CC says, "There was a rabid German shepherd. Its owners thought it was possessed by their dead grandfather."
Persistence of Memory is (c) 2008 Demented Stuff
Miracles is (c) 2003 Spyglass Entertainment and Touchstone Television