New
Arrivals
Author-Amanda
Titles
Psychic Ingestion
by Amanda
Disclaimer: Not mine. All Sentinel characters and locations belong to Pet Fly Productions. Rated PG.
I’ve been working on two stories at once, then one Sunday morning I thought to write one from that poor schmuck’s point of view. I always did feel sorry for him. So, 8am and typing on the computer and getting some funny looks from my family, I bashed out this one.
Warning: Australian spelling. That’s good, in a way, because we all get to see how others operate and the differences in language. But my beta reader helped with some of the more glaring errors such as terminology and names for everyday objects. Thanks Kelly !
Spoilers for Cypher.
I stand outside the College of Anthropology building waiting for him. He fascinates me, his mannerisms, the way he brushes his hair back from his face with his thumb. His enthusiasm and bounce and the way he's managed to wend his way into the hearts of some of the most straight-backed cops I have ever seen. He is protected. Loved. Ellison is a powerful man, both physically and mentally and I can't help but wonder how he tolerates one such as Sandburg. It is a testament to the innate power of Sandburg that he can gather such powerful men around him.
I want that. I want powerful friends like he has. I want the life he runs through with such apparent ease.
I want to be him. I can be him.
This part of the hunt is the most exciting part, not getting caught. Keeping your distance and knowing that, despite his strong friends, he is helpless against me. I am mad, I suppose, and that's what gives me the edge. Not many people have defenses against the truly insane.
I am capable of rational thought. For instance, right now my thoughts are ordered and I'm bent on one goal only. Assimilating Sandburg. The layman thinks that the insane are easily spotted, just look for the wild look in their eyes and the string of drool streaming from their lax mouths. Idiots. I am smarter than most and that's why I can kill with such brilliance. I fly despite the limitation of being held within the four corners of my mind.
At first I used to deny that I killed. I 'absorbed'. But the cold reality of it has slowly permeated my complex mind and I find I actually enjoy it now. I am a killer. I cut the ones I want from the herd and relieve them of their little lives. Lives that I can make richer because they waste what they've got. They can't see the wonder of what they have.
I'm not seeking to emulate any other serial killers or establish a reason through pattern. It's how it must be done. Bates used to look at me with his curious, clinical eyes and think he could peg me down. He 'knew' my reasons for being the way I was. Fool. He thought he knew my ambitions and moods and I smile now as I think of the look of surprise on his face when I made him mine. His eyes watching me from under the water.
I wasn't going to kill Anthony, despite those sessions at Watsonville becoming annoying. He thought he could really help me and was one of the few who wanted to bother, but he had to go. As him I could get near the investigators and those investigators got me close to who I really wanted to be.
Ah, he comes. My patience has paid off. He leaves the building with his girlfriend, the beautiful china doll he's been seeing. He walks smoothly, with the grace of the young. A grace I will never lose if I keep choosing the young. My wig itches but I deny the impulsion to scratch at it. He wouldn't scratch his beautiful hair, he'd push it back. I do so but the itch remains. The slight annoyance passes as my attention is caught by his words.
His deep voice, unusual to me for one so young, so slight, is asking the china doll what's wrong. They've had an argument but I'm too far away to know what it was about. She hails a cab and talks briefly with him. Well, Blair, you let that one get away. What did you do? Probably trust of some kind. Trust in themselves and others is the most important thing to a woman. I had gained Susan Frasier's trust to get close to her and I smile as I think of her. Her life, becoming her, was a temporary dalliance until I caught sight of what I really wanted.
I digress, my attention is caught again as the cab door is slammed. He is left standing alone and I hunger for him, to be him right now. The pain he is currently feeling is nothing to what I have endured but he exists to help me with that, and help me he will.
I think for a moment that he sees me and drop back. My back brushes a small sapling and I look at it. A young Sycamore, I know because I was quite the avid botanist once. The thrill of the stalking shivers through me and I follow as he moves off. Universities are a wonderful place to find people. Night classes end and students walk to their cars in nice deserted spots. It's a crime that they're not better lit but people sometimes refuse to bother with the expense and, I think, a lot of it has to do with not wanting to think of the ugly side of life. Guarding against evil takes its toll on the everyday psyche. People don't want to think there's bad people out there wanting to hurt you.
I know I don't want to think about it. When I have Sandburg's friends I won't have to worry about it anymore. He gets into his car and we both leave university grounds and head for home. His home. My home. Soon.
As I follow I take note of the way he drives his car. He is a good driver but he also drives with the recklessness of youth, too much confidence. The young can never die. Well, I'm testament to the fact they can. Youthful immortality aside, I can snuff it out like a candle. And I will.
My mind wanders and I leave just enough attention to keep track of his car. Getting into the police station was one of my finer moments, and I can't prevent the smile that crawls across my face. Proof that I can become who I want. They will probably notice a change in me when I head in on Monday but they'll know it's me, good ol' Blair. With the others I usually avoided their friends and family and where they worked. I was silly enough to be afraid they would see David Lash. But I'm good enough at it now that they'll not notice the difference.
Going home with Ellison on the first night, I can't wait for that. As Tony Bates I was able to go anywhere in the police station. As Blair I will have access to even more places, even more private places than David Lash could. Lash is 42 and there's something broken inside of him. His brother, Jimmy, was the perfect child and David's parents loved him more. David took their pride and joy from them, smothering his 5 year old brother in his bed. For some reason I have the memory in my mind of Jimmy struggling.
Well, David sure showed them. I feel I know this David very well. I know why he did the things he did. I did. No, he did. An abject loner, abused child, that's how described him to Ellison and Banks. I didn't need to sneak a look at my file, his file, to know that. Those cops sure are dumb. I loved confusing them with terminology, Bates' terminology. Map out the psychological dynamics, I said, and they just looked at me. Psychic ingestion. Psychological composite drawing, I said then, and that seemed to sink into their australopithecine brains. I admit it, I'm an anthropocentricist, only, this time, I am the centre of the universe.
They really aren't a challenge at all. I've read up on serial killers for years, and I know that's the term they use for me, and their one failing is arrogance. Arrogance will always get you caught. Well, I don't have that failing. I *know* I'm smarter than them. Maybe not smarter than Blair, though, he's a quick one. He figured out that I became something other than what I am. I could tell that Ellison was angry with him for defying his orders and going to Club Doom. I can't wait to have that anger directed at me and know it's because he cares for me.
I think back on my first sight of him. Bursting into Banks' office without knocking. I loved it! The big, gruff Banks reprimanded him but Blair's enthusiasm won out and the police captain let him get away with it. Even Ellison's annoyance was short-lived and his affection for Sandburg shone through, I could see it!
I watch him leave his car and go upstairs to his home. The lights are on and, although I can't see him, I know he's going about his business in order to settle for the night. I quickly make my way to the roof, hoping to gain entrance that way, but there's no easy way into their apartment from there. I could drop down onto the balcony but the fall, if I miss the railing, isn't all that attractive to me. I go to the front door and know I have the strength to break it. I may appear slight but I am strong. Stronger than Blair and that's all that matters.
I kick the door in and it splinters from the impact, the chain making little difference. Running into the apartment I find him standing in shock in the kitchen. He knows who I am, who I could be, and it scares him half to death. I stand still and look at him a moment and he mirrors me, uncertain of what to do. Fear holds him, fear and the irrational wish that people seem to have in moments like this: if you stay absolutely still maybe the threat will lose interest and go away. I know he won't move until the threat makes itself known again so I move toward him.
That spurs him on. I know the fight to come will not be pretty but, while he has panic to lend him strength, I have the determination to not be who I was born. We virtually destroy Ellison's loungeroom but it can't be helped, I'll help Jim clean it up later, when I come back.
Blair lands, back first, across the television and I know that's gotta hurt. I don't want to kill him but he's fighting like a maniac. But the poor boy has nothing on *this* maniac and it's all over in under a minute. Some neighbours. Not one curious one among them, considering the noise we're making.
At last, he's lying still. I turn him over and watch his chest rise and fall with the exertion. His face is unharmed, his body having taken most of the attack. He is semi-conscious and I take the opportunity to take the plastic vial from my pocket. Pouring some of its contents over his lips, he is too insensate to know not to swallow. It will calm him down. I hate this part of it, I don't want to hurt them unnecessarily but they force my hand.
I leave him moaning on the floor while the drug takes effect. He's wearing his leather jacket and the blue shirt. I like the jacket but want his other one. The one with the patch on the sleeve. I remember him wearing it in one day and showing me the patch that covered the bullet hole given him by one of those goons working for....Kincaid was his name. He seemed proud of that patch and I wanted it. I go to his bedroom and help myself to his wardrobe, knowing his clothes will fit. He wears his jeans too long anyway so the fact I'm a fraction taller won't matter.
His room's a bit of a mess. We should have had the fight in here. No one would have known the difference. He has a tribal mask sitting on the floor next to his bed. God knows what it's meant to represent but I suppose I'll have to start learning these things now, if I'm to be him. He would have liked Susan because her place was full of stuff like this. But she had hers displayed on the walls as art, but his are for studying, a much better reason, a more useful reason.
I return to him and his breathing has slowed. I pick him up easily and hoist him over my shoulder. He appears to be slight and small but he is actually quite heavy. I can tell he has a fair amount of muscle but he doesn't display it as Ellison does, nor devote a lot of his time to cultivating it in some gym. He is naturally lucky to have the muscle mass he does.
I feel his arms dangling down my back and I go to pat his butt and stop. When I became Susan they thought me a transvestite. They were summarily confused at first as to why I didn't rape those I killed. Not all murders are about sex and they're childish to presume it. They thought me gay when I left Billy and Adam naked in the bath but I'm not. I would never rape, I'm not a monster.
Getting him to the car is easy. His car, my car. I take our car, may as well get used to driving it now. It's night and the street is almost empty. We make it back to my place in record time. I exalt in knowing what was to come next. I would absorb him and become him. Pathetic David Lash would be left behind again, this time for good. Blair would meet my other friends and know he's helping me. They were a path to becoming him.
I carry him into the old warehouse and lay him on the cold floor. I return to him moments later and bind him with chains. A bit of overkill but I can't risk him recovering and I didn't have any rope left over. I leave him where he is and retire to another shadowy part of the warehouse to watch. I want to know everything about him, if I'm to become him. I want to know how he reacts to finding himself in this predicament.
I can't tell Don Hass about this one, not if I'm to take up where Blair left off. This Blair will just have to disappear so I can slide into his place. KCDE served their purpose, and they did a wonderful job of embarrassing the Cascade PD, but no one can know he's even gone. I decided against giving a copy of the 911 call to them and left that bit of evidence for the cops alone. But Ellison knew it wasn't Susan, I don't know how. In truth it was a woman murdered years ago. I had gotten a copy, from a friend of a friend, and kept it because the sound of pure terror sounded wonderful.
They're clever bastards sometimes, these police, but I enjoyed leading them on a merry chase until they figured out the clues, the fake trails. But this one would have to remain secret. Can't have two of us, one dead and one alive.
He's stirring, fighting to wake up and I watch silently from a landing. The warehouse is dark but I can see him clear enough. He raises his head and I can only imagine the thoughts running through that quick mind as he finds the chains that hold him. He is weak from the drug and he falls back again. I go to him and pick him up again. Our friends are waiting for us, Billy, Susan and Adam.
Avoiding the broken step, rigged for uninvited guests, I take him to the chair and lay him in it carefully. I don't want to hurt him, after all he is helping me. He may not see it that way but I know better. I remember a movie I saw years ago about a serial killer, Manhunter I think it was called, based on one of Thomas Harris' books. I remember the cop that chased the poor misguided murderer. Good movie, that one. The killer also used a reporter to convey his messages to the waiting public.
The cop had said that the killer was abused badly as a child and that, as a child he cried inside for him, but as an adult someone should blow the sick fuck out of his socks. I loved that line! Mind you, Hollywood seems to love using the abused childhood line when portraying killers. Anthony told me that wasn't always a factor and I agree with him, despite my...David's childhood.
I look now into the sleeping face. My sleeping face. I want him awake so I tenderly slap his cheeks and he stirs again, shaking his head as if to clear the dregs of what must be a nightmare. Sorry, Blair, but it's real. You're really here and you're really going to die for me.
His eyes clear and he looks at me. Fear, beautiful fear. I could drown in those blue eyes. The eye colour could be a problem but I'll think about that one later. I tell him it's going to be fun being him and he shakes his head, the drug, more so than the gag, preventing him from replying. I wished it hadn't been necessary to use the drug, his attractive quickness muted by its effects.
I introduce him to the others. I sleep here surrounded by my friends and now Blair can be added to their number. I tell him how Adam didn't put up much of a fight because he was stoned, but being in a wheelchair helped. I don't care who I take. All are equal in my eyes, the disabled are prey just as much as the able-bodied, it's society that pigeonholes them as helpless. Adam actually put up a pretty good fight, considering he was off his face when I came for him.
Billy was a trusting fool. He was happy to take me as friend, especially when he saw the dope I had on offer. He followed me home, with the promise of more and then he was mine. Susan was a bit harder to get near because she had that natural wariness that all women possess when alone and a man approaches. She and Blair were the only ones I had to really thump into submission.
I have Billy's drumsticks and I slide them down Blair's face, delighting in the fear which I can almost taste. He moves his head from side to side in a silly attempt to pull away from me and I dig them into his face cruelly. I berate myself for that, I'm not normally cruel but I can see he's going to defy me. I can see the fear is giving way to anger and that will make him harder to handle.
I try to frighten him but know it's effect is waning, so I check on his restraints just in case. He's screaming at me and I remove the gag. He calls me a headcase. Oh, really? On what psychological basis do you form that, then? How many years of university learning all there is about the human condition and that's the best you can come up with?
I scream his words back at him and can the realisation hit him. He knows he's far from help when I can let him scream and even scream with him. I ask him if he's ready to die and he tries to pull his face from my grip. My mother used to give me hot baths and I now know she was only trying to help me. I was unclean and she hoped to scrape away at the surface and reveal the true child beneath. Sometimes I forget that.
I put my wig on and ask his opinion. He tells me I suck. He can lapse into such a limited vocabulary when he wants to. I am not insulted and smile at him. I can indulge him, after all he will be dead soon and that's the greatest sacrifice someone can make for another.
He thinks I can't be like him. Who the hell is Mrs Danbrush and who gives a fuck about her tree? Does any of his friends know about that one? I doubt it ever came up in conversation.
But he's taunting me now. He does know a lot about me, about my brother and mother. Homer. He knows about Homer, my god, *I'd* even forgotten the name of that duck. They must have spoken to someone about that. My confidence is shaken for a moment but I steel myself and decide to kill him now, before he can delve deeper. I prepare some more of the mixture to give to him as I'm rapidly tiring of his abuse.
Yes, I'm sure you would have grown up differently if your mother had hated you. She tried to get me clean but it was her that wanted cleaning. I go to him and hold his nose shut to make him drink. He splutters but some of it does make its way down his throat. That'll shut the little shit up....
Ellison.
I don't know how, but he's found us. The gun is large and threatening in his hand and it's pointed straight at me. But, I'm Blair....
He looks at me stunned. Go on, pick the real one. Like one of those bad Star Trek episodes. No, Spock, I'm the real Captain Kirk, shoot him! I love it. But his expression betrays that he knows it's me. I'll kill him for that. How does he know this weakling in the chair is his Blair? Is he a dog or something that he catalogues how his partner smells?
Damn, he's wrecked everything. But, better to find out now that I couldn't pull off being Blair, than later in a precinct full of cops.
I'm still leaning on Blair, can feel his chest rising in an attempt to breath and spit out the mixture. Too late, kid, you've taken enough in. I watch Ellison descend the stairs and wait for him to put his weight on that one step....
He's down. I try for his gun but the long arms have reached for me and we destroy Adam's shrine in our struggle. He's strong, maybe stronger than me. But, my ambition to be other than what I am will be far stronger than his desire to save his little friend....
It hurts when he drags me through the glass wall. We fall floors, the rotting wood not enough to stop our drop. I land on top of him and we slide to the floor. I'm winded but know that I can't stay quiescent for long, he'd be on me and then it would all be over. The next few seconds pass quickly and we trade blows. He has a second gun in the back of his jeans and I know I have to get it from him.
I lost my long, curly hair in the fight and that infuriates me. I *was* him and now this great hulking bastard has reduced me back to what I was, who I was. I don't want to be him! He is ugly and unloved. Kill you. Kill....
Pain. I run to him to smash his head in but I am stopped by pain. I've been shot. Small slivers of pain radiate from the holes and spread through me until they are like a blanket covering me. I think I'm falling, but I can't be stopped like this, can I? I feel very warm. I look at him, at his eyes, at his gun.
Don't....
Finis