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It was raining.
Again.
There was something cleansing about the rain. As if the rush of cool moisture could wash away all that was bad, all the failures and disappointments and pains of everyday life. Something in the way the air felt once it had ceased, the fresh scent to it, or maybe it was in the way that the sun combined with the last errant drops to present a long curving kaleidoscope of color, a bright rainbow that brought a smile to the face of even the weariest of souls.
Of course...there were no rainbows to be seen at night. Only the red flash of a police car's light, the white glare of headlights from the cars parked haphazardly across the street. From his perch on the fire escape, Eric could see the dark-suited police officers milling around before the run-down hotel, seemingly without purpose...but once the doors opened and two men were borne out in handcuffs, they moved into action, efficiently bundling the two suspects into waiting cruisers. Other officers emerged from the building, carrying a pair of gym bags, and at last came a tall figure clad in a long tan overcoat, stopping to speak at length with the uniformed officers.
One by one the cluster of police cars departed and still the man in the tan coat remained on the sidewalk, head turned to watch the last car drift down the street. Once alone, he made his way across the street and to the alley where Eric waited, hunching his shoulders in his coat as he looked around the alley.
Straightening from his crouch, Eric stepped off the fire escape and landed lightly on his feet just before the man, who stumbled quickly backwards with a hissed curse. "Jesus, Draven! You scared ten years off my life!"
"Sorry." responded Eric, managing to sound a little contrite.
Glowering at him, Detective Darryl Albrecht straightened the lapels of his coat and glanced back in the direction of the hotel. "Two kilos of cocaine--not a big bust but there were some guns confiscated and one looks like a pretty damned close match for the one that killed Drake." Above them the rain started to fall heavily and Albrecht tugged the collar of his coat up in a vain attempt to cover his head, shooting Eric an irritated glance. "Let's take this inside. You might not get sick...but the last thing I need is to come down with pneumonia, with my caseload." He jerked his head towards the opening of the alley and Eric followed him back out onto the sidewalk, the two walking quietly down to a small diner two blocks away.
At Albrecht's direction, Eric slid into a red vinyl upholstered booth and once he was seated, Albrecht shed damp overcoat and tossed it over the back of the booth before sitting down as well. A waitress--an aging platinum blonde in a pink blouse and skirt--came up to their table to take their order, heaving a sigh when Albrecht ordered only coffee, her eyes rolling to the bar where a pair of old men sat drinking their coffee and then back to fix them with an accusing look. Albrecht merely smiled in response and she flounced off to fetch a coffee pot, standing before the table with pot in hand, waiting for him to turn coffe cup upright. With an exaggerated flourish, Albrecht set it on the table and the waitress sloshed coffee into his cup, turning away to stalk back towards the kitchen even as he started to ask for cream.
Sighing, Albrecht rose from the booth and walked to the long bar, snagging a handful of creamers. Returning he sank down onto the padded bench, dumping a packet of cream in his coffee along with three sugars and stirring it with a spoon. Taking a sip from his coffee, he focused on Eric sitting patiently across from him, arms folded on the table between them, damp hair straggling across his forehead and hanging down into dark eyes. Eyes that looked no less lost now than they did when Albrecht had found him lying sprawled on the floor of Balsam's mansion, rousing at Albrecht's touch to whisper that Shelly was gone...
"I was kinda surprised when you called. It's been weeks since I heard from you, man." No response from Eric, not even a blink, and Albrecht idly stirred his coffee, watching the younger man intently. "Even went by your place and you weren't there..."
Eric lowered his gaze to the table top, a wing of dark hair spilling forward to shield him from Albrecht's scrutiny, and traced a hairline crack in the table's surface with one finger. "Haven't been there lately..." he said softly. Truth of it was that he hadn't gone back there since he and Shelly had fled it, running from the Crow. It had always held so many memories of her, of their time together, memories that were painful and bittersweet...but now it held an even starker memory. The memory of the night they had spent together...and the knowledge that Shelly had come back to him...only to say goodbye. Alone again...like he had been for so long before he'd met Shelly...and wishing that the Crow had indeed killed him. Wouldn't be here...he'd be with Shelly.
"Hey." A hand laid over his and Eric looked up in surprise at Albrecth, his throat tightening at seeing the compassion in the older man's eyes. "I'm not going to tell you that I know what you're feeling. I'm not going to tell you that it'll get better in time. But if you want to talk...I'm here, Eric."
Eric managed a small smile. "Thanks." Felt the knot in his throat loosen a little--it was too soon, it still hurt too much, to know that he was completely seperated from Shelly after all they had endured, but he appreciated the offer more than Albrecht knew. Other than his brother Chris, he'd been close to only a very few people before he met Shelly--hard to grow close to people when you spent your childhood bouncing from foster home to foster home...and then juvie hall.
"So...how are things with you and...your...uhh...friend?" asked Albrecht, stumbling a little over the question. Not sure how to phrase it--before, when Eric had spoken of the Crow, it had been like he'd seen it as a seperate personality taking over his body, and Albrecht had always scoffed at that idea...until he'd actually come up face to face with the Crow. He'd always known there was something a little...off when Eric went into Crow mode..but it'd never clicked for him till then. Till he'd looked into those dark eyes glittering with madness and rage and seen nothing at all of Eric.
"We're...co-habitating." A slight grimace twisted Eric's expressive features, his eyes lifting briefly to meet Albrecht's before skittering away, a shiver going through his slim form that had nothing to do with the cold. He'd been keeping a very tight rein on the Crow and himself, hadn't tapped into it once...not until he'd passed through a park and sat down on the bench, touching the smooth wood...and seeing the murder of the police officer. As well as the faces of the ones that had killed him. The Crow had risen in him, wanting to go in pursuit, to punish the guilty, but he'd managed to throttle it down...barely. Had passed the knowledge onto Albrecht...when before, he would have gone after the killlers...
Albrecht suppressed a sigh, running a hand over his chin. Wished he knew what to say...but hard to commiserate with Eric when he still had a hard time accepting--much less *understanding*--this whole coming-back-from-the-dead thing. A man in a black leather coat drifted past their booth, Albrecht glancing briefly at him and then away, to focus once more on Eric, leaning forward a little and lowering his voice.
"Look, that...psychic thing you do--I wouldn't ask you to do it if it wasn't--" The man in the leather coat turned and something in his eyes set off an internal radar, something like nervous excitement. Albrecht was half up, hand going for his gun, when he felt the blow to his chest, the force of it sending him to sprawl on the floor, half on his back, half on his side. Like getting kicked by a mule, he thought muzzily...though of course he wouldn't really know what it was like to be kicked by a mule. Closest he'd ever been to a mule was in a petting zoo when he was a kid--damned stupid thing to be thinking about, when he was lying here gasping on the floor, not even able to reach his gun as a shadow loomed over him--
As the man aimed for a second shot, Eric struck him broadside, hurling him into the counter to fall in a boneless heap to the floor. Even as the man fell, Eric dropped down to his knees beside Albrecht, laying hands over the hole in him flowing blood, lurid scarlet in the bright light of the diner. From the kitchen came a shouted exclamation and he lifted his head to meet the shocked eyes of the waitress.
"Call 911!" he snarled.
Nodding, she stumbled back behind the counter and Eric turned his attention back to Albrecht, tearing his eyes away from the blood that leaked between his fingers with an effort. Albrecht smiled up at him, eyes glassy with shock and pain, and slurred, ""S not that bad..." A hand lifted as if touch Eric and then fell to his side, Albrecht's eyes fluttering closed. Clamping hand tightly over the wound, Eric laid a trembling hand on Albrecht's throat to feel for a pulse and relief swept through him at finding it.
"Hang in there..." Eric looked sideways to see Albrecht's attacker still slumped against the counter and then turned back to Albrecht, pressing down in a vain attempt to stop the bleeding.
* * * * *
An ambulance arrived in just under five minutes to whisk Albrecht away, two patrol cars hot on its heels to take the shooter into custody. Within half an hour there were a dozen cops moving through the diner, taking statements from the handful of patrons and the staff. Detective Jessica Capshaw was among of the responding detectives, arriving just after the ambulance had departed, her keen gaze focusing almost immediately on Eric. With a nod of her head to the door, she led the way out of the diner and out into the night, stopping beneath the meager shelter of the canvas overhang.
"What happened?" she asked tersely, folding arms over her chest and fixing him with a penetrating look.
"He walked in...and he shot Albrecht." responded Eric, equally as terse. His gaze went to the patrol car parked at the curb and the man that sat in the back of it, fury and pain rising sharply in him, suddenly as eager as the Crow to do some damage to the man that might have killed Albrecht. From the grim expressions of the ambulance attendants, it hadn't looked good... "I want a minute alone with him."
"You...*want*?" echoed Capshaw with an incredulous laugh, looking as well at the suspect, who seemed supremely unconcerned. She shifted her gaze back to Draven
and caught her breath at seeing the anger and pain in his eyes. An anger and pain that she was sharing... "I can't--"
"I'm not going to hurt him. I just want to...talk to him."
In the light cast from a street lamp, Draven's features took on an oddly pale cast, lips peeling back from white teeth in a feral grin, and despite herself Capshaw took a step back, pulse quickening. For a moment there...he looked like someone else entirely... someone not at all sane...but the moment passed and there was only anguish in his eyes and a mute entreaty...
Drawing in a deep breath, Capshaw shot a glance over her shoulder at the interior of the diner and reached out to take Draven's arm, pulling him over to the car. Nodding to the officer standing guard, she opened the door and muttered to Draven, "Not even a minute, okay?" And shut the door as Draven slid in beside the suspect.
The man turned on the seat to give Eric a wary look, moving as much back from him
as he could in the confines of the back seat. "Why did you shoot him?" asked Eric, keeping his voice calm with an effort. Trying hard to resist the impulse to grab the man by the shoulders of his leather coat and beat his head against the window until he talked--there was a more effective way of finding out that information...even if it wasn't as satisfying...
"Why? Because I got paid to." responded the man with a smirk. "And he's a cop...so that makes it more...fun."
Fun...he seethed at the man's smirk, fingers curling into fists, and could feel the Crow battering at its cage, wanting to be let out. Wanting to do what Eric would never do himself... "Who paid you?" he said through his teeth.
The man looked out the other window, his posture relaxed now, even bored, and Eric reached out to grasp one shoulder and turn him, clapping hands on his head. "Who paid you?" he hissed, opening himself to the visions that came.
::A spacious room, its furnishings expensive and tasteful, a man sitting behind a desk, black leather chair turned sideways to show only a profile. A pair of men flanking him, their posture identifying them as bodyguards, and the shooter standing before the desk, along with three others.
"Detective Darryl Albrecht of the Port Columbia, Washington police department. Fifty thousand to the one that kills him." Chair turning away, shielding the man, and his flunkies passing out photos of Albrecht... ::
Eric released the man and he slumped back against the door, eyes very wide with horror and fear as he stared at Eric. "What the hell are you?" he rasped.
"Someone you do *not* want to mess with." said Eric tightly. "Who hired you?" The man shook his head, cowering back as Eric grasped a handful of his shirt, and behind him someone rapped on the glass. Looking back over his shoulder, Eric saw Capshaw standing on the other side of the window, giving him a firm shake of her head, and he looked back to the man, leaning forward to hiss, "Where?"
"Chicago..." said the man, visibly trembling, and shook his head as Eric lifted a balled fist, as if to strike him. "No way I'm telling you more than that. I tell you his name, I'm dead."
Another rap on the window and Capshaw called through it, "Draven!"
Reluctantly, Eric loosened his grip on the other man's shirt and slid back across the seat as Capshaw opened the door. Stepping out onto the pavement, he looked back into the car at the man sitting there, as the man turned to face him. "I'm not the only one he sent. Your friend is dead!"
"Shut up." snapped Capshaw, slamming the door, and turned to face Draven...only to find him gone.
* * * * *
Not the only one he sent...
The words kept circling through Eric's mind as he hovered around the hospital, seeking some kind of word on Albrecht's condition. With the shooting, the department had seen to it personally that the security in the ICU ward was very tight, no one allowed entrance that did not belong there. From an overheard conversation in the cafeteria, he'd gleaned that Albrecht had made it through the surgery but was listed in critical condition.
Giving up on the idea of being able to see him, he fled into the streets, away from the disturbing psychic maelstorm of the hospital, the streets quiet at that hour in the morning. But his mind not quiet at all as it reviewed the shooting--Albrecht coming up out of his seat, the man pointing the gun and shooting, scarlet blossoming on Albrecht's white shirt, and all he'd done was sit there frozen. Should have acted sooner, should have stopped the man...
He halted in mid-stride, fist lashing out to connect hard with the cement wall of the apartment building he passed, hard enough to put a dent into it, and a soft gasp drew his attention to the couple that passed him. A girl the one who gasped, ducking against her date, the young man sliding a protective arm around her as he shot Eric an uneasy glance, the two hurrying down the sidewalk. Staring down at cut knuckles, Eric watched as the flesh healed itself before his eyes, lacerated skin drawing back together and leaving only a faint sheen of ash in its wake. Wiping the back of his hand off on his pants, he drew in a shaky breath to calm himself, tilting his head up and closing his eyes.
He couldn't get near Albrecht here to protect him--there were cops to do that. So...his best bet to help Albrecht would be to go to the source. To find the man that had ordered his death...and do whatever it took to make sure that the contract was cancelled. With that kind of incentive, there would be others trying to take out Albrecht and as long as the man that offered the contract lived, there would be someone willing to accept it.
His mind skittered away from the possibility that another's death would be the only way to save Albrecht. Didn't have to kill him...there had to be a way to take the man down without killing him. Some way...and he would find it. He *had* to find it.
Resolutely he turned and headed for the one person that might be able to help him.
* * * * *
Tugging the bathrobe closed, Shea yawned hugely as she went to her front door, one fist rubbing at her eyes as she walked. 4:38 in the morning and whoever it was trying to knock in her door, they'd better have a damned good story--she'd been at the Blackout till 1:38, sorting through the night's receipts and cursing the flake of a closing manager who'd failed to show up. Running a hand through rumpled blond hair, she stopped at the door and peered through the peephole, her eyes taking a moment to focus properly so that she could see it was Eric standing on the other side of the door.
Frowning, she undid the chain and pulled the door open, blinking blearily at the figure that stood on the other side of her door. "Eric? What's wrong?" she asked sleepily.
"Sorry to wake you up...but I need a favor. A big favor."
Shaking her head a little to clear it, Shea stepped back and motioned for him to enter, yawning again. "A favor...?"
Eric nodded. "I need to get to Chicago...and I don't have the money to get there." There was no one else he knew that might have the money--he himself was making enough to pay the rent and that was it. Since he didn't have to worry about eating or other mundane matters, he hadn't bothered to take more work than was necessary...and so there was nothing left over.
"Chicago...?" Shea rubbed her eyes and made an effort to concentrate. Eric showing up on her doorstep was odd enough--wanting money to get to Chicago was even odder. Something very bad had to be going on... "Are you in trouble?" she asked uncertainly. Remembering the trial that she hadn't attended, not even giving him the emotional support he needed, and feeling a pang of guilt. At the time that he'd needed friends around him, she'd been gone--
"Friend of mine is in trouble. I wouldn't ask but..." Eric trailed off, unable to meet her eyes.
"It's okay." She patted him on the shoulder and went to grab her purse, carrying it with her to the couch and setting it down on the coffee table. As she dialed the number for the local airport, she dug through her wallet for her credit card.
"I'll pay you back..."
Shea gave him a shake of her head. "Don't worry about it. I think I owe you at least one--hi, yes, what's the next flight going out to Chicago? 6:30 AM? Okay, yeah, I'd like to book a seat. Round trip...but I need to leave the return date open. I'd like to charge it to my card..." Rattling off the number of her card, she waited for confirmation and nodded to Eric, a small smile curving her lips. "Thanks. Can you put it in the name Eric Draven?Thanks." Hanging up the phone, she tucked her credit card back into the wallet and rose from the couch. "You're set. 6:30 AM flight to Chicago. Need a ride to the airport?"
Eric managed a smile. "If it's not too much trouble..." As she rose from the couch, he gave her a quick hug. "I appreciate this."
"No problem." Shea returned the hug, breaking off the embrace with a sigh. It was true what they said, all the good guys were either married or gay... "Well, I guess I better get dressed if I'm going to drive you--if you could make some coffee, that would be great. I might actually make it to the airport without crashing..." she tossed over her shoulder as she strode back into the bedroom, casting her bed a longing glance. It was going to be a long day...
* * * * *
The flight's takeoff had been delayed and then there was an hour's stopover in Salt Lake City before it continued on to Chicago, arriving at O'Hare at 1:47 PM. Eric chafed at the delays, anxious to arrive and set to finding the man that had ordered Albrecht's death, ignoring the little voice of reason in his head that told him to take it slow. And reminded him that unlike Port Columbia, he knew absolutely no one in Chicago...and that it was a *big* city...as he'd seen looking out the window during their approach.
O'Hare was much bigger than the airport he had departed from, bustling with activity even at this time of the day, and once he'd disembarked from the plane, Eric stood still for a moment to take it in. All the people hurrying here and there, mothers dragging along crying children, businessmen with cellular phones tucked between shoulder and ear as they carried luggage, tourists here and there chatting in a bewildering variety of tongues,
families saying their goodbyes to loved ones with much hugging and kissing. A sea of humanity, pressing in on him, just too many people--
Something bumped into the back of his leg and he turned his head, looking down to see a dog standing behind him, head lifted to regard him curiously. Not a dog, Eric realized as he studied the animal, but a wolf, a white wolf with a streak of light brown running across its fur, its eyes showing a startling intelligence. It whined softly at him and Eric knelt beside the wolf, extending a hand to be sniffed. The wolf gave his hand a lick of its tongue and allowed itself to be petted, tongue lolling as it sank back onto its haunches.
"Diefenbaker!"
At the call, the wolf's head turned and it pulled away to trot over to the approaching figure. Clad in a bright red uniform jacket and black pants tucked into boots of a more subdued red, a Stetson set firmly on his head, he cut a striking figure, handsome features open and guileless, walking with a confident stride as he came up to the wolf. The wolf sank down once more onto its haunches, looking up at the man, and the man bent at the waist to address the wolf, his tone stern.
"You really do need to work on your manners, you know that, don't you?" The wolf whined and stretched out on the floor, laying its head on its paws and looking woefully up at the man in red. With a heavy sigh, the man turned his attention to Eric and extended his hand. "Hello. Constable Benton Fraser of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police."
Automatically Eric took his hand and shook it. "Eric Draven."
"Pleased to meet you." said Fraser with a friendly smile.
Scratching his head, Eric looked from the wolf and then up at the constable. "What's a Mountie doing in Chicago?" Of course, for all he knew, they were all over the place--hell, the only Mounties he'd ever seen had been on that Dudley Doright show he'd watched as a kid...
"Well, I originally came to Chicago on the trail of my father's killers and for reasons that don't require exploration at this point in time, I'm now attached as a liaison to the Canadian consulate here in Chicago." Eric blinked at the rapid flow of information and Fraser laid a hand briefly on the head of the wolf. "This is Diefenbaker."
"Uhhh...hi." Eric smiled wanly at the wolf.
"What brings you to Chicago, Eric? That is, if you don't mind my asking..." added Fraser with a quick apologetic smile at his own forthrightness.
"I'm...looking for someone." said Eric evasively, looking away from Fraser's bright inquisitive gaze and finding that focusing on the wolf was not much help, for the animal regarded him with the same curiosity as its owner.
"Well, then, perhaps I can be of assistance." As Eric gave a little shake of his head, still not meeting Fraser's eyes, the Mountie said softly, "Chicago is a big city." No condescencion or irony in his voice, just the plain statement of a simple fact, as if he himself had once been as overwhelmed at the scope of Chicago as Eric was now. Again Eric shook his head, edging back and away from the Mountie and the wolf. Other than Albrecht he'd had little in the way of good experiences with cops...and even Albrecht had given him grief at first...
"Yo, Fraser! Let's get a move on!"
Behind Fraser came a man just a few inches shorter than he, thinning dark hair slicked back, clad in a black pinstripe suit, snapping his fingers as he came up beside Fraser. Dynamic where Fraser was static, all but vibrating with nervous energy, his dark eyes penetrating as they swept over Eric, sharp features carrying a stamp of cynicism that
Fraser lacked.
"Detective Ray Vecchio, Eric Draven." said Fraser in introduction.
"Yeah, charmed, I'm sure." responded Vecchio, giving Fraser a look of mild irritation. "This ain't a taxi service, Benny. Let's go." He jerked his thumb in the direction of the exit and started forward.
Fraser moved smoothly to intercept him, laying an arm across his shoulders to turn him, and Vecchio heaved a sigh as he allowed himself to be turned, rolling his eyes at the Mountie. "Eric is new to Chicago. Surely we could take the time to drive him to a hotel...or wherever he might be staying. That wouldn't be too much trouble, would it, Ray?"
Heaving another sigh, Vecchio shoved Fraser's arm away from his shoulders and stalked away, throwing up his hands. "Sure! And hey, maybe while we're at it, we can stop and get him some lunch or something."
"Well, if he's hungry--would you care for lunch, Eric?" added Fraser politely, seemingly oblivious of his friend's irritation. Mutely Eric shook his head, letting himself be drawn into their wake, more than a little bemused at all this attention. Somehow he got the feeling that this odd Mountie would be very hard to shake...
end of part one