Redux Who: Noah/NPC What: Confrontation Where: Las Vegas When: Present Ratings/Warnings: Violence, Bloodshed, Language, Etc.
Doherty’s office door was usually closed. The former second bedroom was tiny, a little larger than a walk-in closet. There was a small desk, cheap wood if it was even made of wood at all. A battered laptop computer, office-issued, sat on top of it among scattered papers and a half-empty bottle of something with the label torn off. There was a dorm room-style cork board hung on the wall with push pins in the center of various family photographs. Those had been newly tacked up.
He had sent Noah a text telling him his address and what time to meet him there. He wrote that he had found the perpetrator behind his family’s deaths, and wanted his input over a drink. Doherty hoped that was enough incentive to get the younger man over to his apartment. The solution that Jonas had mixed for him was waiting on his kitchen counter, near a bottle of more expensive vodka and some glasses. The police officer was as ready as he would ever be.
Noah had received the text, though didn’t answer for a couple of hours despite having read it immediately. He decided he had probably been toying with Doherty for long enough. He got behind the wheel of his Audi, contemplating about how he would kill the older man, which method to use. A fire seemed too obvious, too much of a redux. The pyrokinetic was capable of something much more inventive of that. He smiled to himself as he started the engine, catching his own eye in the rearview mirror.
The vehicle navigated the streets of Las Vegas smoothly and quietly, as sleek as a cat in the dark. His mind strayed to curiosity, wondering what Doherty had meant when he said he had found who killed his family. Since Noah didn’t believe that the police officer could catch so much as a cold in a snowstorm, he was relatively confident he wasn’t referring to the pyrokinetic. There was a small part of him that had wanted to be found out. Noah had even provided some semi-solid leads to the man as part of his ruse of Micah, the hapless criminal informant. Why, he wasn’t sure. Maybe for the drama.
Doherty had settled himself on his couch, his New York couch in his Las Vegas apartment. It had been a piece of house furniture, so it was too large, too dominating in the smaller room. It was comfortable and broken in, though, even if it did sort of sink in the middle no matter how often he flipped the cushions. The idea of letting a killer into his place, his home, made him sick to his stomach, but the retribution that he knew would follow strengthened his resolve. He was going to take away the one thing Noah loved. The officer couldn’t think of anything more fitting than that.
He checked the time on his wristwatch, the one Graham had given him after he graduated from the academy. The gold was scuffed and dulled in some places, but the damn thing still worked. It reminded Doherty a lot of himself. Though, he supposed, some could argue that his mental capacities were beginning to slip, to think of a plan like this instead of just turning Noah over to the system that he himself swore to uphold. But those were thoughts that could be ruminated over later.
The pyrokinetic parked a few blocks away from Doherty’s building on a quiet side street. He didn’t activate the alarm in case it went off and caught someone’s attention. As he walked, he kept his head down, a dark colored baseball cap concealing his hair and the top part of his face from cameras. Noah could have been anyone. It usually wasn’t his physical characteristics that others described, but rather the way he made them feel in his presence. He was aware of that.
The apartment building had external entrances, motel-like, so he wouldn’t have to go through a lobby or an elevator, where there was likely to be security cameras. He knew Doherty had a gun, possibly more, but for some reason Noah couldn’t bring himself to be concerned about that. The element of surprise was an advantage. He climbed the rickety wooden steps to the third floor. On the landing outside Doherty’s door, the pyrokinetic pressed a palm against the railing, testing its give. It seemed like the force of a 200 pound man could easily make it splinter and give way, but the height was an iffy variable as far as fatality went.
He wrapped his hand into a fist and knocked firmly on the door.
The knocking rang in Doherty’s ears. He was slightly inebriated. He hadn’t meant to be. His intention was to be sharp, his wits honed to deal with Noah. But he couldn’t seem to help himself. Weak-willed. He needed to be more like the killer. The springs in the couch protested as the police officer got to his feet. He had been a football player in high school and college, sidelined by an injury that was a blessing in disguise. He had kept up the sport because his father pushed him, and was glad for the excuse to quit. Truth be told, he was always going to end up going to seed.
Weak-willed. His ex definitely would have agreed.
The door opened to Noah standing there, the baseball cap removed and stuffed into a pocket, his hair falling past his chin in its usual style. “Hey, man, sorry I didn’t answer you right away,” he lied. “It was a late one last night.” His eyes swept past Doherty’s broad shoulder into the apartment. It was so ordinary. He wasn’t sure what else he had been expecting.
“Thanks for coming, at any rate,” Doherty forced out. He swung the door open wider. “Come on in.” He went quickly to the kitchen and poured the jar from Jonas into a cocktail shaker before Noah could spot it, and tossed the empty into the garbage can. “I’m making drinks. Do you want one?” he called out over his shoulder.
“Please,” Noah replied, drifting into the living room area. His appraising gaze took in the worn sofa. It took up most of the room. An older model flatscreen television sat on a console. There were framed photos on the wall of an obviously younger Doherty. One featured him and a quietly pretty woman in what looked like Hawaii, flowery leis draped over their necks. There was dust on the tops of the frames. There was a bookshelf with books on true crime, some paperback fantasy novels, sci-fi looking stuff. A signed Yankees ball sat in a plastic cube.
Doherty left the kitchen, two glasses in his hands, watching Noah look at his belongings like a gawker in a zoo. A fresh wave of anger surfaced, rippling through him. It only served to strengthen his resolve. He held out the drink in his left hand. “Here you go,” he offered. “Special recipe. I hope you like it.” Despite the anger, there was also a strange thrill that made his skin prickle. He wanted to see what happened next.
The younger man accepted the drink with a quiet ‘thank you.’ He still hadn’t decided how he was going to dispatch with the police officer, but the night was still young. Besides, he was curious…”What did you mean, when you said you found the person responsible?” Noah took a sip of the drink, pausing for a moment. At first, it was hard to discern what it was, before placing the familiar sting of vodka. There was something different about it, though. Interesting. He suddenly felt parched.
“Follow me,” Doherty replied cryptically. He led the way, passing his bedroom door which was closed, the small bathroom, and finally his office at the end. That door was open wide, and he entered the room, breathing deeply before sipping his own plain vodka. He wondered how quickly the solution would take effect. Noah looked like a drinker. He definitely wasn’t nursing the thing. He pointed to the corkboard. Graham, Julie, Todd, and Brody. Next to pictures of them were photos of the damage. “That’s them. I don’t think I ever showed you.”
The pyrokinetic’s glass was already half empty. He was drawn to the corkboard like a magnet. It reminded him of Graham Doherty’s office. The obsessiveness. The organization. Noah remembered the way the younger soon stood at the threshold, curious but scared. Sometimes, people just needed a push to be who they really were. He had learned that a long time ago. A childhood of restraints and quiet rooms changed one’s perspective permanently. One had to take what they wanted, or else someone else would take it from them.
“Beautiful family,” he murmured, even as his eyes were glued to the pictures of the smoldering wreckage. He so rarely got to revisit the scene of a crime. It called out to him, but he resisted. That’s how a lot of people got caught, after all.
“They were,” Doherty agreed, and he set the glass of liquor on his desk. No coaster, too cheap to care about leaving rings on the surface. He thought it gave the furniture character, anyway. “I was never meant to have kids, that’s something I knew from a young age,” he told Noah, coming to stand next to the shorter man, his own gaze on the photos. “I loved those boys like they were my own, though.” And then, unexpectedly, he chuckled. “Graham was another story. You could love him and hate him and want to be his worst enemy in less than an hour. Always popular. Always in his shadow.”
Noah drained the contents of his glass, and considered asking for another. Instead, he studied the picture of Rob’s older brother, like studying an enigmatic painting in a museum or gallery. “It isn’t so bad to be in the shadows,” he remarked. “When they’re gone, the light is very bright.” He fought a smirk, glancing sideways at Doherty’s face.
Doherty swallowed, staring straight ahead. He was annoyed that Noah was right. There was a certain comfort in being the younger son, the younger brother. There was less focus on him and his accomplishments, or lack thereof. When that was taken away, he couldn’t handle it. “How are you feeling, Noah?”
The pyrokinetic froze. There was a strange whooshing sound in his ears, like he had just suddenly plunged underwater, so he wasn’t quite sure if he had heard correctly. “What did you call me?”
The officer turned to face the younger man. “I said, how are you feeling, Tim?”
A wave of nausea overtook him, and he leaned against the wall. The plastic ends of push pins dug into his back. His hands went numb, and the glass fell to the floor but didn’t break. “What did you do?” But Noah knew. “What drug is this?”
“I don’t know, Noah. What did you put in their drinks? Maybe it’s the same thing.” He took a step away from the other man, heeding Jonas’ warning. “We can compare notes.” His disdain was open now, and it felt good not to hide it. It could flow out of him. He watched, pleased, as the look of realization dawned on Noah’s face.
“I’m going to kill you.” Noah let himself sink to the floor, which didn’t exactly give those words the weight they needed to be effective. This was not his first time being drugged, though those had been antipsychotics injected by orderlies and he had been about two decades younger. That was part of the humiliation of it, knowing he couldn’t fight it but trying anyway. At least what he had given Doherty’s family just made them fall asleep.
Doherty sat down in his creaky office chair and grabbed the half-empty bottle next to his laptop. He screwed open the top and took a drink, making a face at the burn. “And how are you going to do that, Noah? Are you gonna burn this place down?” He spun a little in the chair, almost playfully. “Go on, try. I want to see what you can do.”
Noah felt a pit of dread open up inside him. Because he had been trying the entire time. Nothingness. Fear was creeping in, mostly foreign and all-consuming. He looked down at his hands, now just normal hands. He couldn’t let himself wonder if this was temporary or permanent. Not just then. “How does it feel?” he asked quietly.
“To lose everything?” Doherty asked, setting the bottle down.
“To be me,” Noah countered, looking up again. He used the wall to get back onto his feet, slowly. His head was fine now, clear. It was the lack of fire that was throwing him off. But he had killed without it before, and he could do it now. He just needed a plan. And he needed Doherty to feel secure. “You’re in control now. What are you going to do with it?”
He put the cap back onto the liquor bottle. “You know, I’m not sure. I said I didn’t want to kill you, that I wanted you to feel this. But now I’m looking at you and…” Doherty chuckled and shook his head. “You still really piss me off. Maybe I’ll turn you in. I don’t know.”
“If you turn me in, I’ll tell them you put something in my drink. That you’re obsessive, out of your mind.” Noah shrugged, staring at Doherty with dark, impassive eyes. “Anyone who’s met you in the past ten years would believe it in a second. You’re unhinged.”
“Hm. Maybe you’re right,” Doherty remarked, leaning back in the office chair. He crossed his arms, regarded Noah carefully, not taking his eyes off of him. “Maybe I’ll just kill you, then. I mean, it’s not like anyone would fucking miss you.” He grinned. “Is there anyone in this world that gives a shit about you? That would go looking for you if you went missing? I’m thinking…no.”
Noah’s gaze dropped to the floor. “No,” he agreed. “I doubt anyone would care very much.” And then he lunged at the larger man, his hands landing on either side of his shoulders so that the chair knocked backward. They clattered to the floor, the pyrokinetic on top. He got his hands around the officer’s throat, but there was too much space between them and Doherty brought his knee up, catching Noah square in the gut. He rolled over, breathless, and a punch landed on the side of his jaw.
Doherty wrung his fist out, swearing. “You’re gonna try to choke me?” He aimed another blow at Noah, but the younger man caught his arm and pushed him away. He got onto his knees and caught the cop right in the nose with his elbow. He used the distraction of pain to get back on top of Rob, and this time he grabbed the man’s head in his hands and slammed it down on the floor. He repeated this twice, three times.
Someone downstairs banged on the ceiling with what sounded like a broomstick. Noah didn’t let up, even as Doherty’s eyes became dazed and sightless and his arms fell slack at his sides. All he could feel was rage. His power was gone. His gift was gone. There was no sanitizing this crime scene or making it look like anything other than a bludgeoning.
Once he was sure Doherty was dead, Noah stood up on unsteady feet. There was a pool of blood on the hardwood floor. A neighbor had heard the commotion. He needed to leave. Luckily, his prints weren’t on file. There was blood on him. He walked quickly to Doherty’s bedroom and flung the door open. There was a small closet. He found a zip up sweater and put it on over his own clothes, put the baseball cap back on and the hood over that.
He exited the apartment and hustled down the wooden stairs, almost slipping toward the bottom and catching himself. He was out of sorts. Noah needed to get a hold of himself. He traversed the distance back to the car with his head down, bloodied hands stuffed into his pockets. Once he was behind the wheel, he relaxed, but only slightly.
Noah closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the headrest. He needed to figure out where to go next. What to do next. The pyrokinetic popped open his glove box and pulled out a cell phone. There was only one number in the contacts. He composed a brief message and hit send.