extrasprinkles | Heavy Downpour 8U

Heavy Downpour 8U

WHO Murphy Pendleton (

keyrack) and Agent Norman Jayden (

nahmanjayden)
WHAT While closing the files for the Origami Killer case, Norman Jayden begins to suspect that a boy named Charlie Pendleton was the Origami Killer's first victim, and goes to Maine to speak to his father about his son's technically unsolved murder.
WHEN Some time after the Origami Killer case is closed, and after Murphy escapes from Silent Hill and Sewell goes to prison.
WHERE Murphy's garage

Murphy loved working with his hands. The feeling of the tangible things like metal and tools under his fingers reminded him that he was alive, that the world was still concrete and that he had not faded into nothingness in that horrible town. And so, it made perfect sense to him to rent a small garage after he was able to come out of hiding, after Sewell was convicted for what happened to Frank. The thought of going back to Boston was tempting, but there were too many memories. It was really on a whim that he ended up settling down in Maine, where his only real friend was. Officer Cunningham was the only person he interacted with much on a steady basis, and he was expecting her to come by today, so when he heard footsteps, he tightened a bolt a bit more and craned his neck so his voice would carry better from under the Impala he was working on.

"Just a second!" he called out, and then went back to the stubborn vehicle. "Under the car back here. Just be a minute." Today was a sunny day, and the light carried under the car from the open garage door; he'd wanted to let in a little light and take advantage of the good spring weather. Though occasionally the pollen made him sneeze, it was still nice to get some fresh air. It also made it easier to work with all the light that came in, and he was able to finish up with the muffler quicker than normal. Which made it so he was able to slide out on the creeper only moments after his visitor arrived.

"Sorry about that," he muttered, grabbing for a rag and wiping some of the grease from his hands. There was still some on his face and on his neck, but he had no way of knowing. "Glad you could make it. Figured maybe we could--" and that was when he looked up and saw an unfamiliar face rather than Officer Cunningham's.

Well, shit.

"Shit. I thought you were someone else. Here to pick up a car?" he was still sitting down on the creeper and he stood, tucking the grease stained rag into his pocket. For a moment he thought the man was the owner of the Chevy he'd just finished last night, but he was pretty sure the man had come in in overalls every other time he'd met him. This guy... didn't look like someone who'd bring a car to a dumpy little one-man auto shop. He was wearing a nice suit.

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The garage was dumpy indeed, and quite small. But that wasn't what mattered to Norman Jayden. What he noticed first were all the most likely places to find worthwhile evidence, and possible weapons the man standing inside could use to debilitate him if things didn't go as planned. Those were the first things he noticed, but they were irrelevant to his current objective and he knew it. It had become instinctual at this point.

Stopping a car's length away from the grease covered man; close enough to act quickly but far enough away to have time to react if the man went for one of the easily accessible potential weapons on a nearby table - again, only by instinct - he pulled his badge from the pocket of his gray suit jacket and held it up for the man to see. "I'm Agent Jayden, with the FBI. Are you Murphy Pendleton?" The guy was clearly alone here - there was nowhere in the small building that anyone could be hiding - so he was almost positive this was the right guy. Blinking to adjust his eye to the paler light, he awaited the man's response.

It was a good day, and Murphy was in a particularly good mood. And so his demeanor was rather friendly and he actually offered Norman something like a small smile as he walked just a bit closer to him, still five or so feet away, but less than a car's length now. However, the instant he saw that badge, his demeanor changed completely; his blood ran cold and his hands gave one fast, short tremor.

"Yeah," he replied to the question finally, his throat dry. "I am. Why?" his words were short, clipped, and it was all he could do to keep from backing away from this Agent Jayden. There were many reasons for nervousness on his part. His past, maybe a problem with the successful case against Sewell... the possibilities were endless and unpleasant. And then, of course, there was the fact that he'd beaten another inmate nearly to death in prison, something that had never really been investigated.

Shit.

If it was that, he resolved himself to simply make a run for it. But no, no he wouldn't and he knew it. He would simply deflate and confess to everything. He was so tired of running at this point that he never wanted to do it again. Not after those long months after Silent Hill. And so he simply watched Norman warily and wondered what he could possibly want.

Edited 2013-12-10 20:00 (UTC)

Norman took note of the man's attitude shift, recognizing it as poorly cloaked panic. It probably had something to do with his criminal past but that wasn't what Norman was interested in today. He was here on a completely different errand; one that had little to nothing to do with Mr. Pendleton's prison sentence.

"Mr. Pendleton, I'm here following up on a series of murders commonly known as the Origami Killings. Are you familiar with the case?" Of course he was. Everyone in the goddamn country knew about it at this point. It had been all over every news station and on multiple talk shows since its closing.

Of course Murphy had no idea Norman was a profiler, and so he had no clue he could tell exactly what was going through his mind when he reacted, how he could read his body language. He listened to Norman's words, and the name rang a bell. He'd been in prison at the time, but there had been talk about it, and occasionally he'd hear the news through the radio in the guard station when he walked by, stand and listen. Anything from the outside was valuable in prison, gave him a connection to something besides the cold concrete and metal of Ryall, and, he'd listened every chance.

Quite a few of those chances, he'd heard breaking news about the Origami Killer. About how the investigation was a dead end, and how there were new leads. How last he'd heard, the man had murdered seven children.

"Yeah," he responded, nodding. There was no internal panic filtering over to external shakiness this time; Murphy was not the Origami Killer. In his eyes there was nothing in the world lower and sicker than hurting a child, and a dark look crossed his face at the mere thought of what that sick bastard had done, what he'd heard on the radio. Not many details, but the children were drowned. In rainwater. "He kills kids. 'M I thinking of the right case? Been uh... out of the loop for a while. Haven't seen much of the news."

The thought of that killer made him want to throw up. He already was only making momentary, fleeting eye contact with Norman as it was, but at the thought of those victims, he had to look away from the man altogether.

Of course he was out of the loop. He had been in prison until recently, after all. "Yes, that's correct."

Although it was admittedly difficult, he managed to keep eye contact with Murphy. What he was here to talk about would no doubt be difficult for the former father and he was anticipating the worst from him. Murphy seemed like a defensive player, and probably wouldn't hesitate to lash out at the mere mention of his deceased son.

"Mr. Pendleton, I'm here because we have reason to believe the same man who killed those children in (INSERT STATE HERE) may have had something to do with your son's death in Boston several years ago."

This was always the hardest part, and Norman found it easiest just to spell it out like this. Pussyfooting around the real issue at hand wasn't going to get him anywhere, even if it did come off as harsh to the grieving relatives of the deceased.

Murphy wasn't at all sure what he was expecting to hear, when Norman started talking. But what he did hear... well... that was just about as far removed from what he thought reality was as could possibly be, and he did look up to maintain eye contact long enough to give the agent an incredulous look.

"No," he responded, shaking his head, and he turned and began pacing, shaking his head and moving his arms around in helpless, automatic gestures. "I know who killed my son. Didn't hold up in court, the charges ended up dropped. But my neighbor..." a sigh, and a shake of his head. "He was the one who did it." There was an agitation to his tone, to his posture as he walked around in circles, doubled back, paced straight lines. Anything was better than standing still. "Look, I appreciate you makin' the effort, but... it's not gonna make a difference. I already know who killed my son." He was doing his best to remain civil and not lash out at the agent. It was obvious he was just trying to help, but already he was on edge.

Nevermind, this was the hardest part.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Pendleton, but it's looking like this is the case. The MO matches up with the rest of the victims and it is looking like the work of our killer. I'd stake my life on it."

And here comes the other hard part.

"Mr. Pendleton, I'd really appreciate your cooperation on this. I'd like to ask you a few questions about what happened."

Oh dammit. Murphy had no idea what an "MO" was, but he was sure it was some sort of police term, some sort of fancy lingo to explain those sick little things that don't really make sense, and he didn't want any part of it. Another shake of his head, and his pacing became more violent. "No," he repeated, and he listened to those words, listened to Norman talk about his certainty, and that was all well and good.

Norman could stake his life on whatever he wanted. It wasn't going to appease Murphy. It wasn't going to appease a grieving father who'd found closure in the most bloody and brutal of ways and who was dangerously close to being tipped into a world where what he'd done was not putting his son's killer on the edge of death, but someone else altogether. True, Napier had been a pedophile. He deserved to die. But there was something that made Murphy feel unclean in even thinking about the fact that he may have dolled out justice where he wasn't entitled to it. He couldn't accept that.

"You can stake your life on it all you want, but I know what happened. I know." And really, the worst part was that he didn't. And didn't want to, actually. Those days after he last saw Charlie were a mystery to him, and at least for that he believed there was some mercy in the world; he hadn't had to see it. But it didn't make all this any better. And when Norman asked that question, he just snapped. Murphy had seen TV shows where parents of serial killing victims lashed out and refused to help the police, and he'd always found it strange, how someone wouldn't want to help, do all they could to find their child's killer. Now the shoe was on the other foot. Actually being here, being in that place... it was all different.

"My cooperation?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous and nothing at all like his bemused tone from earlier. "You want my cooperation? For almost a week after my boy didn't come home, I sat in a police station. I answered questions, told them everything I knew. And that didn't help Charlie. He still turned up..." he couldn't bring himself to say 'dead'. It hurt so much, having someone come here and bring all this up and remind him so abruptly of everything he'd tried so hard to forget, the life he'd lost that day his son left the world. That pain, as it often did for Murphy, channeled into anger and it came out in the form of upset and bitter words. "If you want to know everything I know, go to the Boston police. Get the files. I'm sure they got transcripts. There's nothing I can do to help Charlie now. Nothing I say is gonna bring him back, and nothing your investigation does is gonna change that!" he wasn't angry at Norman, not really.

Being angry and reacting in anger was much easier. Than hurting. Than helping. Than words that made any actual sense.

Oh boy, there it was. The reaction he'd been waiting for from the defensive Murphy Pendleton. Norman resisted the urge to back away from the man as he became enraged. There was no use in making himself look like a timid little mouse. No, this man wasn't going to hurt him. So he stood his ground, staring into the man's eyes with stern ones.

"Mr. Pendleton, I know this is difficult, but..." Okay, the truth was coming out on its own. "I need your help. All my other leads have dried up and, well, you might be the last hope to save lives. Children's lives." He looked at him, sighing softly to himself and wishing he didn't have to be so damn emotionally invested in this case. "Please."

Shit, that did it. Tugging at his heart strings, even if he didn't mean to. All of that rage, the biting and bitter bile of anger that had torn out of him a moment ago dried up. What was left in its place was something hollow and broken, and out of his mouth now came no more shouted words, but a heavy sigh.

"Fine," he responded. Because saving children, children who could still fall prey to whoever this Origami Killer was, was a hell of a lot more important than Murphy's instinctive and desperate desire to distance himself from the things he'd felt when he realized he'd never hear his son's laugh again. He could put his own feelings aside and stop being such an emotional mess if it meant there was a chance it could help save someone else. With as many times as he'd let the people who mattered down, he had a lot of catching up to do. Maybe this was a start.

As if Norman pointing out that children's lives were at stake hadn't already been enough to convince him, he said please and that pleading told Murphy that unlike some cops who only wanted the glory of solving the case or the power that came along with the badge, he actually cared about these children in question. Murphy was no expert on body language, but he didn't need to be to see that. "Fine. Sorry. What d'you need to know?"

"Thank you, Mr. Pendleton." The relief was evident in his voice, and there was no way he could hide it. The confirmation given to him by ARI that the killing in Boston had indeed matched those committed by the Origami Killer, nearly to a tee, had caused a lot of issues with the current suspect. As it turned out, no, Scott Sheppard/Shelby had never been to Boston, or even Massachusetts. This meant that somehow, at some point, there was another Origami Killer.

"I didn't know where else to turn, I-" No, this was becoming unprofessional. "Mr. Pendleton, was there anything about what happened that stuck out to you? I mean, anything that seemed very odd, or strange?"

"Yeah," he responded dismissively at the thanks. Murphy was not very apt at accepting gratitude. In fact, it made him uncomfortable most of the time, the notion that he had done anything that deserved any sort of thank you in light of everything he'd done to fuck up his own life. As far as he was concerned, any 'thank you' was a disproportionate gesture and he didn't have it coming.

"Sure," he went on, realizing that his initial response might have sounded flippant. "I don't know what you mean, or what you're expecting. I don't... everything about it was strange. You expect your son to come home and... he never does. Everything about that day was strange. It's been so long... not all that clear anymore. At least not the details. There're some things you just don't forget." A shake of his head, and he tried not to let himself get sucked back into that time. "Guess I'm not being all that helpful. If there's anything specific I could tell you..." Murphy has never been the best speaker, honestly. There's also a part of him that's resisting, that doesn't want him to completely go back to that time.

It's making it difficult.

He looked down at the ground briefly before locking eyes with the ex-con once more. "There was some evidence that got overlooked in the initial investigation. Looks like there was some kind of soggy paper and some unidentified vegetation remnants. I- we," (he doesn't want to take all the credit even though he was the one who figures it out) "did an analysis and the paper was made up of the same material as was used by our killer to make the origami figures he left with his victims. And the plant... it was an orchid."

Just the scent of orchids had made him sick to his stomach ever since he worked that first scene by the railroad. Even mentioning them somehow felt wrong and he didn't go into as much detail about it as he probably should have.

"Does any of that sound, relevant? In any way?" He didn't really know how to ask that question. "I mean, did your son... did you know anybody who might... use those things? Like that?"

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[CHAPTER 2]

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