Murphy Pendleton (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
keyrack) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
extrasprinkles2013-12-10 11:15 am
keyrack) wrote in extrasprinkles2013-12-10 11:15 am
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.
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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"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?"
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"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.
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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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He swallowed, and didn't want to continue. Momentarily he allowed Norman to make eye contact before he looked away again, still pacing. Still giving in to those nervous little habits of his. Gesturing with his hands and arms, kicking at the ground.
"Are you... uh... are you sure?" he felt stupid asking the question and so he paused and stumbled briefly on it. "You sure it wasn't just a coincidence?" But what kind of lake has orchids growing at the bottom, Murphy, he asked himself. "Then again I guess I don't know much about what this Origami Killer..." he paused. "Does to his victims." Not that he really wants to know, but he needs to know if anything that might have happened was relevant.
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"The victims were drowned in rain water and found in vacant lots or fields not too long after they were killed. All lying on their backs, all near a train track. They were found with an origami figure in their hands and a fresh orchid on their chests. The faces were covered with mud."
He cleared his throat, blinking back the memory of Jeremy Bowles' body and trying to focus on the current situation. There was nothing he could o for Jeremy, but there was still something he could do for any potential victims the killer had planned.
"As you can tell, there are some differences but the overall similarity is too overwhelming to just be a coincidence. Now, you said your son didn't know anyone like that. What about you, Mr. Pendleton?"
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It hadn't taken him long to understand why the police had wanted him to wait back at the station, the way Carol had done. They'd wanted to spare him seeing the body. A large part of him wished he'd obeyed their orders.
"Shit," was his response, low and quiet and very clearly horrified. As much as he tried to control his reactions to things for the most part, Murphy was often a man who wore his heart on his sleeve. "So it was... the same stuff. You found it with Charlie and with the other victims..." his mouth was dry, and it was becoming increasingly obvious that he couldn't just ignore what this man was telling him. "So you think whoever did this might've..."
It was a lot to take, and he just cut it off and shook his head. "I don't think so. I don't know. It's not that I'm positive. Just that I don't really discuss things like origami with people. If someone I knew was into that sorta thing, I guess they kept it to themselves." A pause, and he glanced at the ground and then back up at Norman. Something strange... something strange...
"Oh, I guess there's one thing. Really not sure who sent it, but a few days before Charlie... well... when he was still home, I got a letter. No return address. The letter inside didn't make a lot of sense. It mentioned church... children missing. Can't remember much of it now. But I assumed it was from my neighbor, after what happened."
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He remembered it well, having agonized over it and every other little scrap of evidence he had in an attempt to find something else conclusive once he realized there was another killer. The real killer.
"The children have never been seen again." He quoted under his breath, unintentionally loud enough for Murphy to hear. Looking up, he spoke again; this time to Murphy rather than himself. "You don't still have it, do you?" He asked, knowing that would be too good to be true.
Whatever Murphy Pendleton had left of the evidence would be better than anything he'd found so far. The killer had obviously been far less organized back then, disposing of the body in a way that showed panic rather than the cool confidence his recent crimes had displayed.
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"No. Don't have it anymore. Last I saw it was at my ex-wife's place." He cleared his throat, momentarily even more uncomfortable. "After Charlie, we..." he felt he didn't need to finish that sentence. "But there was something in the envelope. Some kind of petal. Now I'm guessing it was an orchid if... you're right." He almost hoped Norman wasn't right. He wasn't sure if he could handle the implications.
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Now, he didn't feel quite so warm at the thought of her. Now, he didn't even want to try to reconcile. But all of these thoughts were pushed away to make room for the more important conversation about the serial killer.
"I doubt she still has it, though. I had it crammed in one of my journals, back home. She called me in uh... called me. A couple of years ago." Best not to mention prison. "Told me she'd put all my stuff in a storage unit in Boston. I never did get around to going to pick it up. If it's still around, it'd be in that storage unit."
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"Mr. Pendleton, you've been very helpful to the investigation, and I hate to keep making you talk about it... But did you receive anything else? Was there anything with the letter?"
Maybe the shoe box Ethan had been given was a one time thing, but maybe he could jog a memory from Murphy. This could really get him somewhere, knowing whether or not the real killer had offered a chance at saving the children or just Shelby.
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"No," he responded firmly. "Nothing. Just the letter, and the petal. It seemed like it was in there by accident. Sort of crumpled, you know? Not like it was placed in there." He stared thoughtfully off into the distance, at the outline of a mountain on the jagged skyline. For the moment, at least, he wasn't pacing anymore. "Is there anything else? Anything I should be trying to remember, I mean. Things you need to know... about that last day there." He was wracking his brain, wondering what sort of information would benefit the agent.
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No box. No locker card. No trials. That was just too different. There was no doubt in his mind now that Scott Shelby wasn't the real Origami Killer. At least now it would be much easier to determine which murders were the work of Shelby and which had been committed by the original killer.
No trials. No trials, and no box at all. His head was starting to ache and he squeezed his thumb and index finger down on the bridge of his nose.
"Okay, so just the letter." He's doing his best to ignore the searing pain and focus on the questioning. "What about your wife, did she say anything? Anything happen to her?"
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"Just the letter," he confirmed. "Nothing else," he was back to his old routine, moving in a five foot line back and forth, varying it by turning left and right now and then. Just anything to keep moving, keep himself busy. Murphy was very rarely completely still, especially when he was talking. "Not that I can think of. I don't think so, anyway." He paced a few more lengths, and then stopped, looking over his shoulder at Norman.
"There was something, though. It was raining, but so it got pretty destroyed. But a few days after Charlie... after he didn't come home..." he paused to swallow, shake his head, and he turned to face Norman. "There was some kind of box, somebody left on our doorstep. By the time Carol found it, it was more mush than anything. Just a pile of soggy shit. Don't think that could be connected to who took him, do you?" every bit helped, he supposed. Even if he was pretty sure that soggy garbage couldn't really help much with a police investigation, or probably have anything at all to with Charlie's murder.
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"A box?" He did his best to sound professional and businesslike rather than show the adrenaline that was now brewing inside him. He always got that feeling when he was really onto something.
"Was there anything inside? Anything at all?" This was definitely something worth checking out. But there was probably no chance Murphy had kept a soggy cardboard box after all these years.
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"Yeah, a box. Looked like some kinda shoebox, but no markings or anything like that. Sloshed over to the side. Looked like there was a bunch of crap inside. Mush too. Could've been paper at one point, but it'd been out there overnight so... not much left. Looked like whatever was in it was different colors. I remember green but... not much else." A shake of his head. Talking about it, these little details did come flooding back, but he couldn't remember as well as he wanted to. It was frustrating.
"Why? Is it important?" he had a sick feeling in his stomach that it was, that throwing it away had been a mistake. There was a sudden coldness in his chest, and he had to force himself to look Norman in the eye. "D'you think it was connected?"
Shit shit shit.
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He looked at him with a slightly stern expression. "Was there anathing else in the box? Just paper?" His tone conveyed the utter importance of the question and each word was slightly but purposely emphasized. It was a tactic that seemed to work well with witnesses and survivors. An emphasized word conveys its own significance and causes the brain to consider it important, therefore making it easier to remember.
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"Don't think so. Hard to remember now. Anything else that was in there was probably ruined too by then. I think there was a... uh... some sort of notecard, something written on top? The ink had run, but you could tell it said something before. Not sure what." He was wracking his brain for memories, details that had eluded him, but he was distracted. "And a card with... probably part of a phone number? We were so damn distracted, with Charlie and everything. Didn't even think about it. All I could think about was my son, and..."
A beat. It was too difficult to keep working through the memory block without knowing. "Agent... Jayden." Yes, that was his name. "What was important about the box? Why do you need me to remember? Was it... shit, was it something that could've helped save Charlie?" He didn't want to hear the answer, really, but he needed to know.
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"The father of at least one of the other victims was given a box, but it was left in a locker, not on the doorstep. The killer probably realized the risks of leaving it out like that." He wasn't sure how much he could tell him.
"Inside, there were five origami figgers, a cell phone, and a pistol. The figures represented different trials, and the man was told that if he successfully completed all five trials, his son would be spared." He could tell Murphy was going to be more than upset by the information.
"But in the end... In the end he was going to kill 'im anyway. And the father, too. So, no, Mr. Pendleton. It was just a ploy you were lucky to avoid." Maybe that was more information than he should've shared, but somehow he felt that he had to tell him.
"Were either of those things in the box? The gun, or the phone?"
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"Fuck..." it came out in a rough groan, and he continued to shake his head, bringing up his hands to cover his face, clamp over it and shut out the world. He couldn't handle to world right now. "But I could've done something. I could have... I could have done something. I wouldn't have just been sitting there waiting... sitting there doing nothing when they pulled him out of that goddamn lake!" lifting a hand, he slammed it down hard on the hood of the Impala. The sound of skin and bone on metal rang out through the small garage, and Murphy was almost grateful for the pain in his hand. With it, some of the impulse to simply break down and destroy everything in his workplace was diminished.
"So you're telling me the bastard who did it left me clues, and I didn't put two and two together and..." I could have saved him. I could have fucking saved him. He would've have a chance. "Fuck!"
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"There was nothing you could've done in the end. It was just a sick game for his own amusement, not a real chance." He was starting to get fired up all over again and it was difficult to keep his voice down to a normal level.
"Now, I need to know. The gun, and the phone. Were they there?"
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Back to pacing, Murphy was more desperate now, walking the length of the garage and back as he kept his tightly clenched fists at his sides. "No, there was nothing else! Just a bunch of soggy fucking paper!" he shouted. He wasn't really shouting at Norman, though the words were directed toward him, and when he turned to face him, there was nothing remaining of his relative calm from earlier on his face. "Even bullshit is better than nothing. Even... dying trying to do something would've been better than doing nothing."
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"Mr. Pendleton, I realize this is... difficult. But I really do need your help. There's nothing else you can tell me?" He felt like a Class A Douchebag for pushing him at a time like this but he was honestly more concerned with the potential victims that could still be saved. As insensitive as that sounded even to him.
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"Do you!?" he shouted, turning on Norman and directing it right into his face. "Because honestly, I don't think you have any idea! You have no idea what it's like to watch your child die and know it's your fault!" Murphy tried his best to control his temper, but it was impossible at this point and the personal and accusatory words of anger just kept spilling out. "What else do you want me to TELL you!? Do you want me to tell you how I died the day Charlie did, or how his face looked in the casket at his goddamn funeral!? The way people said 'I'm sorry' and 'It's such a loss' and all that bullshit like they fucking understood, like it made any difference!? Is that what you want from me!? BECAUSE THERE'S NOTHING ELSE TO TELL!"
Murphy had to turn away from Norman at that point, because he didn't actually consider it, but the thought of hitting him ran through his mind. Murphy was a brutal man, a violent man in his own way, but never without good reason. Never unless he was pushed to that edge where there seemed to be no other option. Norman had done nothing to deserve all of this, and somewhere in his more rational mind Murphy knew it. But that didn't factor into his behavior, didn't make any difference as he rather shamefully kept going on and on. "So what do you wanna know, huh!? Ask me some goddamn questions and I'll sure as hell give you answers if they'll help save someone else's kid, but just don't look right at me and PRETEND YOU FUCKING UNDERSTAND!"
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"Thank you, Mr. Pendleton. That'll be all for now. Sorry to disturb you like this." Were the words he settled for. No, he didn't understand what it was like to lose a child. But he did understand how it felt to lose someone you love. And the guilt of making this man think about that all over again was eating him up inside.
He looked down at a work table a few feet away and pulled a thick business card (that he had for some reason) from his pocket, dropping it onto the cluttered surface. "If you think of anathing else, just give me a call."
He turned and started out of the garage, into the intense sunlight that waited beyond.
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