Joan of Arc (closed)

[heartofcourage]

'Joan. Jooooan. Wake up, Joan...'

The familiar sing songy voice sounded through her dreams. Her name was Mary, a person that she had never met or seen before. Her voice had always been there though, for about as long as Joan could remember. Sometimes Mary was quiet, peaceful, leaving her alone long enough to get things done. Today, it seemed, that Mary had important things to discuss with her.

'Joan, they need you.'

At that, Joan's eyes opened. Her head lifted from the recliner where she had dozed off the night before. Her assignments for her classes that afternoon lay half finished on the coffee table before her. At 23, Joan was one of the older students on campus still taking Freshman courses. There had been so many set backs in her life to that point that she hadn't even applied to college until she was sure she could handle it.

"Not today, Mary." Joan finally responded to the voice inside of her head as she stood from the chair and stretched, her hands held high over her head as her joints stretched and popped. "I don't need this today."

She moved past the table, peeking into the bedroom where she saw her boyfriend, Michael, sound asleep beneath the covers. There were few people who knew about her mental state, least of all her boyfriend. To him, she was quirky, muttering under her breath when she was stressed. He didn't know that she was a schizophrenic and she wanted to keep it that way. After six months, he had never thought to ask and she would never tell.

She moved past the doorway and into the bathroom, looking at herself in the mirror briefly before she turned on the taps and splashed cold water in her face. She was tired...no...exhausted. Mary had been keeping her up late the past couple of days, telling her about horrific things that had been happening in town. She kept insisting that only Joan could make things better. Murders. Rapes. Assaults. She couldn't make those better.

'There's been another one, Joan.' Joan's gaze snapped towards the mirror once more, her blue eyes searching for a reason to make her go away.

"I have to go to class today." Joan murmured to her own reflection, letting a steadying sigh.

'It isn't far. 1346 Maple Ave. Hurry. They'll be there soon.'

They. The cops. Joan turned from the mirror, holding the bridge of her nose tightly as she struggled with what to do. She knew things. She needed to tell them what she knew.

Not even bothering to change out of her clothing from the night before, Joan moved into the living room and gathered up her coat. Once it was buttoned, she pulled a black stocking cap over her blonde hair, a red scarf around her neck and her red gloves on her hands. Maple Ave was six blocks away and she could be there in less than 20 minutes. She pulled her worn leather satchel over her shoulder and quietly left the apartment.

Joan Archer: http://img4.wikia.nocookie.net/__cb...s/images/d/d1/Amanda-seyfried-wallpaper-4.jpg

 

[gearhead73]

"Fuuuck meee." Trevor Grimes groaned as he woke up in his car for the third night in a row.

The pain in his neck, paired with the pounding in his head and queasy stomach created a perfect storm of misery. He fumbled in his pocket for the steadily buzzing phone that had awaked him from his slumber. Finally grasping it, and blinking his eyes rapidly to get them to clear, he was able to make out the number on the display.

"Detective Grimes." he mumbled after clearing his throat. "Yes sir...1346 Maple, got it. I'll be right there Cap."

He hit the little red phone icon on the screen and then tossed the phone into the cup holder. He rubbed his face with his hands and then looked around to try and get a bearing on where he was. The good news was, that he knew this neighborhood very well. As he looked to the right he could see the all too familiar faded sign of Flannigan's. The bad news was, that seeing that sign for the third morning this week, meant that he hadn't made it home...again.

"Jesus Christ...I need a life..." he grumbled to himself as he sat up in the seat and reached for the ignition. As he extended his arm, he caught the scent of cigarettes, whiskey, and sweat. With another quick sniff of himself he finished, "...and a shower."

An hour and ten minutes later, showered and pumped full of coffee and Advil, he pulled his Crown Vic right up to the yellow tape that was blocking off the north end of Maple Ave. He exited the car and flashed his shield and creds to the patrol man that was helping to secure that end of the perimeter. He stood in the middle of the street looking around at the small neighborhood. He imagined that this would be the source of gossip for years to come. Things like murder-suicide, just didn't happen in quiet little suburban havens like this. His eyes scanned over the small crowd of on-lookers that surrounded the taped off area. Some were still in their bathrobes and slippers, while other were dressed for work, but had stopped to see what all of the commotion was about. With a deep breath and another sip of his coffee, he started toward the house.

"What do we got?" he said to Summers, one the other homicide detectives in his squad.

 

[heartofcourage]

"Man and a woman. Looks like a domestic issue. She shot him while he was sleeping in the master bedroom and then turned the gun on herself in the kitchen." Summers answered with a sniff, glancing around the crowd that was gathering. "God damned vultures. Surprised the media hasn't shown up yet."

Joan slowly walked up to the yellow tape that blocked off the street, a bitter wind whipping around her as she stood quietly in her spot. The little house was cute, about 70 years old, and well maintained. Police were parked in the street, a Crown Victoria ticking next to her. Mary had shown her this place before she got there. It was almost eerie in a way how she knew so much.

'Two this time. Man and woman. Husband and wife.'

As Mary spoke, Joan reached into her satchel and pulled out her worn, red bound journal. Se took meticulous notes of what Mary said, every detail written or sketched on the pristine white pages. The police wouldn't say it but Joan knew that all of the events were connected. To who...well, Mary never told her that.

Joan glanced up from her book, spotting the two detectives standing in the front lawns next to a cheery pot of red poinsettias. The one man she knew. Derrick Summers had briefly dated her older sister in high school. He was a jerk, someone that neither she nor Mary liked very much. The other man she ha never seen before. He was tall, could be considered handsome despite his ruffled appearance. Hi eyes were intense, his hair slicked back and slight damp, dark save for a small patch of grey beginning at his temples.

'Workaholic...alcoholic...'

"Shut up." Joan murmured softly to the voice as she gently closed her journal.

 

[gearhead73]

"What the fuck is she doing here?" Summers uttered, the agitation clear in his voice. He was looking over Trevor's shoulder toward where he had parked his car. Trevor turned to see a young woman standing near the front of his idling cruiser.

She looked relatively young, early to mid twenties from what he could see at this range. He guessed that she was about average height, maybe five foot four or six, with a small build. She was wearing a dark winter coat that hung to mid thigh, as well as a dark knit hat. He noted that both of the garments contrasted noticeably with the bright red scarf and gloves that she had on.

"You know her?" Trevor asked as he watched her close a binder or journal of some sort. He never even bothered to look back at Summers while he waited for an answer.

"Yeah I dated here sister a while back. her name's Jenny, Jackie, Janine..."

His fumbling for a name caused Trevor to look back over his shoulder at the younger detective.

"You two must have really had something special." Trevor said with a slight smile as he watched his coworker's brow furrow as he searched his memory.

"Joan, that's it Joan." Summers finally said triumphantly. His expression changed as he looked back at Joan. "It was a while ago. Her sister was great, beautiful, and a real tornado in the sack, but that one..." he said with a slight nod in the young woman's direction. "...She's as crazy as a shithouse rat. Schizoid if I remember correctly; always hearing voices and shit."

"Hmm, what a shame." Trevor mumbled as he turned back to her.

"I'm gonna tell her to beat it. We've got work to do." Summers said as he took a step forward.

"Let me do it." Trevor said, a little louder and sharper than he had meant to. "I mean, you two have a history. Maybe she will respond better to a stranger."

"Sure" Derrick told him with a smile. Holding his hand to his ear in the shape of a phone receiver, "Call me if you need backup."

"Roger that." Trevor mumbled as he took a step forward.

He wasn't sure why he wanted to go talk to her. Maybe he was curious. Finding out that she had a mental condition, in a strange way, made him feel compelled to find out more. He had always been the curious type, that's what made him a good detective, but this was something else. Maybe it was just because she was young, and he wanted to check her out. As he crossed the lawn, he could see that she was blonde, and definitely twentyish. She had bid doe eyes and a small cute nose; both accentuated her round face. She had full lips, that were a cherry red, probably from the wind that was whipping up the street. He imagined that she would be quite stunning when she smiled.

Right now though, she wasn't smiling. She seemed to be more concerned, or agitated. For a split second Trevor wondered if he had made a mistake, but pushed that thought aside as he neared the yellow tape flapping in the wind.

"Hi there. I'm Detective Grimes." Trevor said opening his jacket enough for her to see his shield. "Did you know the couple inside?"

 

[heartofcourage]

Two sets of eyes turned her direction, Derrick's gaze stormy while the other man looked curious. Derrick knew about her and her past. He was dangerous, she thought to herself as she hugged her journal tightly against her chest. He was dating her sister when her father had finally had enough of her unpredictable moods and taken the steps to have her committed.

Three months she had spent under observation befor they decided she wasn't a danger to anyone. The solution was to throw medication at the problem and hope that things were resolved. The medication made her dead to the world and the therapy left the once vibrant and happy person feeling sad and alone in a world that didn't understand her.

Joan watched as the detective she didn't know turned and started walking towards her. As he got closer, she could see how tired he looked. Dark circles were under his eyes and his shoulders slumped just the slightest bit. Exhaustion was a heavy weight to carry, one that she knew very well. Sometimes Mary wasn't the only one in her head talking incessantly. She didn't like the other voices. They were dark and often cruel and extremely hard to ignore.

He introduced himself as Detective Grimes and showed his badge. Her clear gaze glanced towards it as he asked if she knew the people who had lived there. Maybe...once... It was possible she had bumped into one of them while out and about.

"No." She said softly, her gloved fingers gripping her journal a little bit tighter.

'Tell him, Joan. Now's your chance...'

Joan swallowed hard, struggling to keep Mary quiet. "I'm a journalism student at the university. I heard the sirens and followed them down here."

She was a journalism student, barely. If it weren't for the saving grace of a kind professor she would have flunked out. They knew her story and they knew that she struggled. They had taken pity on her and for once she was grateful.

'Tell him about Maggie Scott. And Sara Thomas. And Regina Roe.'

"Excuse me a moment." She said in her soft voice as she turned her back to him and started to talk to herself.

"Stop it. Stop it. Stop it..." She hissed under her breath. "Just let me think."

 

[gearhead73]

"No" her reply came in a voice so soft that if he hadn't seen her lips move, he may not have even noticed that she had answered.

He studied her as she stood there. She seemed tense, and nervous. These reactions by themselves didn't mean much. Most people seemed to become and tense when they meet a cop, even in a social setting. Trevor supposed that there were skeletons in everyone's closet they preferred stayed hidden from the rest of the world and knowing that he was a detective always made people that he met for the first time act cautiously. it was like they were afraid he had some mythical power to see beyond the façade they wore in public all the way down to the grimy truth of who or what they were. Sometimes the notion made him smile and chuckle to himself. Other times he used it to his advantage to compel someone to tell him the truth.

"I'm a journalism student at the university. I heard the sirens and followed them down here."

It was a small lie but a familiar one. People rarely wanted to admit that they were curious or just plain nosy. He watched as she fidgeted slightly, and seemed to grip her leather bound book a bit tighter.

"I see, a future reporter." he said as he reached for a small notepad in the breast pocket of his jacket.

"And your name is?" he asked, searching her face, trying to discern any tell tale signs that she was deceiving him.

It was a common practice to ask questions that you already knew the answers to. If a suspect or witness was willing to hold back on simple information that you already knew, he would know how hard to come at them for the answers that he needed.

Without answering she uttered, "Excuse me a moment." and turned away from him.

This both puzzled and intrigued him as he watched her. He could tell that she was speaking, but to no one in particular, no one that he could see anyway. He had figured that Simmons had been shining him on about her being ill. Trevor didn't particularly care for him because of his shitty attitude and poor work ethic. He took too many shortcuts and rushed to judgment without all of the facts. Treavor had just assumed that this had just been another such instance, but now he wasn't so sure.

"Are you ok Miss?" he asked softly.

 

[heartofcourage]

Joan paused as he asked if she were alright and she looked over her shoulder at him. People often asked her that. Was she alright? Yes...and no. She would never truly be alright.

"Yeah." She said as she finally turned back towards him, letting out a deep breath that clouded in front of her face like steam. "Sorry. I'm Joan. Joan Archer."

She left go of her red journal briefly and shoved her hand into her satchel, pulling out her student ID on a long blue and white lanyard. She looked startled in her ID photo. Just about the time the guy snapped her photo, one of the darker voices in her head had spooked her and the flash sounded more like a gunshot than a camera.

Her red gloved fingers passed the ID to the inspector, letting him look his fill. She was quiet as he did that, her brain buzzing with activity. She should have pulled out her own notebook, put her journal back away safely and asked him some questions, but she found that incredibly hard to do. Her journal was like a safety blanket of sorts. It held her thoughts and ideas...and lately the details of murders.

"So, Detective Grimes...do you think this crime is connected to the others?" She asked him.

'Tell him the names.' Mary murmured. 'All of them.'

No, she thought as hard as she could. Not right now.

 

[gearhead73]

He smiled at the photo on her ID. It looked like something you would see on a sitcom. Just before someone snaps the photo, something happens that causes the subject to react, and their reaction is immortalized forever.

He handed the card and lanyard back to her, then folded his little notepad up and returned it to his pocket. He wondered if she would notice that he hadn't actually written down anything that she had told him. He was about to tell her that he had better get to work and then head inside when she stopped his train of thought with a question of her own.

"So, Detective Grimes...do you think this crime is connected to the others?"

His relaxed demeanor changed and he instantly became serious. His mind started racing as he played back everything that he knew about what had happened inside. He knew that he hadn't mentioned the nature of his being there, but maybe some she had heard one of the patrol officers running his her mouth as they were securing the perimeter.

"Others?" Trevor asked.

He was fully awake now and firing on all cylinders. His inquisitive mind going through all of his recent cases, as well as any he had heard about. He wasn't aware of a serial on the loose. From what he knew about the couple inside, it was a straight forward murder-suicide.

"What others Ms Archer? What have you heard about what happened inside?"

 

[heartofcourage]

His demeanor changed in an instant, the smil that had briefly appeared as he looked at her ID card now replaced by something serious and cunning. She had said the magic words that had transformed him from a worn down cop into someone on the hunt.

"In there?" Joan asked, glancing towards the pristine little house. "Two people dead. Husband and wife. The first time there's ever been two."

Her clear gaze turned back towards him then, her blonde hair blowing around her face as the wind picked up with a bone chilling gust. "She had such pretty hair. They all did. It's a shame what was done to them."

It was only then that she dared to pull her journal from her chest and open the worn cover enough to look inside at the list of names. Her handwriting was dark and heavy, almost violent in a way and completely at odds with her sweet apperance and soft voice. There were scribbled drawings, frantic sketches that showed an incredible darkness.

"Maggie, Sara, and Regina. Those are the others. Maggie was last Christmas. Sara at the Fourth of July. Regina last week. There's probably others." She said as she closed her journal again and looked up at him as if she had just been discussing the weather.

Mary was suspiciously quiet during her conversation, lurking in the back of her mind as the buzzing in her head subsided to a dull hum that could be ignored.

 

[gearhead73]

Trevor stood there stunned as she told him what she knew of this most current case. To top that, she had eluded to the fact that this most recent case may be tied to a few others as well. He watched as she opened and then thumbed through the pages of the journal she had been clutching so tightly.

"Maggie, Sara, and Regina. Those are the others." he heard her say and without ever moving his eyes from her, he reached back into his jacket pocket and retrieved the small notebook and pen that he used to take his notes. Trevor jotted the names down quickly, along with the words "others, hair, first time for two". With each syllable she spoke two or three questions would come to mind.

'How does she know these things?' was the most obvious, and the most troubling. The problem with asking it out here on the street, was there wouldn't be a recording of it. There wouldn't be a record of her answer that he and other detectives could analyze and pour over, trying to decipher even the slightest hint of deception. He didn't think that she was a suspect, but then again he couldn't rule her out either.

Still, he had to see what she would say. He wanted to gauge her reaction and get sense of where she was coming from. According to Summers, she was a crackpot. However, as she recounted the names and other details she had in her journal, she seemed completely lucid. In fact, she had appeared to lose all of the nervousness that he had sensed in her earlier.

"So, how do you know all this?" he blurted out. He had planned on coaxing it out of her, but his mind was racing so fast that he had just asked her flat out.

"What make you think there are others? What do you mean by 'the first time there were two?"

More and more questions kept popping up in rapid secession and he blurted them out before she could have possibly had time to answer. Finally, his pulse racing and his breathing elevated, he stopped talking and just looked at her.

"Ms Archer?"

 

[heartofcourage]

When he asked her how she knew all of that, she went quiet for a long moment. She knew because the voices in her head told her. How they knew, she had no idea. They always knew things before they happened. Doctors had told her that she was simply a lucky guesser, but knowing that there was a woman with a gunshot wound to the left temple in the hallway of that pristine little house only feet away wasn't something that she could have simply guessed.

Her lips parted to answer him, but she was silenced yet again by his rapid questioning. He wanted to know what she knew. He needed to know her information and she had surprised him. That really wasn't uncommon, she thought to herself. She surprised a lot of people. There were some that were scared of her. Some that thought she was a freak. Some that believed what she said. The believers were few and far between these days though.

"This murder. It's the first time there were two victims at the same scene." She answered the last question first. "Husband and wife. There's never been two before. Regina was killed outside her apartment building. In her car. That was the first time for that. Sarah was killed in her house. Her roommate found her. Maggie in her parent's garage."

"And there has to be others. What person would wait so long between two murders? Seven months is a long time to wait only to have things escalate. You have three people dead in less than two weeks now. Surely there's more." That only left the most difficult question, one that she couldn't really answer without seeming like a complete freak in his eyes.

"I...sometimes I just know things." She said in an impossibly small voice, her face not betraying any sign of nerves.

Her death grip returned on her leather journal, her teeth capturing her bottom lip to worry it slightly. Would he arrest her for what she had said? Would he put her back into a psych ward?

'You did the right thing. He needed to know.' Mary said suddenly, making her jump slightly.

 

[gearhead73]

His eyes flipped between his note pad and her as she went into further detail about the killings. He had no way to substantiate any of it, but that was a problem for later. Right now, he had a witness, although not a conventional one and he was going to absorb as much of the information she was sharing as possible.

"And there has to be others. What person would wait so long between two murders? Seven months is a long time to wait only to have things escalate. You have three people dead in less than two weeks now. Surely there's more."

Her reasoning made sense to him. He couldn't help but grin slightly as he thought how much she reminded him of himself. She seemed to have a good bit more insight than most journalists he had run across. That was both reassuring and troubling. He still couldn't shake the feeling that there was something missing.

It seemed like she paused for just a moment and then in a small voice she answered his most pressing question. "I...sometimes I just know things."

He stopped writing and just looked at her, searching her face for anything that could tell him more about her, the woman.

"So...you're a psychic?" he asked almost not believing that he was entertaining the notion.

He had never put even an ounce of merit in psychics. Oh sure he had heard all of the stories of how they had helped find a lost child or zeroed in on the remains of a kidnap/murder victim. He had dismissed all of them as either dumb luck, or frauds that had helped perpetrate the crime but had never gotten caught. He started thinking back again to what Summers had told him, but he couldn't believe that the young woman in front of him that had laid everything out so succinctly could be bonkers.

"Do you have a source that is feeding you all of this information? Have you started your own investigation? How did you make these connections?"

The questions just kept forming in his head. as soon as one appeared he voiced it. He noticed that she had started biting her lower lip. He wondered if he was pressing to hard. He didn't want to run her off if she could turn out to be a credible lead.

 

[heartofcourage]

"Psychic? No. People think I'm crazy enough as it is." She said as he posed that question to her.

It wasn't something that she could really explain to him. She had voices in her head that told her these things, showed her the things that had happened, terrified her until she couldn't sleep and then demanded that she tell the cops what she knew. Who in their right mind was going to believe her if she told them that?

"Look, I don't have sources that are telling me anything. Who would talk to a wanna be journalist about this? I don't even have a press pass." She said, a red glove reaching up to shove her thick blonde hair back behind her ears. "There is no investigation to be done since they are still open murders. I couldn't even get within 100 feet of the files even if I wanted to see them...which I don't. I don't need to see them."

She could tell him exactly how each scene was laid out, how each victim was found. She could give him intimate details that only the cops or the killer should know. She was playing a very dangerous game but if they weren't going to solve these crimes, what did it matter?

Her lips parted to speak again when she caught sight of Derrick's angry face looming over the detective's shoulder. She visibly shrank back, her head ducking down slightly as she took a few steps away from the yellow tape. Surely he wouldn't make a scene, she thought to herself. He most definitely could call her sister and that would lead to a call to her father.

 

[gearhead73]

"Look, I don't think you're cra..." he had started to say, when he noticed her demeanor change drastically. He had wanted to slow things down, and control the pace of the conversation, but he watched as she took a few steps back, and withdrew into herself. She was looking over his shoulder so he turned to see Simmons scowling at her behind him.

"Something I can help you with Detective?" Trevor asked, sharply.

"Just making sure that everything is ok over here Grimes. You seem to be spending a lot of time over here talking to this...this..."

"Witness? Talking to this witness is what you were trying to say wasn't it...DeTECtive?" Trevor spat, turning to face the man and blocking his view of Joan.

"Ms. Archer here was just looking for statement from the police department on what had happened. I was just about to inform Ms. Archer that since it was still an ongoing investigation, that we would be remiss to give a statement at this time."

Trevor took a step closer to Simmons, invading his personal space and glaring directly into his eyes. He didn't have much use for him to begin with, but he absolutely refused to let him interrupt an interview with a possible witness, no matter how strange it was turning out to be.

"Isn't that right Ms. Archer?" Trevor asked over his shoulder, never taking his eyes off of Simmons.

He got the feeling that there was a lot more to the story between the two of them, but his focus right now was on the case.

 

[heartofcourage]

Joan had never liked raised voices. They grated on her ears, made her feel uncomfortable and panicked. As Detective Grimes turned towards Derrick, Joan got a worried expression on her face, her grip on her journal become almost too tight. The joints in her hands ached as she listened to the raised voices. She didn't like this...not one bit.

She turned from the scene and fled, her red scarf fluttering in the wind as her shoes beat a path across the pavement. She could run fast and she covered ground quickly, anything to get away from the argument that was happening behind her. Voices were screaming in her brain, quick and angry voices. Mary was buried in the back of her mind as she ducked into an alleyway about a block away, thick tears coming to her eyes.

"Stop, stop, stop, stop, stop..." She murmured over and over again, gasping for air as she crouched down low, her journal pressed against her belly as she fought against the voices that threatened to overwhelm. "Stop, stop...please..."

'You'll end up like her. With a bullet in your brain. It should have happened years ago.' The dark voice hissed as Joan shook her head, trembling as she struggled to get herself under control.

She should have called someone to come and pick her up, but who was there that would come? Michael didn't know. Janey would have called their dad. Her mom...well, her mom had skipped out on them a long time ago. There was no one there for Joan. No one...

 

[gearhead73]

When she didn't answer, he turned to where she was standing, "Joan?"

However she wasn't there. He scanned the area quickly and saw her running for all she was worth toward the corner. He turned back to Simmons seething with anger.

"I don't know what your fuckin problem is dickhead, but when I'm interviewing someone you stay the fuck out of it."

"Interview? Witness? Are you out of your fucking mind? That bitch is off her fucking rocker and other than warm wet place to drop a load, she ain't got nothing to offer you."

The two men were starting to draw the attention of others at the seen.

"That's it isn't it? You were hoping to tap that ass after you found our she was crazy weren't you." Simmons sneered, a cryptic smile starting to form.

It was all Trevor could do not to deck the fucking bastard, but he had been on rather thin ice as of late, so he decided against it.

"We are going to get into this you piece of shit, but right now I have a case to solve." Trevor snarled, before turning and starting after Joan.

He saw her duck into an alley two thirds of the way down the street. The years of late nights, rot gut whiskey, and late nights at Flannigans were taking their toll as he tried to close the distance between them. He was sure that the alley was a dead end so he slowed his pace to a walk, hoping that the stitch in his side would subside. He grabbed his phone out of his pocket and scrolled through his contact until he came to the name he had been looking for. He pressed send and when he heard the voice on the other end, he got straight to the point.

"Skins, it's Grim. I need you to run a few things down for me. I'll text you the info. Right...thanks."

Meghan Foster, or Skins as Trevor referred to her, was an MIT grad turned meth addict turned stripper that Trevor used to get information from places that the long arm of search warrants couldn't go. He first met Meghan during his short stint in Vice before he had transferred to Robbery/Homicide. They had taken down a stash house on the upper west side and he had found her huddled in a corner in one of the back rooms. She was naked and bruised, tweaking hard and scared out of her mind. For some reason the only one she would let near her was Trevor. He had covered her with a blanket that one of the EMTs had given him and walked her out to his cruiser. He drove her to the hospital and stayed the whole night until she was ready to be processed.

He had testified on her behalf and convinced the D.A. to recommend rehab. He visited her during her stay and when she was released, he helped her get a job as a waitress. That was three years ago, and although she was now stripping, they had remained friends of sorts. Trevor would reach out to her whenever he needed to trim a little fat off of the fourth amendment or if he needed a place to look for new evidence when conventional means proved fruitless. She could hack anything anywhere. If it had any kind of electronic footprint, she could find it. She would give him the information and he would make sure that the owner of the clubs kept his grimy hands off of her and the other girls. When he told her that he was transferring to Homicide, she teased that he must like dealing with the dark underbelly of the city, just like a Grimm. The name just sort of stuck.

The pain in his side had started to ease as he just started to round the corner where he had seen her enter.

"Joan?" he said to the now small for couched against the brick wall lining the alley. "Joan, are you ok?"

 

[heartofcourage]

Joan was rocking back and forth, her arms wrapped around her knees as she sobbed. She hated that dark voice. She hated the way that he made her feel and she hated the way that he tried to talk her into doing horrible things. He wanted her to kill herself, so put a bullet in her head or slit her wrists. She'd listened to him...once. It had been when she was institutionalized. She had taken too many pills, trying to take away the pain that consumed her heart and soul. It was one of the greatest mistakes of her life.

When another voice sounded, one that was unfamiliar in the normal ranks, she was startled. She lifted her head with a jerk, looking up at the detective with tears still streaming down her cheeks. Those cheeks burned bright red, her gloved hand coming to wipe her nose and eyes hastily. Crying in front of people was one of her greatest nightmares. They would watch her so closely afterwards, wondering if she were alright or on the verge of a breakdown.

"I'm sorry." Joan said in her soft voice again. "I can't stand people fighting."

'They were fighting because of you, you good for nothing lunatic.' That dark voice growled, her eyes closing briefly as she fought so hard not to lose it again.

"I'm sure he told you that I'm crazy. I hear voices. It''s been like this for so long that most people in my life don't want anything to do with me. They can't handle it." She confessed to him, a long sigh leaving her lips as she finally pushed herself to stand upright, her journal still in her hands. "I think it would be best if you forgot that I was here today. I'm sorry if I pulled you away from your investigation."

 

[gearhead73]

He listened to her intently as she shed some light on her situation. However, instead of clearing things up, it only served make him form even more questions, though this time they were more about her than just the details of the case. He thought about it for a moment before he responded.

"The thing is Joan, I can't forget. You gave me some pretty specific information. If even a percentage of it checks out, you are going to become part of the focus of it."

He put his hands in the pockets of his coat and started to slowly pace back and forth. He was rolling things around in his head and for some reason the pacing had always helped him focus. He would have to handle things carefully, especially with Simmons working the case as well. The last thing he needed was that fucktard making trouble for him and raising a stink. He needed time. He needed time to let Skins do her magic, time to go over the evidence, and time to lean more about his key witness...Joan.

"Do you drink coffee?" he said stopping his circuit in front of her. "It's friggin cold out here and I could use something warm to eat and drink. Maybe you could tell me more about these...voices."

 

[heartofcourage]

He didn't want to leave. That was new, she thought as he talked about the information that she had given to him so far. She would be right. She was sure of it. The information that she gave him would check out and his investigation would turn into something he never imagined. There was a serial killer out there who was killing people without reason and without being stopped. That was certainly a dangerous situation.

Joan watched as he started pacing, her eyes following him as he walked back and forth. He was deep in thought and she wondered if he was about to escort her to the police station for questioning. She wouldn't have blamed him if he did. Her story was pretty unbelievable.

"Coffee?" She asked him as he paused in his pacing and posed the question to her. "Yeah, I drink coffee."

He wanted food. She hadn't had breakfast yet. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to go to a safe place like a restaurant where they could talk about this more.

'He'll just use you. Then he'll stick you in the loony bin.' The dark voice sounded. 'Or he'll fuck you and leave you.'

"What about your investigation though? Don't you need to go back?" She asked him.

 

[gearhead73]

Trevor waved her question off dismissively. She obviously still didn't understand that gravity of what she had told him. If he had went into that house, he would have cruised around the scene, took a glance at the bodies, and then headed back to his squad room to start filing reports while he waited on the ballistics and coroner's reports.

"There are teams of detectives back there at the scene. Anything that stands out will be noted and photographed dozens of times. The real information in the case will come from the autopsy and ballistics." he said as he raised his collar to escape the frigid breeze.

"Besides, I still have a lot of questions for you, and I want to keep you as far away from Simmons as possible. Maybe you can shed a little light on what went on between the two of you."
He placed his hand on her arm gently. "Shall we go? I know a place where we can have a little privacy."

He gestured his head toward the street hoping that she would come with him. He figured that by now, he would be able to grab his car and take the both of them out of there while Simmons would be busy inside the scene.

His mind was still racing. Was she fucking crazy? Was he for even entertaining the notion that she wasn't? Was she dangerous? Was she part of this? Is that how she knew the things she said she did? He hoped that he could get them both out of there and across town to a little diner that he used to have Sunday brunch at, before the nature of his work and the crazy hours led him to spend a lot more time at Flanningan's.

He released her arm and started to walk out of the alley. He couldn't force her to come with him, but he hoped that she would want to. He remembered how calm she had seemed as she was telling him all that she knew. It was like she had been shedding a heavy burden, and it was a relief to be rid of it. He hoped that she would seek to feel that way again and that she had even more to tell him.

 

[heartofcourage]

Joan listened quietly as he explained that the scene would be well covered by the other detectives. She supposed he was right but she hated the idea of pulling him away from something so important. What if they missed something? It would be all her fault because she had caused a distraction. Her mind was rolling with all of those thoughts until his hand rested lightly on her arm. Everything suddenly stopped in that moment as her clear blue eyes looked down at his large hand.

He was talking again but she wasn't listening to the words. She was simply focused on the hand that he had laid on the crook of her arm. One single touch had silenced all of the voices in her head. Not even the mountain of medication the doctors had forced upon her had accomplished that. What in the world had just happened, she asked herself.

When he moved his hand, the buzz came back, the constant chatter clouding her senses again. He was moving towards the entrance of the street again, expecting her to follow him to his car. She did so without thinking about it, her journal slipping from her chest as she placed it safely back into her bag. It was bitterly cold back on the street, the wind whipping around them as they walked side by side back to the idling car.

She waited next to the passenger's side as he unlocked the doors. It gave her time to look around the scene one more time. Derrick wasn't there. He must have been inside. Some how that thought made her sick. Derrick would botch this. He would never look at all the puzzle pieces and details. He wasn't smart enough to piece it all together.

Her world was interrupted as a car door closed and she glanced back towards the car, seeing that the detective was behind the wheel. She quickly pulled on the handle of her door and sank into the warm interior just as the sky started spitting sleet. The inside of his car smells like stale whiskey and even staler cigarettes.

'I told you...workaholic...alcoholic..." Mary sounded in the back of her mind as she pulled her seat belt across her chest and buckled it.

 

[gearhead73]

Trevor had started to put the car into gear when he stopped and watched her put her seat belt on. Reluctantly, he reached for his and smiled as he clicked it into place. Ordinarily he would have ignored it, but for some reason, not putting it on after she had, made him feel the slightest pang of guilt. He couldn't explain why, or why he cared, but it was if he was afraid that she would have been disappointed in him if he hadn't.

Then they were on their way. The majority of the ride was relatively silent save for the muttered curses by Trevor at some of the traffic they encountered. However when they were a little over half way to their destination, Trevor felt compelled to talk. There were a few things unrelated to the case that he needed to get right in his mind, and he was hoping that she would be willing to clear them up for him.

"So tell me how you know Simmons." he asked. "He said that he dated your sister a while back? Yet the two of you don't seem to care for one another. What happened there?"

 

[heartofcourage]

Joan glanced towards Grimes as he asked her what her past was with Derrick. She supposed that the question was going to come up sooner or later. It wasn't something that she really wanted to talk about, but he had asked and she would be honest with him.

"My sister Janey is four years older than me. She and Derrick met when she worked over at Hudson's on 5th Street. She was a waitress and he was the bus boy." Joan went quiet for a long moment, a deep sigh issuing from her lips. "They dated through their senior year of high school and part of their freshman year at college. I never liked him. He didn't treat her well."

"Derrick's dad's a doctor. He's the one that convinced my dad to have me committed." She confessed, her voice dull and almost mechanical as she thought about that dark time in her life. "Ten days before Christmas my freshman year of high school, I came home and found everyone waiting for me."

She remembered walking into the living room with her school bag only to be ambushed by her family, Derrick, and Dr. Simmons. Her mother looked pissed, her father stoic, her sister was crying. Dr. Simmons had explained that they were going to take her to the hospital for observation. If things went well, she would be out in two weeks. If not, it might be even longer.

She didn't even know why she had turned to run. She was scared of them, not of what the voices in her head were telling her. She didn't even make it to the door before Derrick was there, wrapping her in a headlock to get her under control. The sound of angry voices had surrounded her then, her father telling him to let her go while Derrick yelled back that she would only hurt herself if he did that. She screamed and fought like a woman possessed, so incredibly frightened. They all thought that it was her illness and no one moved to help. The cops were called. She was taken away. End of story.

Glancing towards Grimes, she wondered how he would react to her story. Most people didn't believe that she had been in her right mind when she had fought against them all. Some blamed her for her mother leaving just after Christmas. That was a guilt that she carried for almost 10 years now. Her mother had born a sick little girl and wanted nothing to do with her now.

"I guess you should know he's also fucked me too." Joan mentioned casually.

Fucked was the wrong word to describe it. Her meds made her fuzzy and slow. Most days after she returned home, she simply slept the day away. He knew that. He had waited for that. He had done it multiple times. Then Janey had caught him. That ended everything right then and there...until she had seen him at the crime scene that morning.

 

[gearhead73]

Trevor listened as she recounted what he could guess were some of the most painful memories of her life. From what he could gather, Simmons had been almost instrumental in having her hospitalized. Being hauled away, taken from her family at such a young age, must have been unimaginably frightening. Couple that with shouldering the unwarranted blame for her mother leaving and Trevor decided that it might be more disturbing if she didn't have mental issues.

She looked at him, and he looked at her, both waiting for the other to say something. Trevor sensed that there was more, so he continued to drive silently; giving her the time to tell him the rest.


"I guess you should know he's also fucked me too."she said as if she were stating her favorite color.

Trevor was so shocked that he jerked the wheel into the first space he could find along the street and slammed the car in park? Both of the falling back into their seats after being held back by their seatbelts.

"You were involved...with Simmons?" Trevor asked, a mixture of anger and surprise in his tone.

He started doing the math in his head. If she had been involved with him before or during the time Simmons was with her sister, she would have been underage. If it had been after her sister ended it, she must be really fucked up to be with the guy that had been so involved in having her institutionalized.

"When did you two f...was it before or after you were hospitalized?" Trevor asked, uneasy at voicing such a personal question.

Still, a lot of things depended on her answer. If it was before Simmons and her sister split, than she was reaped and Simmons was going to go down hard for that. If it was after, it could complicate things to use her testimony, to put whoever was responsible for these crimes in prison. there was more, more that Trevor couldn't admit to himself, let alone anyone else. He was a little jealous.

 

[heartofcourage]

Joan gasped and braced herself against the dashboard as he suddenly jerked the wheel and slamme on the breaks. She snapped forward against her seatbelt before she was thrown back against her seat. She looked at him with wide eyes, a little frightened by his sudden actions.

'Told you. It's right back to the looney bin...' Growled the dark voice as Grimes asked her when all of this had happened.

"After." She said in a soft voice. "You ever been on anti psychotic medication, detective? You're a zombie. Dead to the world. All I did was sleep for days and days at a time."

She let out a breath and turned to look back out the windshield. "He likes his women a little unwilling. My sister caught him before he had actually done anything. Pulling down my pants isn't the same as catching him with his dick out. We never said anything about it. Who would believe me anyway?"

What Derrick had done didn't bother her. It never had. The way her sister acted afterwards was what bothered her.