APRIL 3
. . . If ye have the opportunity, ye just cleave the very head from his shoulders." Ria was saying.
Donatello . . . Donato . . . whoever said something like, "Ye mean, decapitation, m lady?"
Ria answered something about it being the only way to kill Tharn.
I fought to bring my straying thoughts back in to focus, and managed a chuckle. "I always KNEW their was something to that Highlander show."
"There can be only one," Perry said. I glanced at him in surprise, and laughed. I also just managed to suppress a rather insistent coughing fit.
Was the serum affecting me again?
I vaguely remember mentioning the thought of needing a vacation before this whole mess started. I HAVEN'T changed my mind. I DEFINITELY need a vacation. Somewhere nice and quiet and peaceful, and for God's Sake, I've got to remember to leave that damned cellular at home. That's what got me in to all this, you know . .
I've also got to remember what I'm supposed to be doing. Heading straight in to a battle with a evil villain straight out of a computer game, literally speaking, of course.
Dammit, O'Neil, get your mind back on what you're . . .
"April . . . APRIL!" It was Perry, sounding insistent, and holding my arm, tightly.
"Huh! What?" I asked, feeling dazed and . . . well . . . weird.
"Are you all right?" he asked in a deliberately slow tone which told me he must have been trying to get my attention for some time.
I could feel his worried gaze fixed intently on me. In fact, I could feel ALL their gazes on me.
"WHY THE HELL ARE YOU ALL STARING AT ME LIKE THAT. I'M FINE!!!" I almost shouted at them, and was barely able to stop myself in time before the words slipped out.
Well, the words never escaped my lips, but I must have been telepathically projecting like crazy because I saw, out of the corner of my suddenly watering eye, that Splinter and Ria were exchanging worried glances.
"Lady April-" Ria began.
"I'm fine," I said angrily. "Or at least I WOULD be if you people would keep your eyes and thoughts to yourself!"
A sudden burst of pure rage swept over me, and I angrily shook off Perry's grasp on my arm.
Which proved to be a HUGE MISTAKE. My knees buckled, my vision blurred, and I just knew I was gonna be kissing concrete in a matter of seconds.
The world was sliding rapidly sideways on me, and I barely noticed the supporting hands that reached for me. What I DID notice . . . no, my ears must be playing tricks on me. Why not since everything else seemed outta whack!
Someone was laughing, HARD!
Whoever it is had better hope I lose consciousness before I recognize the voice or he's gonna be a dead man!!!!!
Even as my body was being supported, I felt someone else reaching out, attempting to bolster my strength and failing senses.
It was Ria. In one horrible moment of lucidity, I realized that she MUSTN'T do that! That something was very WRONG about this whole thing. It WAS the effects of the serum, but it was also . . . something else!!!
From somewhere infinitely far away, fragments of voices came to me. "...can't . . . er! Tharn's . . . me . . . away from . . . "
And, all the while, the laughter continued until it drowned out everything! Even my waning thoughts.
"THARN!!!" I tried to scream, but their was no sound.
There was nothing . . . nothing at all . . . except the laughter.
Damn! I REALLY wanted to kick Tharn's a . . .
"The best-laid plans of mice and men..."
It appeared that all my best-laid plans to secure the, er, "ooze" would be subsumed in the greater need of the impromptu raid on the dilapidated facility in which, we were assured, the Turtle Leonardo was being held captive. His greater need, both of rescue and of healing from whatever ill-effects he suffered as a result of the illicit, unethical, and imprecise tests performed by my former colleagues, made it a simple thing to set aside my worries over the "ooze" and follow along with the --admittedly sketchy--plans of my comrades.
We waited while the woman designated as "Lady Ria", in our hasty introductions of several hours past, meditated. It seemed like an exceedingly inopportune time to indulge in any spiritual exercises, but I felt that I was not in a position to comment or request explanations. Besides, I assured myself, if Splinter, whose son was in such dire need, could calmly accept the timing of Lady Ria's meditations, then the matter was clearly settled.
Michaelangelo seemed restless, though. His nervous energy was held in check only by what seemed to be the same conclusion at which I had arrived, as well as several baleful glances cast his way by his brother Donatello. In spite of these impediments, Michaelangelo was singularly unable to completely still his instinctive desire to rush to action.
In a word, he fidgeted.
It was getting rather distracting, and I was on the verge of making some mild comment about it, when I happened to glance over at April O'Neil. The most peculiar look had developed on her visage, as if she were listening to some sort of internal monologue that threatened to silence all external information. And it appeared that the capillary action that normally creates and maintains the more lively colours of the skin had somehow become restricted--in other words, she was pale and glassy-eyed.
Before I could do anything to draw the attention of others, however, Lady Ria was speaking to us of the need to decapitate Jaggar Tharn. In ordinary circumstances, I would have been repulsed by the very idea of taking a life, and certainly would have refused to participate in doing so in such a barbaric fashion. After the events I had witnessed in LeGault's apartment, however, I was firmly convinced, barring any evidence that might be introduced later, that we were dealing with a creature that would absolutely delight in the needless destruction of others, without even the thin lie, used by people such as that philistine LeGault, that he was practicing so-called "science." While I maintain a philosophical distance from the debates over the existence of such abstracts as "good" and "evil," I am opposed to allowing the wanton destruction of people and resources.
As we were readying ourselves to enter the facility, April made some comment about a movie which I was familiar with, and I responded in kind, thinking it an appropriate part of psychologically preparing for the deed before us. But her surprised laughter turned into a spate of coughing that seemed to have no resolution. Even Donatello's abstracted gaze sharpened on his friend.
April had apparent difficulty in maintaining an upright stance, so I attempted to support her while questioning her as to her well-being. "April, are you unwell?" It was a singularly ridiculous question, but I needed to hear what symptoms she felt. Her perspective would allow a better diagnosis of the effects of the RK90 series serum, in order to facilitate a treatment.
She did not respond. I grew a shade more concerned. "April? APRIL?"
"Huh? What?"
While this was not the conversation I had hoped to have with her, it was a start. I spoke carefully, to get through whatever reaction had thoroughly fogged all of her mental facilities. "Are you all right?"
There was no way we could have been prepared for what happened next. A spasm of anger crossed her face, and suddenly I felt, rather than heard, April's furious shout: "WHY THE HELL ARE YOU ALL STARING AT ME LIKE THAT!! I'M FINE!!!"
I actually recoiled from her words before realizing that she had not spoken!
Things became rather chaotic after that. She succeeded in removing herself from my grasp, only to lose her precarious balance. Michaelangelo was able to place himself in a position to stop April's downward momentum, which was most fortunate, as that particular angle of descent was liable to cause lasting injury!
Lady Ria held her hands over April's prone form and spoke in a muted voice. It seemed to be without the desired effect, however. "I can't Heal her...either the sickness is stronger than I thought, or Tharn's somehow blocking me."
"Are you able to do much, this far away from home?" Michaelangelo was doing an impressive job of keeping his worry hidden, until he looked up.
"Where I am...shouldn't have an impact on what I can do," Lady Ria looked worried, to my unfamiliar eyes, in spite of her words of reassurance.
Donatello took off the cloak that he had been wearing for the whole of this rather eventful journey, and very carefully wrapped our unconscious companion in the fabric. It registered on my tired mental facilities that he was being extraordinarily careful about April's comfort and care. He looked over at Splinter. "Sensei, what should we do with her?"
It took me a moment to realize the strangeness of this simple question, after so many strange events. But, perhaps owing to his greater familiarity with his sons, or to an unsuspected depth of intelligence--greater than even I had been aware of, and I pride myself on never underestimating the abilities of these mutated life forms--the rat picked up the significance immediately. His eyes became a trifle wider, though otherwise his carefully neutral expression did not change.
Michaelangelo, too, was regarding his brother with a remarkable amount of surprise, and even, I thought, a little relief. It was his expression which first alerted me to the new oddness that had been introduced into the journey.
Donatello had spoken in his own voice! Not the voice of the artificial character which had enveloped his consciousness, his psyche as it were. And he had abandoned his apparently self-appointed post as some sort of bodyguard to the Lady Ria, to hover uncertainly near April's slackly unconcious form. In fact, he did not even appear to be aware of the former at all, but instead turned to Splinter with his questions.
"Donnie, are you...?" Michaelangelo fumbled verbally for the appropriate words.
Donatello regarded his brother thoughtfully, a small frown marring his face.
I felt it was prudent to ask my own questions at that juncture. "Are you fully returned to your own mental faculties, Donatello?"
The expression with which he regarded me was mistrustful. As we all looked at him, the distant gaze that had characterized his interactions of late returned to his face. "I must needs tell ye again," his voice had resumed its unfamiliar intonations, "my name is Donato!"
Michaelangelo groaned and bowed his head over April's. A certain hope faded from Splinter's eyes, as well, as Donatello--Donato--returned to his place just behind the Lady Ria.
The new event, April's distressing collapse, required a rapid reassessment of our situation and priorities. I spoke in favor of returning with her to a part of the city in which we might find adequate medical facilities, but was reluctantly persuaded that such a course of action would only hinder her return to health, as the professionals there would almost certainly misdiagnose this new illness. In the end, she and I--as the only person present with anything remotely resembling a physician's training, and the person who had been studying the disease-- were hidden in the doorway of an equally dilapidated building across the street from the place our group was required to enter.
"If it--if anything happens," Michaelangelo told me, in a low voice as he secured April in the most comfortable position our hiding place would allow, "you can get her out through this building. Take her out the back door, get her to a hospital--they might be able to at least slow down the whatever-it-is in her bloodstream. And if you can't do that--" he looked over his shoulder, and his expression could almost have been considered furtive, if not for the concern that was readily apparent in it, "use this." He handed me a short, broad-bladed knife of some kind.
I had not made ancient weapons my study, unfortunately. "To what use am I intended to put this?"
He misunderstood my reluctance and grimaced. "I know, a butterfly knife isn't what I'd choose, either, but it's the only blade I have on me right now. 'Cept shuriken, and I don't think those'd be any use to you."
I was forced to agree, as I had no idea what those might be, and still less any idea how to apply them effectively. It occurred to me that perhaps my role as a non-combatant had not been thoroughly explored by any of the interested parties in this situation.
Lady Ria came over to look again at April. She placed one slender hand gently on the unconscious woman's head, and said something utterly incomprehensible: "Sleep." Then she sighed and seemed to be disappointed when no change came over April.
"I believe that is somewhat redundant at this point in time," I was compelled to point out.
She favored me with a brief smile. "I was trying to cast another spell on her. If I can't Heal her, I thought I might place her in an enchanted Sleep, where the effects of her illness would be slowed down. But even that spell is blocked somehow."
Enchanted Sleep? Was she referring to some sort of suspended animation that could be invoked using non-mechanical or drug-related means? Before I could relate my question to her, though, she spoke softly to the others, and they were gone.
I settled myself on the damp pavement beside April, one hand on the unfamiliar weapon Michaelangelo had left in my care, and lost all track of time. When a person is in an unfamiliar situation, and under the strain of discovery and perhaps a painful acquaintance with the sorts of people who ally themselves with such unsavory characters as LeGault, the physiological and psychological stresses frequently prevent normal mental processes from functioning correctly.
I almost envied April her lack of awareness of our situation, even as I paradoxically craved her company. It would have eased the difficulties of the situation, had I had someone with whom to converse, to confer--I'll be honest: I wanted someone to help me decide when I had waited long enough. How long should it reasonably take, to infiltrate an enemy stronghold, discover and thwart the plans of the Shredder, contain an evil sorcerer, and rescue one injured mutant reptile, all while avoiding significant injury or capture?
The question was hypothetical. I lacked the data with which to calculate an estimate for any one of those events, much less all of them. But I was so lost in thoughts of the variables that were still unknown in this venture that I failed to hear any approaching footsteps.
Suddenly someone was looming over us. "Well, what have we here?"
What a morning. I put my head in my hands and yawn despite the large amounts of coffee I’ve consumed. This is one of those times I’d like to just stay home. But quitters don't make it very far in this business; I sure as heck didn’t get where I am now by calling in sick.
It’s just that nothing is making sense at the moment.
The report from Forsenics is atop the stack of papers cluttering my desk. I’ve never seen a report from them so fast; the report from Ballistics isn’t even back yet. Something must be wrong! Or maybe our Forsenics people just decided to rake in some doubletime - after all, those lab guys are among the few persons around here with more paperwork than yours truly.
I frown at the report andpick it up, scanning the results of the hair tests first. April O’Neil…April O’Neil…kitten…different kitten…unknown…
What the? Unknown? I squint at the hair sample, but that doesn’t change matters. Unknown. Hmf. In all the time I’ve worked here, I’ve seen very few unknowns out of the Forensic lab. Damn! This could mean we're after someone we don’t have records of! Which doesn’t exactly narrow it down any. And if that's the case, we’re going to have to do a helluva lot of paperwork when we catch this elusive 'unknown'.
I turn to the results the finger prints quickly. April O’Neil….April O’ Neil…unknown…different unknown and a rookie in the department.
I really don't need this kind of stress! I make a mental note to have someone yell at that rookie about wearing gloves at the scene of a crime while cursing the unknowns. I toss the report on my desk. We’ll know soon enough. Just so long as these half-witted rookies wise up, you'd think they just plain know better. I begin to mutter under my breath, mentally composing the lecture I’d give them later.
Then it hits me. Kittens?!
Argh! How could I miss something like that?! I grab the report and stare at it. That’s what it said. Kittens. Kitten hair in April’s apartment! I close my eyes and remember every detail of the apartment. No kitty litter. No cat toys. No cat food or pet pictures or anything to indicate that April O’Neil would own a kitten, much less two of them. I didn’t think she kept pets. Damn! Why didn’t I catch that before! I’m losing it! Damn!
I grab the phone off my desk, ignoring the calls that are on hold and dial within the department. Robertson down in Burglary picks up instantly, the caller ID on the phone let’s him know who’s calling.
"Yes, Sir?"
"Robertson! If there are ANY reports of missing kittens filed within the last few days, I want to see them NOW! Understand?"
"Yes Sir! I’ll bring them to your office personally, along with what we've found on the Turtel person."
"Fine." I say as I slam the phone back onto the receiver. I sink into my chair and notice some of the other paperwork on my desk.
Some of it looks official. And not the Mayor’s stationary either. What’s this then? Hrm. A statement from a company called TGRI. They’ve got some bounty hunters working in the area - although they fail to get detailed on why - and they want police cooperation in looking for some people. As if we have nothing better to do! I glance at the profiles of the people they’re after. Scientist types. Perry and LeGault. They certainly don’t look like thugs. What did you do boys? Steal a microscope? I shove the paper aside and dig through the daily reports.
Another piece of paper catches my attention. Says that Charles Pennington called this morning. Seems that vagrant son of his is missing again. Damn it, I’m a Police Chief, not a baby-sitter! I throw the slip in the trash and begin to shuffle through the numerous reports while trying not to think about the note I’m sure to get if Charles finds out his top reporter is missing too.
Waitaminute….why HASN’T he noticed? Maybe he’s seen April at work. After all Garrison called around the hospitals like I told him, and she wasn’t seen at any of them... But then why hasn't she called us? If everything's fine with her, she might want to know what happened to her apartment. I grab the slip out of the trash and pin it to the cluttered bulletin board behind me so I’ll remember to call Charles later.
The stack of papers collapses as I tug the daily reports out and start scanning them. The usual bunch. A suicide or two…such a waste…a few drunk drivers were caught, some kids held up a Seven-Eleven, petty theft, reports of gunfire, numerous speeding tickets, shoplifters…
Huh. Our undercover at the pier indicates that the drug lords are going to start moving their merchandise through the airport. Damn, they must have connections there. I scribble some notes in the margin before putting the paper on my priority stack.
Back to work. Another drive-by. This one is gang related. I wonder if that other one was? Maybe the Italian mob? I look at the map of the city behind me, filled with holes and tacks. The tack marking the Italian man drive-by is way out of typical Italian Mobster territory, unless the mob has redrawn their boundaries…and what’s this? For some reason, it now stands out that the drive-by happened next to a pet store…suddenly I’m thinking 'kittens?'. It doesn’t make sense.
I shake my head and go back to reading the other reports. No answers yet on that break in at the phone company, sounds like a pro job. Nothing - no fingerprints, no hairs, no scuffs or anything - were found at the scene. I grimace as my priority stack grows a little.
Hmm what’s this? Another 'ninja' break in?! This time they hit 223 54th, Apartment 3B. The man who owned the place had put up a fight and been admitted to a hospital. I turn to a section that looks like it was stapled on later. This report says the man was attacked again, in the hospital! George O’Mally of the hospital security caught the attacker, but the man escaped. Motives for the attacks remained unknown, location of the man is unknown. Damn! More unknowns! That’s all I need! It's gonna be one of THOSE days.
And another missing person! Damn! I look at the man’s profile. Casey Jones. A thug if I ever saw one. But that didn’t explain why the hell the 'ninja' freaks were after him. I found myself wondering if this guy owned kittens, but with a smirk I trash that idea. I must be really tired. Geezas, what a fiasco. I toss the reports into my lesser priority stack. I was surprised to see the related Forsenics report under it. Those Forensics people must have done overtime. There is no other logical explaination for them being caught up.
I pick up the Forensics report from the search of Mr. Jones apartment. Fingerprints: April O’Neil. My heart skips a beat. Damn! Casey Jones, Dan Pennington…Oh great. Some other kid, Keno and unknown AGAIN! Double damn!
I have no idea who this Keno guy is, but he must be on record somewhere, and judging by the company he keeps…. Well, even if he’s not involved in April being missing - even if none of these people - Dan and Casey and Unknown - are, they might know something. There is only one way to find out.
I snatch up the phone and punch in the numbers. "Garrison!!!!"
"Yes Sir?"
"Get in my office! There’s work to do!" I hang up. Under a minute later Garrison enters with Robertson just behind. I hold out the reports to him.
"Get some men over to Miss O’Neil’s apartment NOW. I want to know if anyone around there has ever seen any of these people there! And get these records over to dispatch, I want every available person on the look out for this Casey Jones person, plus the Pennington kid and this Keno guy!!! They could have answers we need! Also, get these reports back to Forensics! I want to know if the unknowns found in April’s apartment happen to match up with the unknown found at the other place!"
"YES SIR!" Garrison grins, he loves this kind of thing, he’s like a damn kid sometimes. But he does decent work. He takes the papers and turns to leave.
"Garrison!" He pauses and looks at me. "One last thing - get someone to teach our rookies to wear their gloves! I’m sick to death of them finding their own fingerprints!" He nods and is gone, closing the door behind him.
Robertson presents me with a collection of folders. He goes into monotone mode and begins to explain that these are all the missing pet reports we have from the last few days. That it’s just the usual batch, nothing outstanding. He also states that no kittens have been filed as stolen from a business at this point. Not what I want to hear. I zone out.
Kittens. The word is replaying in my head, suspended there like some misplaced flashing neon sign. Kittens, kittens, kittens. This is starting get annoying.
I try to focus on the matters at hand. Bounty hunters, I think, drug lords, runaway scientists, drive-by, news reporter, unknown. *KITTENS* It's still there. The one piece of the puzzle that makes no sense whatsoever. Who would break into someones apartment to get some kittens? Especially when the owner of the apartment didn't keep kittens. Why would there be a drive-by to get kittens? Kittens.
What, the kittens did the break in? I make a face, distracted. Maybe it's some sort of cult that's beind all this.
Maybe Kitten is a persons name. These thoughts make sense, but don't fit the rest of the story. Kittens. And then a new thought. Meow. Meow, meow, meow.
I blink and zone in. Hell. This case is getting to me. Things are making less than no sense. Robertson is talking about the Turtel person now and another break in that happened. Some guy named LeGault.
There's one thing I love about this job - I have a million ways to get out of the tedious paperwork. There's always something going on in this city, and I'm responsible for knowing what, when, how, who, and why. I'm the one that the Mayor and the Congresspersons and Senators run to. I'm the one they yell at. I have to have the answers. It's just that simple.
I’m on my feet, pulling on my jacket, muttering some mumbo-jumbo excuse about a hunch. Robertson is looking at me like I’m either insane or Sherlock Holmes. Maybe both. Wait a minute, did he say LeGault? The guy that TGRI is after had his apartment broken into? I dig through the papers on my desk…Where did I put it?…find the request from TGRI and hand it over to Robertson.
"Here. Add these two to the list of people I want everyone to watch out for. They are to be considered dangerous. And get this taken care of quietly, don’t let the media get involved! I need answers, and the media doesn't have them!"
I grab my CB and storm out of my office. I’m not even outside when the CB reports that Casey Jones is now in police custody and headed for the station. Cursing, I turn to head back inside when another report comes through that stops me in my tracks.
"...Report of a disturbance...source unknown at this time...Oh my god, did you see that? What was that?!..Need backup...repeat, need backup!..."
Meow. The word flits through my mind. I have no idea why. A curiousity and sense of urgency are stirred in me. Spontaneously I decide to let someone else question the Jones punker. He’s probably got an attitude problem anyway, and that’s the last thing I need today. I lift the radio and request that the directions are repeated for my benefit. It's showtime.
I arrive at the scene after battling through traffic and find myself looking at some aged warehouses. There are a few other police cars parked here - they've turned their sirens and lights off. I listen to the debate over the CB about what was seen here earlier. The patrollers seem to think it was some sort of explosive. I roll down a window in my sqad car, sniffing the air.
Usually, explosives - and whatever they damage - leave a sort of burning smell in the air. There is no such odor here. Which bugs me. If it wasn't an explosive, why do the two patrollers insist that's what they saw? Are they lying? I scowl at the warehouses.
There's a whole cluster of these old buildings here, and the patrollers aren't quite sure which one the explosion they saw came from. I watch as the group gathered here breaks into two teams of about four each - leaving three of us to watch the cars - and start to investigate the nearest warehouses.
This place is starting to bother me. It's too quiet. And empty. Even in torn up places like this I'd expect to find a small gang, homeless people, runaways, abandoned pets. Some signs of life. I step out of the squad car to stretch. The CB announces that the teams have found something.
I hop back into the squad car and quietly drive it to the warehouse where they're located now, the other two stay with the rest of the cars. I pull up and park behind the warehouse. One team meets me there and shows me the side door in. The adrenline is rushing through my bloodstream.
Towards the front of this building there's a man sittting on the floor with his back to us. There's the tell-tale gleam of light on metal. Next to him, lying down, is another human figure. From where I stand I can't tell if it's alive.
I nod and take a step forward. Eight guns aim at the man. He hasn't noticed us yet, seems distracted. I walk right up behind him. The gleam belongs to a knife. The bundle at his feet is not only human, but familar. April O'Neil. I flash a hand signal beind my back.
"Well, what have we here?" I ask the man. Eight guns release their safety catches.
Go back to Part Three, Chapter Five