The Purple Man

The Purple Man

Kilgrave awakes imprisoned when he should be dead. Taylor finds herself with more company in the locker. Together, they will suffer and spread suffering. Kilgrave is a main character, and Kilgrave is not nice. You have been warned.

Because I just realized there's less of a "no link" rule, I'm also posting this story on spacebattles and fanfiction.net, so if you prefer to read this at other locations, those are options. They should mostly be the same, though there may be some variation due to editing and in the case of spacebattles, censoring of certain chapters, like the 1.9 Sophia chapter.


Chapters

Chapter 1: Prisoners Dilemma

1.1 Kilgrave
1.2 Danny
1.3 Taylor
1.4 Kilgrave
1.5 Allen
1.6 Emma
1.7 Emma
1.8 Emma
1.9 Sophia
1.10 Madison
1.11 Emma
1.12 Taylor Interlude

2.0

 

Prisoners Dilemma
1.1: Kilgrave

His world was pain. All of his body ached; his head throbbed worse than any other moment in his life of debauchery, violence, and experimentation. His neck was particularly sore, probably from when that bitch snapped it. Panic overrode pain as his eyes snapped open and he tried to get out, quickly falling off a bed onto painful metal grates. The pain prevented any further action for a while.

Eventually, the pain subsided enough so that he could open his eyes long enough to see his surroundings. They were painfully familiar.

“Well Bugger.”

He was back in his hermetically sealed cell. It seemed the large glass panels were repaired, the water thankfully gone, but this was clearly the same bloody room in which that bitch had tortured and imprisoned him. Well, admittedly it could be worse. He could be dead. For some reason the bitch had simply taken him prisoner again. Maybe there was still hope for the two of them?

He pushed those thoughts out of the way. There would be time to think of her later. Right now, he needed to get his bearing, figure out what the situation was so he could take control of it. First he extracted his face from the grates on the floor, slowly pushing himself up into a more dignified sitting position on the bed making his face the very picture of calm. She had not taken any of his wardrobe and he remained in his full posh and gentlemanly outfit. On closer inspection, his suit if anything looked ironed and his shoes polished, a curious thing for his lovely to do, given the circumstances. Said lovely was nowhere to be seen. In fact the observation room on the other side of the glass was completely deserted. He was alone.

Well, only more time to prepare for the upcoming performance. After another ten minutes the pain had completely subsided. In fact he felt better than ever.

“Well, I guess it’s time to inspect the accommodations. Oh, and hello to whoever’s listening in. Now, let’s see, same utterly spartan corner toilet, same featureless walls. Same low quality bed. Same floor grates, though I must say the lack of water is a huge improvement, and I must give my approval to the cleaning staff – not a trace of mother’s blood to be seen. I’m glad my lovely Jones has finally at least learned the value of good staff and a clean living quarters, god knows she can’t maintain one on her own. Ah, and finally the centerpiece of the room, this big, solid door, the only thing standing between me and my justly deserved freedom.”

To punctuate his remark he slammed the offending door with his fist. To his great shock, leaving him speechless for many seconds, the door gave way under the smack and ever so slowly slung open.

“And it appears I may have spoken too soon. And, what do you know, on further inspection someone has forgotten to lock the second door as well. I must say this makes a much easier escape than last time, not that I’m complaining of course, but dearie you really should make sure to lock up before leaving the house.”

And so he calmly strolled down the hallway marked “exit” by a prominent glowing exist sign, reached the end of the hallway, put his hands on the bars, pushed, and felt nothing give. It wasn’t even as if the door was locked, it was like there was a cement wall in front of him that someone had simply stuck a door in front of. Nothing about the door budged even an inch, no matter what he tried.

He then tried each of the eight doors off the hallway. Each went to a room filled with an assortment of junk: spare sheets, extra pairs of cloths, many in his favorite color, a washing machine, stacked cans of food, a bare bones kitchen, piles of papers, an impressive looking array of electronic gizmos. Nothing that looked like an exit. He tried the ceiling and once again found it to feel like a solid block of concrete. He tried to find an air vent, only much to his concern finding nothing of the sort. After what felt like hours of methodical searching he had to conclude that there was no way out: that his cell had only been a room in a slightly larger prison.

“Ok, very funny little Jonese. What game are you playing? And don’t give me the silent treatment, I know your listening. Is this your idea of ‘justice’ you wannabe hero? I see all the things you left here, looks like enough for someone to live a long, withering life. Is that it? Did you think I haven’t suffered enough, figured you’d trap me like a rat and watch me scurry around my cage until I dropped dead? Is that your idea of being a hero, of justice, or are you just doing this to have a bit of fun at my expense?”

With no answer forthcoming he sat down at the “command table” facing his old “cell”. It was more or less as he remembered it: computer to the right, large red pain button to the left, microphone in the center. Though, below the microphone was a device he didn’t remember from before: a long brick of a control panel with three joysticks, three corresponding red switches, and six corresponding dials, two for each joystick. The sets of dials, switches, and joysticks were labeled “Taylor Viewer 1” “Taylor Viewer 2” and “Taylor Viewer 3” respectively.

“Well, what do we have here? Let’s see what present our dear Jessica has left us.”

At that he flicked a red switch, and immediately one of the large glass planes that gave a view into his cell came to life, showing crystal clear a rundown looking school hallway. The view was incredibly lifelike, and he had to get out of his seat and touch it to make sure it was indeed a projection on the glass and not some sort of portal, though it still played tricks with his mind when he looked at it.

“What are you up to Jessica, and how the hell did you get something like this?”

He returned to the control brick and turned on the other “Taylor Viewers” filling all three of the large panes of glass with slightly different views of the same hallway, all seemingly focused on one particular locker. Testing the joysticks showed that they gave him control of where each viewer was looking, to a degree. While he could rotate around, up and down, and zoom in and out, they all remained focused on one particular locker. Testing out the first dial, he found out that it gave a series of different modes to the viewers, the normal one, one that seemed to be some sort of night vision, a couple which he had no clue to the specifics, and a thermal one, which netted an interesting discovery: from within the locker was coming a rather large heat source. Zooming one of the views in and through the locker wall then switching to night vision showed the source. Some girl who looked to be in quite dire condition was apparently trapped in it, covered in some quite disgusting filth, which utterly distracted from any good qualities the girl might have had under it. The crying and sobbing was not helping her at all.

“Hm, I’m not being held by my dear Jessica am I? The Jessica I know, bless her little hero heart, would never stand for this. Which leads to the quite concerning question of who is holding me?”

The final dial turned out to be a volume controller, which confirmed that the girl was shouting and crying, as he had seen, though her voice had already gone quite horse, so it looked like she’d been at this for a good while. Some experimentation showed that each viewer acted as a separate microphone and could hear the girl sobbing and trying to scream. The overlapping and slightly different pitches annoyed his ears, so he turned off all but one. With nothing else to play with he decided to try and contact the poor little thing on the viewer. The microphone seemed a good place to start. He pressed the big red “speak” button.

“Hello, Hello, can you hear me?”

The girl stopped. “Yes I can hear you.” After a moment’s pause, she started getting hysterical again. “Thank god some came please, get me out get me out!” That wouldn’t do at all.

“Now calm down lady, nothing good comes from panicking.” She was immediately soothed by his words.

“That’s a good girl, now, what’s your name?”

“Taylor Herbert.”

“Where are you Miss Herbert?”

“Locked in a locker.”

“Well, of course, even I can see that silly, think bigger: building, city, country, that kind of thing. I want the big picture.”

“Well, I’m trapped in my locker at Winslow High in Brockton Bay. We’re a city north of New York in the United States.”

“Well, I can’t say I’ve heard of it before. Any particular reason why you’re locked in a locker?”

“My old friend Emma and her friends Sophia and Madison locked me in. For some reason they’ve decided to make my life hell, though I never thought they do something this big.”

“Ah, seems I’ve been paired with a beat on weakling, how dull. Well, since I can’t seem to go anywhere without you, could you please get yourself out of the locker? I want to have a look around, and my scan of the area suggests no one else is going to be available to free you anytime soon.”

“But, how? I’ve already tried for so long, and I’m so tired and so scared and so-“

“Now now lady, you’re definitely not getting out with that attitude. I’ve looked at the door and you’ve made some dents on the very thin metal. You just need to punch it harder.”

“ok I’ll do that” and at that she started to punch the locker door. He gave some tips on how to throw a better punch, places to hit, and encouragement to hit harder and harder. Eventually she managed to deform the locker enough get out, clutching her now bleeding punching hand close to her chest.

“Now lady, was that really so bad?”

“Yes, that was very painful.” She responded in a hoarse voice.

“Pff. You and that attitude. You should try to look at the positive side more often. At least you’re free now, right? And speak up, I can barely hear you. ”

“I’m not sure.”

“What do you mean little girl?”

“Well, I’m out of the locker, but I have this vague suspicion that you might be mastering me, though I don’t quite know why.”

“Well. That’s a strange phrase. Why did you decide to change ‘master’ into a verb?”

“It’s one of the 12 parahuman power categories of the PRT. Master is the category for those who wield some sort of influence over people. It seemed to fit, though I’m not sure why I think you’re mastering me. This is so confusing, I just want to go home and make myself clean.”

“Well girl, this is all news to me, and I think you’ll have to elaborate a bit. Though now that we’re out of the locker, I realize I didn’t actually have any destination in mind either, and I’m sure your probably not going to do much useful school work in your state. Let’s walk home and you can answer some of my questions on the way there. Well, get going.”

And so they did. Taylor walking the street covered in filth, clutching a broken arm and talking to herself in a whispering, raspy voice. He found it quite annoying how he needed to keep turning up the volume so he could her bloody girl as her voice continued to give out.

Still, he was able to learn many useful things on the walk, about the PRT, about Brocton Bay, and soon determined that he wasn’t, as they say, “in Kansas anymore”, a reference he was surprised the girl got, considering the radically different world she seemed to live in. He also found out more about this strange arrangement he found himself in. It seemed only the girl could hear him, and that he could only control her. This changed everything, and he would have to radically re-think how he operated.

By the time they reached her house, the sun had begun to set, and he couldn’t think of any new questions, and the thing could barely talk anyways. He would need some time to digest what the girl had said and go over the notes he had started.

“This is home. Do you have any more questions mister … “

“Kilgrave. The names Kilgrave darling. And no, you’ve done more than enough for today. Go in, take a nice bath, and go to sleep. We have much to do, and we need you rested and presentable for whatever comes tomorrow. Just remember not to tell anyone about me, ok? Good night girl, it’s been a long day for me too and I need my beauty sleep as well, though in all honesty you probably need it more than I do given your…you. Toodles.”

At that, a satisfied kilgrave turned off the viewers, stretched, and went to find a comfortable spot to lie down and think about the day’s events. At which point he remembered where “his” bed was. While it technically wasn’t any more of a prison than whatever he was in, the cell still felt too confining. Thus, with a great deal of awkward effort, he managed to move his bed out of the cell and into a more proper room. The only reason he should now ever have to enter his cell would be to use the toilet. That inconvenience solved, he settled down for a nice time of thinking, eventually drifting off to a relaxing night sleep that comes from a productive day.

 

1.2 Danny

He had been able to brush off his daughter not being home when he got back from work, but as the time stretched on he had become increasingly concerned. He had called the school, but the impatient secretary who was just about to clock out had been less than helpful. With that he felt his options had been exhausted. All he could do was wait.

When the sun set, his daughter still not home, his nerves fraying, fingers drumming the table with increasing force, he was starting to consider some other options, maybe calling the police, or going out, or doing something, anything but just waiting. It gave him a start when the door just swung open and his daughter walked in, not even bothering to stop and close the door.

“Hun! I was worried about - Taylor what happened!” At that point he registered his daughter’s condition. She was covered in filth, clutching a hand to her chest which seemed to be leaking blood.

“Sorry, can’t talk, I need to get a bath and go to sleep.” She responded in a quiet and broken voice.

“Your arm! Is your arm alright? Where’s the blood coming from?” She almost didn’t seem to hear him, and just kept walking deeper into the house. He put himself physically in front of her.

“Hun, please stop. Let me help you.” She paused a bit, and seemed to be considering the request.

“Sorry I have to get a bath and go to sleep.” she then walked around him. Her dismissal stunned him, and he let her keep going until at the last second he made a decision and firmly grabbed her arm. Try as she might, she couldn’t overcome his grip.

“Dad, please. Let me go, I need to get a bath and go to sleep. Please dad, please don’t stop me, I don’t want to hurt you but I need to get a bath and go to sleep.” She sounded so, so desperate.

“At least let me see your hand. You were really cradling that other hand, and I need to make sure nothing’s broken. At least let me do that.” There was a long pause. Then she punched him as hard as she could in the face.

The punch didn’t really hurt, much, he could take a hit, but for his own daughter to hit him was so shocking that he let go. Taylor immediately tried to make a break for the stairs. On seeing his fleeing daughter, operating more on instinct than reason, he tackled her to the floor, hitting a table on the way down and landing on her bad arm, as he tried to restrain her in a bear hug.

Taylor for her part put everything she had left to hit, kick, and scream at her father, pleading him to let her go so she could get a bath and go to sleep. Danny didn’t know what else to do but keep ahold of his manic daughter with all his might and hope she calmed down and came back to her senses, enduring strike after strike until that happened. They wrestled and rolled on the floor for what seemed like forever, Danny continuing to hold on and pray his daughter would finally run out of energy so he could get help and find out what was wrong with his daughter.

Eventually, help did come, though not in the way he would have liked. Two policemen arrived through the open door, through which the sound of the fight had left and caused concern for one of the neighbors. Seeing him pinning down his bleeding, exhausted daughter, the police jumped him, ripping him off his daughter and slamming him to the floor, his attempts at explanation falling on deaf ears.

While one policeman yelled incomprehensible things at him, he saw out of the corner of his eye the other trying to coax some response out of his Taylor. She for her part seemed content to ignore the policemen and try to crawl up the stairs, no longer having the voice to keep insisting on a bath and sleep. All the policemen’s attempts to make her stop and rest failed, and at this point they were finally receptive to his words regarding his daughter’s condition. The policemen, unsure of what to do in the situation, decided to leave Danny cuffed in the living room and lock his daughter in the police car until the ambulance arrived, who then put his daughter on sedatives and carted her of to parts unknown.

As to him, after a bit of bickering the two cops decided the safest option was to take him in to the station and let them sort out what to do. The police at least were kind enough to let him finally close the door, turn of the lights, and lock up his house before taking him to the station. They even removed his cuffs for the ride there. He figured he should be thankful for the small, small kindnesses god decided to throw his way, though he found it awfully hard to summon any feelings of thankfulness on a night like this.

 

1.3 Taylor

She felt incredibly, what was the word, bizarre. Her entire body felt strange, utterly different from how it had ever felt. She didn’t recognize her surrounding at all. It looked like some sort of maintenance hall, except for right in front of her were three massive incredibly high def screens showing …

Her. The changes had initially thrown her off, such as the hospital gown, neck wrappings, and hand cast from when she had broken it punching her way out of the locker and then punching fath-

Ohgodohgodohgoddad.

What did she do to dad! She remembered that desperate fight, her yelling, screaming despite how much it hurt her, and hitting him over and over again because kilgrave told her.

She needed to throw up and brought her hand to her mouth from its position resting on the table to try and delay it until she found a sink or something. When she noticed that everything about her hand was wrong. It was too long, the color was wrong, the dimensions were wrong, it looked masculine. She tried to take in the rest of her. This wasn’t her body, it wasn’t anything close to her. She was a teenage girl, this was some sort of middle aged man.

She gave up on holding it in and puked directly on the floor. She/he then rolled onto her side next to the pile of vomit and cried.

The locker, the torturous escape and walk home, the British man, Kilgrave she remembered, who had asked her question after question, each time it hurting more and more to speak. The fight with father, him being so unfairly arrested, her constant attempts to go take a stupid fucking bath despite her body feeling like it was falling apart. And now she was in a strange room in a strange body. It was too much, it was too unfair. Why did she have to suffer, why did everything bad in the world happen to her? What did she ever do to deserve this.

She pondered such questions and processed the day’s unfairness as she lay on the floor curled up beside her vomit in her not body and sobbed, cried, and moaned.

She was there for a good half hour. She was brought out of it when she started to hear a voice. The source seemed to be the desk up above. She pulled herself together enough to investigate. It was coming from a control panel on the desk, and the voice was that of a doctor discussing her “her” body with a nurse.

“I agree with you regarding the patient. She’s been asleep for a good while, and we haven’t seen any signs of abnormalities in the tests and observation. Whatever was going through her mind when they brought her in should hopefully have worked its way out. Start taking her off the sedatives. Just make sure you’re here when she wakes up, and if she’s still resistive don’t be afraid to put her back under the drip or call for help if she’s particularly aggressive.”

So, that explained her, well, her body’s condition. Which unfortunately gave no real clue to what the hell she was doing in this body. She tried the microphone, though she got no response from the nurse in the room. Listening to her new voice was shocking and almost brought the panic attack back. It sounded so different, but so familiar.

She tried to fake a British accent. She certainly wasn’t going to win any acting awards, but it confirmed her suspicion. This was kilgrave’s body. So this must have been the room he controlled her from, was spying on her from. But if she was in his body, did that mean he was in hers? Why would this psychopath switch body’s with an unconscious girl? Something wasn’t adding up, and rather than dwell on the awfulness of the situation, she latched onto the mystery of it and began to explore the room to search for some clues, keeping an eye on the viewers to make sure nothing was changing.

The area turned out to be small and prison like. As far as she could tell, the guy was sealed in, though with tinker tech, which the villain clearly had, one could never tell such things for sure. He had sounded like he was from somewhere else during the questions however and had seemed interested in her merely because he couldn’t interact with anything else, so he might possibly really be trapped here. Though, when she tried the phone and computer, she found calls could be made out and the internet accessed, so that explanation didn’t really make sense either.

Before she could make any real use of the phone or computer however, she started to see some movement on the viewers. “She” was starting to wake up and caught the attention of the nurse.

“Taylor? Taylor Herbert right? How are you feeling?” ‘Taylor’ was looking completely confused.

“Where am I? Who Am I?” ‘Taylor’ ordered, though in her throat’s condition such yelling immediately caused a coughing fit. She also seemed to have suddenly gained a British accent.

The nurse seemed to freeze for a second before answering in a not quite normal tone of voice “You are Taylor Herbert, a patient who came in yesterday with a broken arm, dislocated shoulder, and a whole host of other injuries from fighting your father, if you would like me to list them all out from your card. You are in the Brockton General for treatment and recuperation.”

“Well, that’s certainly a strange turn of events. I think I’ll have some other questions, but get me a drink of water first I’m parched.” The nurse immediately began fulfilling her request. Or maybe it would be better to say his request, since Taylor was certain this was Kilgrave. She couldn’t resist waiting till he was drinking the glass of water before pressing the talk button on the microphone.

“Kilgrave.” Taylor got a small amount of satisfaction from watching him choke a bit on the water.

“Ack. What the bloody hell was that? Is that my voice? But without my accent. And it was so weird, like it was coming from within my head.”

“This is Taylor, the girl who you ‘rescued’ from the locker, made fight her own dad, hospitalized, and who’s body you are currently ‘borrowing’. Ring any bells? Tell me, why are you stalking me?”

“I’m doing nothing of the sort, and this situation is just as bizarre and undesired for me as it is for you, though I assume you’ll want some sort of explanation for all this.”

“You think you can justify what you did with a little ‘explaining’? Do you have any idea-“

“Taylor, are you all right?” The nurse seemed to have been getting worried about the private, one sided conversation ‘Taylor’ was having with herself.

“Oh, you’re still here? Don’t you have other patients or something to do? Go away and let me speak in private.” And at that the nurse promptly left.

“So, with that out the way, Taylor darling, if I could call you darling.”

“No.”

“Ah, you still have that attitude. Think more positively.”

“No.” He gave a slight humph in response.

“Very well then, be that way. Now, I know we both got off on a bad foot, and I’m sure you think this is all my fault, but I think I can convince you it’s not all my fault, and what is was a perfectly honest mistake.”

 

1.4: Kilgrave

Kilgrave was in quite a pickle. After waking up from his restful night’s sleep he had discovered his little pet was unconscious in a hospital room. His attempts to get answers by swinging the viewers around the unconscious girl were more or less fruitless.

When he was about at his wits end, he remembered the big red pain button. When his darling had imprisoned him, that button had been used to send a current coursing through his cell, a certainly quite unpleasant experience. In this new prison however the purpose of the objects had changed: what was previous used to talk to and see him now was used to do those things to Taylor. Perhaps, he reasoned, the pain button would also be re-purposed to interact with Taylor in some way. And if there was anything that was going to wake her up, that button would be it.

So, he had pressed it, and things had gotten weird. First, everything had gone black, next came an incredible feeling of grogginess and a sense of dull, distant pain. Slowly he had risen out of the fog and found himself face to face with a nurse in a hospital room. Naturally, he was able to quickly regain his composure and footing in the situation, and came to a rough conclusion of what the red button must do and his general situation.

Then Taylor spoke.

This was a problem, since she apparently had his precious body, and while the ability to possess someone not locked in a cage was a nice feature, he was still rather attached to his old accommodations, despite its problematic condition. Furthermore, while he was pretty confident his power had transferred over based on the behavior of the nurse, he couldn’t exert any control over Taylor in this arrangement. He would have to talk himself out of this the old fashioned way.

“Now, I know we both got off on a bad foot, and I’m sure you think this is all my fault, but I think I can convince you it’s not all my fault, and what is was a perfectly honest mistake.”

“A bad foot? You call this a bad foot? You made me beat my own father! He’s in jail because of you!”

Hm, he wasn’t always the most careful of sort, but he was sure he would have remembered giving an order like that.

“Darling Tay-“

“DON’T CALL ME DARLING YOU MONSTER!”

“Right. Miss, ugh, Herbert, what exactly did I tell you to do?”

“You ordered me to take a fucking bath and go to sleep, and I had to get in a fight with my dad to try and comply.”

“Ah, that’s what happened. I think that’s what we call an honest mistake and, before you explode, consider this: if I had wanted you to fight your father, why would I engineer it in such a roundabout way? If you simply consider what I said, was there any malice in my departing words?”

“Um. Huh. Why wouldn’t you be more careful talking? I know you know you have a power.”

“Ugh, everyone always says ‘be more careful’ as if it was as easy as that. I’ve had this power for almost my whole life you know, and I can’t turn it off. Can you imagine trying to have a conversation without ever making a request of someone? Do you have any conception of how difficult, how impossible, such a level of careful word parsing is? To, as unfortunately happened to you, not be able to wish someone a good night without potentially dire consequences? Bloody hell, I’ve made several in that couple of sentences alone.

I think, if you look at the events objectively, you will see I meant you no harm with those parting words wishing you a good night. I know I did you an unfortunate amount of harm, but can you see that I did not mean for you to suffer? It was an honest mistake, an immensely unfortunate, but honest mistake.”

“BUT! But . . .” He could practically hear the gears turning in the youngling’s head, trying to find fault with his words. “. . . but, what about the talk? The walk home? You could tell I was suffering, right? Anyone with an ounce of empathy would have realized that.”

He paused to think a moment. “I will admit reading people has never been a particular strength of mine. Since I’ve been - burdened with this power for so long my skill at reading people has never had the chance to develop. As my Jessica used to say, I’ve never learned to interact with people in a way someone would call normal. Jessica Jones, the little cricket on my shoulder, was the closest I’d ever come, which is rather sad when I think about it. Combined with my shock from finding myself in such a strange situation, my own significant problems clouding my mind, I honestly was in no condition to notice your dire state.”

“Huh. I guess that makes sense, I think? Maybe? . . . Who’s Jessica?”

“Ah, Jessica Jones, she and I were - close. She was a true hero as they say, always looking out for the victims of the world. Got her into trouble a couple of times, but her heart was always in the right place. We hero’ed together for a while you know.”

“You really don’t seem the hero type, and that name doesn’t help any, Mr. Kilgrave.”

He gave a little chuckle at that, which surprised him since it came out as more of a girly giggle. And brought about a coughing fit. Right, on to the important issue.

“You’re more correct than you know. I often relied on Jessica to reach the right decisions during our heroing career. When we had to part ways, I was hopeless at it. You like heroes, don’t you Taylor?”

“Well, yeah, everyone likes them. Everyone wishes they could be one.”

“Would you like to be a hero Taylor?”

“Um, why are you-“

“Because I can help you become one. You seem a good girl. A bad girl would never react so strongly to getting in a fight with her father or put up with such merciless bullying for so long. Between my power and your morals, I think we could make a pretty good team.”

“. . . why are you, no. What are you offering?”

“Well, since we’re stuck together, we will need to depend upon each other until we can find some sort of solution for the current predicament. And since, as you say, it is your body, it only makes sense that most of the responsibility to help rests on me. And I can help you a great deal, to be a hero, to be rich, to be popular, whatever you want, I can help you achieve it. So, what do you want Taylor darling?”

“What do I want? I want - I want my dad back. I want him out of jail. I want his reputation repaired! . . . and I want his forgiveness.”

“Hm, baby steps are a perfectly fine way to walk down the path to happiness. Well, let’s see if I can make your wishes come true. Do you happen to know a good Lawyer?”

 

1.5 Allen

This was certainly not what Allen Barnes had expected to be doing today. He had been in the middle of a mindless work induced zen, making sure citations were matched correctly, when he had gotten a call from his wife. His initial annoyance at being pulled out of the zone was soon replaced by stunned disbelief, then worry. If his wife was to be believed, his old though somewhat distant friend Danny Herbert was in prison and his daughter, Taylor Herbert, was in Brockton General Hospital. Taylor had called his house and relayed such to his wife, requesting his presence at the hospital to help sort things out. While he was fairly certain Mr. Herbert wasn’t in prison, jail seemed much more likely, he likewise could think of no reason a girl like Taylor, such as he recalled her, would have to make up such a story.

Thus, with only a little bit of regret, he put off his work and drove down to Brockton General. The front desk confirmed that Taylor had indeed been admitted to the institution and was expecting him. When he saw the girl, he had a strange mixture of shock and relief. His wife hadn’t been able to give much in the way of details regarding Taylors condition, and being hospitalized could have meant anything.

In this case, it seemed to mean a broken arm, some sort of injury to the neck and some bruising on the hands and face, which probably meant there were others hidden by the clothing and blanket. However, she still had all her limbs, and she seemed to still have movement in them judging by the nervous movement of her hands and feet. So, while she certainly could be better, she could have been much worse.

Now he needed to find the cause of her condition. Taylor, while clearly nervous, spoke first, looking at her thumb as she rubbed her cast.

“Thank you, Mr. Barnes. I- thanks for coming. I couldn’t think of anyone else to ask.”

“Um, thank you. I’m glad you so trust me.” There was a long pause, and Taylor looked somewhat distracted. “So, can you tell me what happened? I’ll warn you that I’m not necessarily the right lawyer for whatever this situation is, but I can probably find someone who is qualified once I know what happened.”

“I . . . I was-“ she abruptly halted, and looked almost like someone else was talking. Strange. “Mr. Barnes, what do you know about, about me and- sorry. About Emma and I?”

Hm, truth be told he didn’t know much. In the past, Taylor had been a regular feature at the Barne’s household, and Danny and his lovely wife Annette not infrequent visitors. Then Annette had passed and he had seen almost nothing of the two remaining Herberts. Seeing Danny turned into a chore Allen did only out of a feeling of responsibility for the man, and his daughter had been much the same, until recently.

There did seem to be something more, off with the relationship between Emma and Taylor recently. He still occasionally mustered the will to check up on Danny. Not often, not as often as he probably should, but every so often he did make the trip to the Herbert household. Emma never wanted to come on these trips anymore, and there was more than a bitterness of a good friend grown distant in her voice when she talked about Taylor these days, though he couldn’t pinpoint where the bitterness had turned to something stronger.

He relayed more or less that to Taylor, through a series of questions and answers that would have almost been an interrogation if Taylor hadn’t been so shy, nervous, and hesitant throughout. And the overly long pauses between the end of his speech and the beginning of hers was concerning. Did she in fact have some sort of brain damage as well? That would be very problematic.

“So, Taylor, while I am glad to answer your questions, don’t you think we should deal with the pressing issue? What happened to you, and why is Danny in Jail?” He wracked his brain, but couldn’t think of a more delicate way to put it. “Did Danny do this to you?”

Despite the fact that she had clearly been preparing for the question, she still looked like someone had lightly slapped her in the face. “No. Well, we did get into a fight and I got some injuries from that, but it wasn’t his fault, it was K-” She had to stop and collect herself at that point. Allen was starting to worry he would have to get in contact with child services. He hated dealing with those people. She found her center again and continued. “It was my fault. When I came home, I was not in my right mind, and the two policemen who arrested dad can back that up. I had the broken arm before I got there. Dad was just trying to restrain me until I came back to my senses.”

“That begs the question Taylor, of why you weren’t in your right mind and broke your arm in the first place?”

“It was Emma’s fault.” Upon seeing the look of surprise on his face, she tried to backtrack a bit. “More, hon-“ she seemed to have great difficulty getting the word out. After waving her hand as if to shoe something away, she was able to continue. “To be more honest, it was my fault, Emma was just reacting, reacting to my foolish ac- my foolish actions.”

“You’re . . . going to have to elaborate Taylor.”

“We haven’t been friends . . . haven’t been friendly for a while. Some of the things she’s done . . . that we’ve called . . . that we’ve done to each other have been very, very mean.” She took a long time to collect her thoughts again. “Yesterday, while we were . . . fighting, I guess shouting is a better word, I lost control and tried to punch her with all my might. I- I think . . . I know I missed and hit the wall behind her instead. I didn’t feel it then, I was too mad, too angry to feel it, but I think that broke my hand. One of her friends, maybe Sophia? I can’t remember, but one of them defended her and threw me away. They might have hit me in the head, or maybe it was just the fall. I can’t remember. But after that . . . after that happened I ran away. I must have wandered all over the place, but when I got home I was . . . I was still disoriented. And that led to me hi- to me hitting dad and being a madwoman. And that’s the hon- the honest truth.”

Allen didn’t know what to say to that. “So, what do you need me to do?”

“Could you please get him out of prison? He didn’t do anything wrong, it was all my- my fault. I can give a report, if that would help. I just don’t want him to be punished for something that’s not his fault.”

“Certainly Taylor. I think I can get him out easily. Between your testimony, Emma’s, and those cops who were at the scene, the evidence almost speaks for itself. I think your father’s going to be a free man before dinner.”

“Thank you! Wait. Emma’s testimony?” There was a long pause. “ Will she be willing to defend me, after everything she- I’ve done?”

“Of course. I know things haven’t been, great between the two of you, but I’m sure she doesn’t want to see your father in jail either. And an eyewitness will greatly help speed things along.”

“But, won’t she be worried about getting in trouble?”

“What for? According to your story, she did didn’t do anything wrong. If you were able to run away from the incident, they wouldn’t have had reason to suspect something was wrong with you. Unless you’re leaving out some important details?”

“Um, no. If you think it important to bring her. Just, let her know what incident this is about first. You might need to go into some detail. It’s not the first. And, like you said, they would have no reason to think what happened yesterday was ser- was serious.” She seemed almost incapable of getting that last word out.

“Well Taylor, school’s about to get out and the sooner I get your father out of jail, the better, don’t you agree? Is there anything else I can do for you?”

She was quiet for a bit, shaking and nodding her head to invisible questions. “Actually, there is one more favor I would ask of you. Dad respects you, so he might listen to you when he wouldn’t listen to me.”

Allen didn’t like the direction this last request was taking. “What do you want me to talk to him about?”

“I- I can’t go back to school. I tried- I tried to punch my old best friend so hard I broke my hand. The atmosphere there is toxic, for a whole lot of reasons. I just can’t put up with it any more. If I keep going there, that place is going to break me.”

“Taylor, I know school can be hard, but an education is important for a girl. You don’t want to drop out of school, and I’m not going to try and convince your father to let you.”

“What dad wants doesn’t mm-. Dad doesn’t have to let me leave.”

“I beg your pardon, Taylor?”

She sank back in, before seeming to find some confidence. “I am not going back to school, at least not immediately. Whether or not dad approves. You know him, our situation. If I decide not to go to school, he can’t make me. I won’t go back. But I don’t want to disobey him. I want to be a good daughter. I’d much rather have his approval on this. I’ll do all the homework, read the text books, do all the assigned work and twice that if that’s what it takes, but I won’t go back, at least not immediately. Maybe later, once I’ve gotten the chance to figure my shitty life out, but I won’t go back immediately. I need some time away from that place.”

After a bit of consideration, he responded to her request. “While I still don’t agree with your decision, I can at least understand it. I’ll . . . I’ll see what I can do. If you are truly willing to do the work, something might be arranged to allow you to be absent for some time. I’m not making any promises however.”

“ Wasn’t expecting any.”

“Well, if that is all, I have to get your father out of jail. Good day Taylor.”

“Thank you, Mr Barnes. I truly mean it. You’ve helped me greatly, I can’t thank you enough.”

At those parting words, he left the hospital, and was able to get to Winslow just as final classes were being let out. He picked up Emma, making it clear there was no debate about this. She initially had a look of panic when he told her he had just come back from talking with Taylor, who had told him what happened, but calmed down once he explained which event he was talking about. After some prodding, she agreed to give an eyewitness account of the event to the police.

It was fairly quick to find which jail Danny was in, and even easier to get him out. Likely the only reason Danny had still been in jail was that the overworked office workers had made processing his case a low priority. Still, Emma gave a statement which more or less matched what Taylor had told him, and the police cleared Danny of any potential charge, gave him back his keys and other personal objects, and released him into Allen’s care.

Naturally, the very first thing Danny wanted to do was see his daughter, and since he would have been stranded at the jail, Allen saw no reason not to give him a lift to the hospital. He forced Emma to come along to see Taylor over her protests. While the father and daughter were having an emotional reunion, to avoid merely standing awkwardly in the corner like his daughter, he struck up a conversation with the Doctor, and found out some fortuitous news: they could take Taylor away today if they so wished. On relaying the news to the others, Taylor made it quite clear she didn’t want to stay in the hospital if possible.

At this point, he had a good idea. “Danny, Taylor, this has been a long day for both of you, and you deserve to lay back and have a good meal. Why don’t you come over and let my wife make you guys a nice dinner? I’m sure she wouldn’t mind a few extra plates, and it’s been too long since we had you two over. I’ll drive you back home when you’re done.”

Both had a look of great uncertainty at his request. Danny spoke first. “Well Allen, I really appreciate the offer, but like you said, it’s been a long day, and given what happened we might need some time to settle down. But, I’m up for it if Taylor is. What do you want to do honey?”

Taylor was quiet for a very, very long time, looking off into the distance, nodding and shaking her head. A few times her facial expression seemed to undergo a radical change, though he couldn’t pinpoint what seemed to change. After a few horribly long minutes, she finely spoke.

“A good meal does sound good.”

 

1.6 Emma

It looked like the locker prank had opened up a can of worms. Sophia had arrived very early to school, like just past midnight early, to see how Taylor and the prank were “progressing”. And, unbelievably, the locker had been broken open, from the inside. Emma was initially puzzled. There was no way that weak, pathetic Taylor she knew could have punched her way through a steel door, even a thin one like a locker.

Sophia agreed, the Taylor they knew yesterday couldn’t do it, but one who had triggered . . . well. That was something terribly different. Emma and Madison agreed. Sophia had cleaned up the scene as best she could, only a dedicated investigation would uncover what had actually occurred. Besides that, Sophia told Emma and Madison to be careful, avoid Taylor if they saw her, and never go anywhere alone, not until they could figure out exactly what had gone down last night.

They listened to her, the trio sticking together all day as best they could, keeping an eye and ear out for Taylor. Madison was quite on edge. Emma was a bit to, but she was quite good at hiding unpleasant emotions, at pretending until it was real. Sophia was agitated, annoyed, and a bit of a snapping turtle, which pretty much described her on any other day as well. The day passed without even a hint of Taylor. Then father had come to pick her up early, wearing a look of disproval on his face, and, despite her protests, refused to let her stay at school and “support” Sophia at track practice.

She nearly panicked when her father told her he was here about Taylor, but she maintained her cool and as she listened she was relieved on two accounts. First, Taylor hadn’t actually told him what had happened yesterday, instead concocting a story about them getting in a “fight”, and he had merely been disappointed that she didn’t tell him about Taylor’s “episode”, thinking Emma had kept mum to “protect” Taylor. It was almost funny how wrong he was.

Secondly, she found out that Taylor had lost her mind and broken her hand in the process of escaping. If that was a power, it was the most pathetic one she had ever heard of. So, it seemed Taylor didn’t trigger at all. She had just broken more, and even started lashing out at her father. That meant this prank was a bigger success than they had ever imagined.

So, with her two worst fears - her family finding out and believing the weakling, and said weakling gaining superpowers and wreaking terrible vengeance on the trio - having been soothed, she felt charitable and went along with this bizarre ruse Taylor had concocted to get her father out of jail while transferring all of the blame for things onto herself for some reason that probably only made sense in Talyor’s victim mind. But, Taylor was a weakling incapable of standing up for herself, so being even more of a doormat seemed to fit with her nature.

The ride to the hospital from the Police station hadn’t been particularly noteworthy or uncomfortable. She was kicked out of the front seat to make space for Taylor’s dad, but that just meant she had the whole backseat to herself without anyone looking at her. She had protested coming up to see Taylor, but only faintly. First, it wouldn’t do to make Taylor’s dad suspicious, and honestly she wanted to see what the prank had done to Taylor firsthand.

Emma had initially been somewhat disappointed when she saw her. Sure, Taylor’s hand was in a cast, and her neck wrapped and voice a little horse, but besides those two issues, she seemed alright, and certainly didn’t lack for energy in greeting and talking with her father. Nothing interesting seemed to be wrong with the girl, and a hospital seemed overkill. Honestly the whole thing was a bore.

It turned out she was right: Taylor didn’t need to stay in the hospital; she was perfectly fine enough to leave. Then father had a wonderfully awful idea.

“Danny, Taylor, this has been a long day for both of you, and you deserve to lay back and have a good meal. Why don’t you come over and let my wife make you guys a nice dinner? I’m sure she wouldn’t mind a few extra plates, and it’s been too long since we had you two over. I’ll drive you back home when you’re done.”

Taylor’s father was clearly uncomfortable with the idea, seeming to sense on some basic, instinctual level what her father didn’t seem to grasp, that that was a truly awful idea, but was willing to defer to his daughter about it.

And Taylor seemed to actually consider the proposal, for some ungodly reason. And consider it, and consider it, make a strange face, consider it, nod her head, do an out of the blue hand motion, consider it, and on and on for 84 fracking seconds from the moment she decided to start timing this terrible awful pause and silence, and she got more and more frustrated with every second, and she could feel the mask slowly slipping, and contributing to this stupid mangy girl obvious brain damaged became increasingly appealing, just to have something break this horrible atmosphere, when she finally, finally spoke and made the obvious deci-

“A good meal does sound good.”

The exact opposite of what any reasonable person would have recognized as the obviously right decision. Father was relieved, whether at having guests or finally being able to do something, she couldn’t tell, and he rushed them out of there, faster than it seemed she could react. Thankfully, she got the front seat back on the ride home, since Taylor’s dad wanted to sit next to his daughter, but she swore she could feel Taylor’s eyes boring into her skull from the silent backseat, though glances at the backseat through the rear view mirror showed that Taylor was mostly staring blankly into space. Something weird was still going on with her face. Annoyingly she couldn’t place what was changing however.

“Could I borrow someone’s phone?” Taylor’s out of the blue request caught everyone off guard. Unfortunately her father recovered first.

“Sure you can Taylor. Emma, give Taylor your phone.”

“But, dad, um-”

“Now now dearie, there’s no reason to make a fuss over such a little thing. I’m sure given her situation there’s some people who she needs to let know she’s alright.”

With a humph, she started to hand over her phone, quickly took it back to unlock it, she was quite attached to her current code and didn’t want to give it up because of Taylor of all people, handed it over to the girl, and confirmed that her mobile number was still the same.

When Emma finally realized an important detail. “Who the heck are you actually calling Taylor? You don’t have any fr- new friends I’m aware of. Certainly you don’t hang out with anyone-else, at school.”

There was another long pause, though on the order of 1-3 seconds, not the previous minute + pause from hell. “A new friend I met, online. His name is K- um, well his name starts with K, uh, well, its, um K-Kirby!”

“You know a boy named Kirby?” Taylor’s dad asked, somewhat confused.

“Well,” Taylor mumbled a bit. “I-it’s not his real name. It’s his, uh, screen name. Everyone goes by a screen name online. All the kids are doing it.” She cringed at that last bit, and continued to cringe as if someone was yelling at her.

Emma for herself couldn’t resist the obvious exploit. “Is this Kirby a boy or a man?” That earned her an evil eye from Taylor. It been awhile since she could muster one of those.

Danny spoke up. “Taylor, how old is . . . Kirby?” Taylor immediately turned red and huddled into herself.

“Um well, I don’t know, I’ve never asked him - no, shut up you - Um, sorry. Like I said, I’m not sure.”

Ok, this was too perfect not to keep twisting the knife, and this was important information to collect for later use. “But, if you have his number, surely you’ve talked to him at least? I’m sure you can guess his age from that?”

Taylor gave her another evil eye. She hadn’t gotten this much response out of the girl in a long time, and it was quite refreshing. “Taylor, darling, I want to know as well.” Looks like her father wasn’t going to stop pushing.

She gave a sigh. “He’s in his 30s.”

Emma kept up the pressure. “Early 30s or late 30s?”

“. . . late 30s.” OMG, between the embarrassment on the daughter’s face, and the look of great concern on the father’s, this alone was almost worth this entire car ride. And, she realized, since Taylor was using her phone she would be able to check the records and find this “Kirby’s” number and they would be able to ruin whatever she had with this pervert as well. This trip just kept on giving.

“Um, Taylor, while I trust your judgement, don’t you think being in a relationship-”

“WE ARE NOT IN A RELATIONSHIP!” Taylor then broke out in a bit of a coughing fit. Right, she had hurt her throat somehow. “Um, sorry dad, buts it’s been a really stressful day for all of us, and Mr. Barnes is so kindly giving us a ride and meal, could we please not deal with this right now?”

At that the phone rang. “That should be him. Now, please just let me get this over with, and I promise I can explain things later.”

After that, things were more or less quiet in the car except for Taylor and her conversation with Kirby. Emma, try as she might, couldn’t really pick up much. She couldn’t overhear anything from the other end, while Taylor was clearly carefully watching her words, keeping things to monosyllable replies as much as possible, aware that both her arch nemesis, and probably more important, father were listening in. Still, someone in the relationship clearly had a lot to say, since they were talking right up to the point when they got to her house, at which point Taylor hung up and pocketed the phone.

 

1.7 Emma

Things went downhill from there. Emma’s unease started to build soon after they had entered her home, and the family had gone through the standard greetings. While mother and her older sister worked on dinner, the two daughters and fathers sat down at the table, one family on each side. After a brief period of uneasy silence, Taylor broke the ice, asking what they thought about Chinese food, something both men turned out to have opinions on. And once the conversation had started, it kept on going, and the uneasiness built in Emma.

It took an embarrassing amount of time for her to figure out why: Taylor wasn’t. Uneasy, that is. She wasn’t acting like she was sitting at the table with her tormentor, an old friend who had betrayed her, or like one who desperately wished to be somewhere else, away from people and prying eyes. Instead, she was acting like this was a totally normal evening. In fact, if she didn’t know better, and it was very hard to see the signs, it seemed like Taylor was enjoying herself. She was almost acting like she had before her mother had died. No, even back then, Taylor had preferred to fade into the background at any social event, even a small one like this. Instead, she was leading the conversation, becoming the center of attention. Taylor had never been this confident.

“And what about you Emma? How’s the modeling going?” Did, did Taylor just ask how she was doing? What the hell was with that tone? How the hell could that wimpy twerp sound friendly! What the hell was going on!?

And she realized she had been staring slack jawed at the wimp like she’d just seen a unicorn. She did her best to recover. “Oh, it’s going very well. I’m starting to learn the terminology of the business, lots of insider speak one has to learn to really fit in.”

“Have you been getting paid much yet? You’re so lucky to have a job, given the conditions of Brockton Bay.”

Ugh, just fake it girl, you know you can do that. Don’t let that bitch pull another embarrassment like that on you. “Well, I’m paid on a commission per shoot. Mostly I’m still at the, how do you call it, intern stage of my career, so shoots are currently paid worse than minimum wage given how much time they really take, but I’m getting exposure, and just this month I’m going to be getting my first real modeling job. Going to be front and center in an ad for a new phone coming out. How about you Taylor, how’s your life going? I’d really like to hear some more about this ‘Kirby’ fellow.” She gave a smirk. That would trip the arrogant bitch up and wipe that far too friendly smile off her face.

And it did, for about five seconds. “Oh, him. He’s a pretty great guy, as far as I can tell. I didn’t meet him all that long ago, and I’ve actually talked with him even less, but the time I’ve spent with him so far has been utterly wonderful. He’s well spoken, strong willed, a persuasive speaker, funny, and has a very sexy British accent, at least if I say so myself. A bit on the lanky side for my tastes, but it’s a strong dignified lanky, and no one’s perfect, though he does seem to come close.” She caught a worried look from her father. “ At least from the pictures he’s sent, he lives too far away to actually visit in person, which I must say is quite a shame, don’t you agree?”

The whole table could do nothing but stare. Where the hell had that come from? Emma, for once, had no idea how to springboard off of that. She had been prepared for evasion, or denial, or muted acknowledgement of the affair. But a full throated declaration of, what? Was that love? Adoration? Hots for British people? Where the hell did she go from that?

Taylor seemed a bit at a loss as well, bearing a look first of confusion, then muted anger, which she did very well to hide. “Excuse me, but I have to go wash my, well, hand. Let me know when dinner is ready. This might take a while . . . learning to wash with one hand.”

“Um, do you need help, darling?”

“No no father, just stay here and enjoy the company. I’ll manage on my own just fine.” And at that she rushed out of the room as quickly as she could without appearing to be rushing out of the room.

“Emma, go help your mother and sister in the Kitchen.” That had been her father.

“But-“

“No.” He let out a tired sigh. “I’m not in the mood to fight you. Now, go help your mother with the food.” Catching the change in the wind, Emma begrudgingly left, stopping in the hallway just around the corner to listen in a bit on the two fathers, with Danny starting an impassioned conversation while her dad tried to serve as the voice of reason. Figures.

She decided to “take the long way” from the dining room to the Kitchen, which just so happened to take her past the bathroom Taylor had retreated to, in which she was engaged in a bit of incomprehensible, borderline incoherent yelling, which suddenly ceased when she got close. Emma took that as her que to keep moving on, and quickly.

Taylor arrived back at the table five minutes late, but she seemed to have re-centered herself and was back to that disorienting, cheerful and friendly mood. Emma tried, but couldn’t trip her up, and she seemed to be winning everyone else over. Taylor was, figuratively speaking, the life of the party, and that made absolutely no sense.

The worst part remained whenever Taylor tried to talk to her, sounding just like- just like her old friend, as if nothing bad had ever happened to, or between, either of them. She would even fracking reminisce about the old times, and her stupid parents were helping her, talking about that adventure out in the woods when they were 10, that disastrous birthday party they attended in the 6th grade, that sort of accidental prank they pulled on her sister and the righteous vengeance she meted against them in return. It was more than she could take, and she asked to be excused from the table, though she didn’t wait for permission, and quickly retreated to her room, and locked herself in.

Once she was safely locked away, alone, she let out a frustrated growl and tugged at her hair. What game was that girl playing. Emma had lost. She knew that much, the one who retreats and locks themselves away is rarely the winner, but she couldn’t figure out how she had lost, because she couldn’t figure out what the game was. And if she didn’t know what game Taylor was playing here, there was no way she could know what the rules and goals were.

That was the problem, she realized. Somehow, at least tonight, the two for them were no longer playing Emma’s game, playing by her rules and her goals, where Taylor never stood a chance. Taylor had changed the rules, changed the game, and was on the offensive, a predator going after its prey. And there was only one possible prey tonight.

She had to do something, had to turn the tables. Call Sophia? She was supposed to come over sometime tonight anyways, once she had finished up some ward stuff. No, Sophia didn’t like to be called while at work, and what would she tell her? That Taylor was being happy and talking to me? She could hear it now: “oh, of course Emma, I’ll rush over there to protect you from Taylor’s big, scary smile. Be careful to not let her overpower you with her one unbroken hand.” There was no way she could word this without coming across as weak and pathetic.

Jump out the window? Run away? No, retreating more was not how one recovered from an already disastrous retreat. That would merely change a . . . a tactical withdrawal into a rout. No, she had to think up a good counterattack, and soon. So why couldn’t she think of anything to do?

And then there was a knock at the door.
​

 

1.8 Emma

“Emma, can I come in?” Taylor? What? Why? “Emma, we need to talk. Please, let me in.”

Taylor sounded, normal. Her normal weak, miserable self. So that whole thing downstairs was an act! She knew it! But, why break the act now? Emma put her guard back up. Taylor was still acting; she must be, playing some sort of little game.

“Emma? I know you can hear me. Please let me in.”

“Fine fine, hold your horses you pathetic girl.” Emma decided to let her in. First, turning her away would be a sign of weakness, and she couldn’t afford any more of those, and second she would be more free to act one on one than surrounded by adult witnesses. Plus, if Taylor wanted to talk, there was no danger in hearing her out. If she was lucky, she might even be able to figure out what was going on with Taylor. So, she unlocked the door and opened it before going to sit on her bed. Taylor really had returned to normal, or at least put on a good act of doing so. She looked so hesitant, so concerned just to be stepping through the door. “Well, hurry the heck up, I don’t have all day.”

Taylor gathered her courage, or at least she gathered enough to step through the door and close it behind her. They were alone, and Taylor looked scared. Not fear fear though, more of a nervous anxiety, like someone with stage fright about to try and play a role. “Hey Emma.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “Taylor you must be more brain damaged than I thought. We said our hello’s ages ago. You said you wanted to talk? Well, if you have anything meaningful to say spit it out. Otherwise, I have no intention of repeating this wasted evening over again.” Heh, she could see the barbs were stinging now. She had the power again.

“I-if you insist. I guess there’s no rea- no real reason to delay this any further.” At that Taylor closed her eyes, and once again that strange, un-pinable thing changed with her face. “Emma, you and Taylor, sorry, we were friends, right? Tell me.”

“Yes.” Something subtle had changed in Taylor’s voice. It had become more commanding and confident, but something even subtler was off. Her voice was just slightly different, like someone was pretending an accent. Still, something about that voice had compelled her to answer, and before she could even consider that fact, the questions continued.

“Tell me honestly, was our friendship ever real to you?”

“Yes. You were, and still are, the best friend I ever had.”

That surprised Taylor, and Emma was shocked at her candor. It felt good however, in some deep place in her heart, to finally admit that out loud. “Well, for someone who’s supposedly the ‘best friend you ever had’, don’t you think you’ve done some pretty shitty things to her- I mean to me?”

“The things I’ve done to you are terrible. It was so hard to start and keep doing it. To overcome the guilt.”

“You felt guilty?”

“Initially. It was so hard at first. Every mean thing we did was like a dagger in my heart. It was so painful to make you suffer.”

“Do you still feel guilty little girl?”

To that question, Emma needed to stop and think on it awhile. “I, I don’t think so. I mean, I sometimes get these flashes of sympathy for you, but more or less I think I’ve purged that weakness from me.”

“Well, I can certainly understand the desire to be strong. But burning useful bridges seems an awfully strange way to go about it.” There was a bit of a pause. “Oh, right, don’t worry I’m getting there. Emma, you should feel very guilty, betraying your best friend, betraying me, like that. Feel very guilty for what you’ve done. Certainly there must be enough humanity left in you to feel the crushing guilt you should feel?”

A wave of guilt was already washing through her, a level of agony she hadn’t felt in some time. “Yes, I horribly regret what I’ve done.”

“There, I knew our bond was too strong for you to have cut it like you claimed. You were just suppressing it. But, like I said, the bridges are burned, and I don’t think either of us has any intention of rebuilding them. But, there is one thing I would like to know, before you leave my life and I yours: why. What bloody thing could motivate you to turn on an old, dear friend like Taylor? If you tell me, I’m sure it would relieve some of this guilt you’ve built up. Tell me why.”

Emma could barely restrain her answer, so eager was she to be freed of this overbearing guilt. “It started when Sophia rescued me and my father from the ABB. Before she rescued me, she waited, to see how I would respond, to see if I was a victim or a survivor. She saw me as a survivor, so she beat up all the ABB thugs and rescued me. After that I decided to purge my old weak self, which included you.”

“Wait, Sophia beat up a bunch of gang members by herself? How?”

“Well, she is Shadow Stalker after all. Wait, I guess you didn’t know that. Dammit! I shouldn’t have told you, now she’s going to be mad and we’ll no long be friends-“

“Quit. Be calm. Good. Sophia won’t mind. But, I think we’re going to need you to go into a bit more detail on these things.”

And so she did. Every question, she answered to the best of her ability, and it felt like they covered everything: her reasoning for the start of the bullying, the details of how she met Sophia, how Sophia came to be in the wards, that man Sophia had accidentally killed, and some of the bad things she had done which the wards weren’t aware of. Emma had to admit it was oddly liberating to get all of this off her chest.

To be honest, they both lost track of time, and it was a surprise to both of them when Sophia walked in.

“Hey Emma, who’s that guy your parents are talking – Taylor. What are you doing with Taylor?”

“Oh, high Sophia. We were just talking about your various misdeeds as Shadow Stalker.”

“. . .” It took a while, but Sophia finally registered what Emma said, and she sprang into action and rushed Taylor, grabbing her by the collar.

“What do you know you little pathetic wor-“

“Stop!” Taylor yelled, and Sophia did. Emma too, though she didn’t really notice. “Put me down, close the door, and sit down on the bed like a good little girl.”

And, surprisingly, Sophia did. From her face, she seemed as surprised as anyone. Taylor rubbed her cast hand a bit, mumbling about unnecessary roughness with a cripple. Then Taylor let out a frustrated grown.

“Yes, your right your right. There’s no way they’re going to write this off as a spontaneous onset of conscience. No, I don’t have an idea right now. It would be helpful if you could be quiet and let me think for a bit.”

A call then came from downstairs. “Taylor, hun, it’s getting late and I think it’s time we go home.”

Taylor gave a “fuck” under her breath. She went to the door and opened it, and Taylor’s voice change to something more naturally Taylor. And at that moment it felt like a fog started to lift from Emma’s mind. Her previous actions, which seemed sensible before, became confusing, her emotions foreign to her. She was about to voice her confusion, when she saw Sophia, finger to her mouth in the universal quiet sign.

Slowly, with Taylor’s back still turned, preoccupied with asking her father for a bit more time, Sophia’s hand reached down to her pocket. Her Ward phone! That’s what she was going for! Emma knew this, or deducted such, and while she couldn’t quite figure out why, she knew this was a very good thing.

“Stop!” Taylor yelled this mid turn, and Sophia froze, hands an inch in her pocket. Taylor’s voice was very off. She spun back around, and her voice became more normal, but still slightly wrong. “Sorry Danny, I mean dad. I need to check something with Emma and Sophy. Wait a bit.”

Taylor then shut the door and to talked to herself. “I’m sorry. Stop yelling at me, yes I probably controlled your father a bit. But it was necessary. If you could shut up for 10 seconds, I can show you. Sophy, what were you doing?”

Sophia seemed hesitant to answer. Whatever was stopping her didn’t last more than a second or two. “I was about to press the panic button on my Ward phone.”

“Why were you doing that?”

“Because you were mastering us.”

“Bloody hell, I hate that verb. Why were you able to do so, if I was mastering you.”

“When you turned around, when your voice changed, your control broke.” Emma nodded in agreement with Sophia. That sounded about right to her as well. Wait. Taylor was mastering them? Was that even a proper verb?

“When my voice changed? What do you mean when my voice. . . oh. Fuck me. Fuck this shit. Fuck this whole bloody fucking situation.” Taylor turned to the wall and began kicking it. “My power fucking turns off. When I change places the power fucking turns off. I can’t just not give new commands, my old ones cancel. God damn this all to hell. This is fucked up.”

Emma didn’t really pick up on the details though, more concerned with figuring out how to fuck Taylor. She didn’t quit have it all figured out yet, but taking off her cloths seemed a good first step, so she started unbuttoning her shirt, while Sophia was starting on the jeans.

Taylor, still looking at the wall, stopped kicking it, and sighed, resting her head on the wall in defeat. “Stop undressing. Just, sit on the bed, be quiet, and don’t do anything. I’ll be right back after I sort some things out with the parents.”

Taylor was only gone for a little while, before she returned and locked the door behind her.

“OK, here’s the deal little darling girls. It took a little convincing, but I’ve convinced them that, after our little talk, we’ve worked out a bunch of our issues and our friendship is on the mends, so the three of us are going to have a sleepover. Danny boy is going to be spending the night as well, in the guest bedroom, but he’s going to be sleeping like a rock, no issue there. Unfortunately, I don’t think we’ll be getting all that much sleep, given the work to be done. So, straight to the biggest issue. Sophia: do you think Taylor, me, has powers?”

“Yes.”

“What do you think they are?”

“The ability to make people do things simply by telling them, so far with no obvious limits to the number and duration of control. However, there seems to be some sort of on/off switch to the power, and for some reason you find it desirable to have it off. You definitely have master powers.”

“Hm, painfully close. Now, of your own free will, would you keep my power a secret?”

“No.”

“Ah, as I figured. That ‘no’ is very much a problem. But, well, we have all night to turn that ‘no’ into a ‘yes’. Emma, fix your shirt and make us some coffee or whatever the hell your house has with caffeine in it. We have a long night ahead of us.”
​

 

1.9 Sophia

This was the worst situation Sophia had ever been in.

She was sitting on Emma's bed, frozen. Taylor, weak pathetic Taylor, had master powers. Since she had been able to shut down Sophia's attack and her attempt to call for help in as many words, Taylor seemed to have very, very strong master powers.

However, the most concerning order of all was the seemingly accidental one to "fuck me." Because she had felt desire. She could still feel the dull remains of overwhelming compulsion. She could still recall all of the thought she had put into how to complete that off-hand "command." How to do all of the things that order implied but did not explicitly state. This meant Taylor's power didn't control her body, it didn't move her about like some sort of flesh puppet. No, Taylor's power manipulated her mind until she wanted to do Taylor's bidding. And it did so with frightening speed. If this power worked the way it seemed, then Taylor would be able to mold Sophia into what Taylor wanted Sophia to be.


She could still think clearly, at least for now. She still had a chance to outsmart Taylor, despite her new-found powers. At least... she thought she could still think clearly. She hoped these were her thoughts.

She did her best to squash the panic before it could grow beyond control. Get it together Sophia, your thoughts seem... no, they are clear right now. They are yours. We need to get out. We know the problem, now find the solution.


Her Ward Phone was on the desk where Taylor had placed it, just out of sight and far out of reach. Could she get it? No, she still couldn't move, or do anything useful.

She was not completely powerless, however. She could still watch, still observe, still stalk. That was something, and it was definitely useful. Every power had an arbitrary weakness, and Taylor was certainly no exception. She would find it and exploit it. Yes, she would stalk her prey, even if she could not move, and pounce the very moment an opportunity presented itself. It would require patience, vigilance, and ruthlessness, but those were things she had in spades. She would emerge victorious.

She looked to Taylor and found the girl massaging her temples, mumbling to herself. Good, at least her captor was distracted. For now. Maybe she got thinker headaches? It wasn't much, but it was a start.


Did she have to do anything however? Would help come its own? No. There was no help coming. Not soon. Not soon enough to save her. Not even soon enough that delaying Taylor, if she could delay Taylor, would matter. She would have to save herself tonight.


The bedroom door opened.

Her hopes were immediately dashed when it revealed, not some rescuer, but her fellow hostage, Emma, with a cup of coffee in hand and a smile on her face. Why? Didn't she realize what was going on? Did this mastering power have a stranger element to it? Could it make you forget you were being controlled? How long had Emma been under Taylor's control? How long did she have?! No! She was a Survivor, she was definitely stronger than Emma. She was a cape, a hunter, Shadow Stalker. She would be able to fight through this, like every other obstacle in her life.

A traitorous part of her mind said that willpower alone had never, in the history of mankind, protected someone from a bullet, had never saved every other woman, every creature, rendered helpless by a hunter's trap. The will to resist meant nothing if resistance was rendered impossible.

NO! She was a Survivor, and she would Survive. She was not a victim, she was not prey who would lie down to die. She would resist until the end, no matter how hopeless the situation might seem. The first step towards failure, always, was to stop trying. She would try.

"Ah, thank you Emma, that coffee was just what the doctor ordered." Taylor took another sip of coffee, smelling the rising steam for a moment, before lowering the cup. "Well, now that I've been rejuvenated a bit, shall we get to it? I believe we've talked enough for now, Emma. It's Sophia's turn. Though I don't want you idle. Hm... tell you what, why don't you go over to that computer of yours, and type out a list of everyone you deeply care about, starting from most to least. Tell me everything important about these loved one's of yours. Be sure to include their names, work places, residences, phone numbers, why you love them, and anything else you think might be useful. This will definitely make me happy, and I think you will enjoy telling me about them, as well. Let me know when you have, let's say ten, and I'll let you know if its enough. Good? Now, get to work."

Emma, with a smile and an "OK", complied, and moved over to her computer and began typing away while Sophia silently cursed her helplessness. Her weakness had already cost her, she had momentarily lost track of her prey, had lost valuable opportunities to gain info and find a weakness to exploit.

"Now, Sophy, little shadow of a girl. Lets begin. First, are you expected anywhere tonight? Anyone who might need some... reassurance that you're just spending the night at your friend's house, and haven't been captured, or worse, by some shady individual you met on the streets?"

"No." She really wished that wasn't the case.

"Are you sure, no Ward check in? No concerned Parents?"

"No."

"Please explain. On both accounts."

"I just got off from the Wards, and tomorrow's a school day. They expect me to be fast asleep and wouldn't disturb me except in the case of a disaster. In which case they'd call me with the Ward Phone over there." She said, nodding toward the Phone. "As to Parents..." She paused, the question and answer for the Wards had come before she could mentally prepare, and wasn't too far from what she would normally discuss in this setting, anyway. He Parents, however, that was something she never talked about to anyone, and it seemed years of habit and resistance took some time to overcome. So she could resist, at least a little bit.

"Sophy, please continue."

"My Mother doesn't really care what happens to me, and I don't her. I've been gone for days without ever bothering that bitch's drugged up head. The man who gave me the last name Hess was gone before I could remember him. Steven, Mother's second husband, killed himself, and I haven't bothered to keep up with her other boyfriends, or them me. There. Happy?"


"Quite, thank you for being so very open with me. I'm sure you don't share these things with many people."

Damn it! So she still couldn't exactly resist direct commands, no matter how distasteful. Still, there had to be some other options, something she was missing.

"Well, if we don't have to worry about any uninvited guests, let's move on to this Phone of yours. I believe you called it your "Ward" Phone? I take it isn't a normal, run of the mill phone then. Tell me about it."

And she did. Her compulsion to talk about the phone quickly overwhelming her desire to keep its workings secret. She told Taylor about the biometrics which read one's fingerprints and scanned the eyes of everyone who tried to use it and connected that to the activity they performed. She explained how secure the feed was, about its various abilities, about all the extra little things it did above and beyond any normal phone. That segued into a discussion of the security at the PRT building, at the Protectorate proper, and their general layout. Try as she might, she couldn't stop talking, and trying to think and remember all the requested facts was very distracting, making it increasingly difficult to think about a way out of this. It took a great deal of willpower to remind herself that overcoming Taylor was what she wanted to think about, not the floor plan of the PRT building, as much as her traitorous brain tried to convince her it was the most important thing in the world right now.

"Taylor, I've got ten people written up." Emma's voice was like a sudden parting of the sea of sludge she was fighting against.

"Oh, righty oh. I'd nearly forgotten about you Emma darling. Sophy, be a dear and please collect your thoughts on everything you know about your fellow Wards and Heroes. We'll talk about them next."


And, like that, the sludge sea came surging back. Collecting her thoughts about the Heroes pushed nearly all other thoughts aside. It was only with great difficulty that she was able to keep some level of focus on what Taylor was doing. As said prey walked over to Emma and began reviewing... What had Emma been doing? Remember Sophia, remember what... right! Loved ones! Something about loved ones! She was proud of this little victory.

Taylor also looked pleased. "Good job, Emma darling. I must say, this looks like a very complete list. 'A' for effort. Now, if you could do another little thing for me... Do you consider yourself an artists?"

"Um, I guess modeling is a type of art."

"Right, that "art". A profession just a short hop away from the second oldest one. Well, I'd like you to try a different form of art, a little "creative writing" as it were. For a bit of fun and to flex those creative writing muscles, I would like you to write up a short little scene for each them. You have a good idea of what my power is, don't you?"

"I-I think so. It's a little hazy, but I think I have the gist of it."

"Good, wonderful. Now, I want you to imagine the worst possible thing I could do to these people, these ones you love, and write it down. Let's see how smart and creative you really are behind all the posturing. Be thorough, and remember, have fun!"

Emma gave every outward sign of enjoying herself. She smiled, she giggled, and occasionally she asked Taylor's opinion when she encountered an impasse on figuring out the worst possible things that could happen to those she cared for. Still, while she smiled, and laughed at the imagined suffering she was inflicting, it looked to Sophia that Emma's smile did not quite reach her eyes. Still, Sophia no longer really trusted her senses, and when Taylor's interest returned to her, she had precious little focus to spare on anything but her own survival against the barrage of questions and the burden of nearly twenty hours spent awake.

Taylor eventually started asking questions designed to make Sophia supply her own blackmail material, though Sophia was able to keep that truth in mind only with the great difficulty.

What had you done which the Wards would disprove of? What about you would make a normal person look upon you with disgust? What crimes had you committed? What proof of these crimes can be found? Give a detailed description of that man you killed, try to include enough to make a police sketch. In fact, why don't you make the sketch yourself. The need to answer these questions, and more, overruled almost everything else, including what these questions were designed to do to her.

At some point during the interrogation, Emma completed her "Creative Writing Project", and Taylor spent some time reviewing it. Sophia savored these precious few moments to think for herself and desperately tried to find some sort of way out before Taylor's interest returned to her. Taylor, for her part, seemed to approve of Emma's "creative writing", and had her email it to an account neither of them recognized. That complete, Taylor declared herself "famished" and conscripted Emma to head downstairs and prepare an extensive midnight breakfast and a second pot of coffee.

"Oh, and Sophy dear, would you be ever so kind and type up all those horrible, horrible things you've done? I think such terrible sins deserve some extra documentation, and I'm far too busy to type them up myself. Well, chop chop, we don't have all night and you have quite the list of sins to document. Please list them from "most upsetting to the Protectorate" to least. Well, work hard, and don't do anything else I would disapprove of, you know what I'm talking about. And remember: have fun!"

And she did. She had fun writing up every bad thing she had ever done, everything she had kept hidden from the Protectorate. Those few times she had done something to Mother which caused her regret. Every extra sin confessed brought a new feeling of playful enjoyment, driving her on to the next. The only thing ruining her fun was this nagging little voice that insisted that this was not her will, that she had to stop digging her own grave. It begged, in barely a whisper, to click on Emma's still open email and contact someone, anyone who could somehow help. But that voice was easy enough to ignore. After all, she had sins to confess and not a second to spare.

When Taylor returned from midnight breakfast with a cup of coffee in her hand and a pot of it in Emma's, Sophia was still barely through her most serious sins. Taylor seemed unsure of what to busy herself with while Sophia typed, so she took to rummaging through Emma's things. Eventually, she must have found a camera...


"Emma, darling? How would you rate yourself as a model?"

"I-I think I'm pretty good. I've definitely got the body for it."

"Hm, we'll see. Lets take some... practice shots. Yes Taylor, I am going somewhere with this, please be quiet. You'll see. This will go a ways toward furthering our goals."

Sophia heard Emma moving around on her bed, words from Taylor asking for different poses, Emma asking some clarifying questions before moving again. Followed by the fake shutter sounds of a digital camera going off before the process repeated again. Sophia's conscious mind barely registered any of it. After all, she still had so many sins left to confess.

"I'm impressed, Emma. Turns out you're not quite all talk after all. There's at least a little substance to you. You will be very happy to hear that I think it's time to take your modeling "career" to the next level."

Emma gave a happy little giggle. "I am very happy I'm finally going to the next level. Um, what is the next level?"

"Well, so far you've done nothing but cutesy-kidy PG modeling. Eventually, however, every serious model must grow beyond such things, and pursue some more... mature themes. The dividing line between a child and an adult model, of course, is when they pose for their first nude shoot. And I think you're ready."

"Um, are you really sure-"

"Of course I am, and you know you are too. Hold that thought, though." At that, Taylor turned around and faced a wall, having a somewhat whispered but still aggressive and annoyed conversation with herself. Sophia only picked out a couple of words that were used repeatedly, such as "necessary", "very effective blackmail", "not over the line" and "we've gone too far to change course". She took a few moments to resolve her conversation with... herself, though neither of the other girls in the room could really pay much attention to it. Ultimately, she ended it with a decision Taylor looked happy with.

"Now, where was I? Oh, right, Emma's first mature photo shoot! This is definitely the best time and place for it. After all. We're all friends here. Right girls?"

"Yes Taylor". Both said it more or less simultaneously.

"Excellent. Emma, this is the perfect time to... explore this new frontier of modeling for you: in the privacy and safety of your own home, surrounded by supportive friends. What do you say Emma? Don't you agree with me?"

"Yes, you're right. You're always right, Taylor."

"Yes, I am. Now, let's start slow. We'll work you out of those clothes one piece at a time. Ease you into it, and see how far we can go. Now, lets start with the those shirt buttons."

This continued for a while behind Sophia as she diligently typed out her sins... until she had finished and called out to Taylor. Sophia's new friend told Emma to hold her pose before putting down the camera to come over and review Sophia's work. This was the first time Sophia had a chance to turn around and look at what kind of modeling Emma had been up to while she had happily typed out her darkest secrets. Her pose was definitely suggestive, and what few garments she still wore left little to the imagination. Still, some corner of Sophia's mind did recognize it was a well done pose, and Emma was pulling it off fairly well, though the creeping signs of exhaustion and the excessively cutesy sheets on her bed somewhat undermined the whole effect.


"Well Sophy, my good friend, I have to say I'm... satisfied with your work. Not nearly as well written as Emma's, but I guess we all can't have the heart of an artist. Now, what shall I have you do next? Hm... Sophia, have you ever wanted to model like your good friend Emma over there?"

"No."

". . . Oh, right. Phrasing. Sophia. You want to model like your friend Emma. You've always secretly wanted to model. Right?"

"Yes, it's always been a dream of mine for as long as I can remember." She couldn't quite remember any of these previous episodes of desire, but she was certain they were there, somewhere in her memory.

"Wonderful! In that case, Emma, take a bit of a break. Lets both walk Sophia through her first modeling shoot. Sophia, you're going to go at least as far as Emma. I know it's your first shoot, but its only fair. Plus, Emma will enjoy the moral support of someone going through this transformation with her. Now, Sophia, just relax and have fun as your life dream comes true!"

And she did. As she worked through the poses and slowly shed her clothing... Eventually, Taylor decided some group shots, of both Sophia and Emma together, would be most excellent. Taylor was correct, this was a fun and rewarding experience. Though she wondered why that was a surprise to her, given how she'd always wanted to be a model. It was a bit embarrassing at times, but Taylor was a great director and worked them through it, and they never did anything more than model. Well, Taylor did suggest some things that seemed to cross the line from mature modeling into something... else, but she always told them to stop before they went too far and walked back from crossing that line.

"Well, I think we've done all the modeling I'm going to get away with tonight. And I'm out of coffee, besides. Emma, go make some more coffee while I download your wonderful work. Truly great work, I must say, from the both of you. Girls, this has been a wonderful evening. The night of your lives, I'm sure. And just think, it's only 3:00AM! We still have four more hours to make it even more memorable and productive before you two have to go off to school. And I think we'll be seeing each other again after school, as well. There is much more fun to be had yet."

Sophia couldn't help but agree. It had been a wonderful night. So much had happened. She had confessed her sins, made friends with Taylor, and she had started her very own modeling career like she had, apparently, always wanted. It was definitely a great night and one she was sure she would remember for a very long time.

The only thing keeping it from being the best night of her life was this peculiar feeling of crushing despair that radiated faintly from the core of her being. A feeling that she couldn't quite find any good cause of.