Fourth Wall - Part III

[stringertheory]

Title: Fourth Wall
Rating: PG
Spoilers/Timeline: None, post-Season 2
Prompt: Artifact: Alfred Hitchcock's camera. (Don't shoot home movies of someone you'd really rather didn't die horribly with it.)

-MONDAY-

Adam’s alarm clock went off at precisely 6:15 AM.

He managed to pull himself out of bed after only two hits of the snooze button, a personal record. Usually it took him at least five before he was capable of doing much more than falling back asleep. With a muttered oath, he dragged himself to his feet and gazed around blearily, briefly considering crawling back under the covers. But he had important plans for that afternoon, plans that required him to bike to school - and biking to school meant an earlier-than-usual start.

So he plodded across the hall to the bathroom and began the Monday morning ritual of preparing for school.

Thirty minutes later he appeared in the kitchen, where his brother was inhaling a large breakfast while his mother made herself coffee. She gave Adam their traditional morning greeting as he entered.

“Good morning, sunshine.”

He answered with a sound that fell somewhere between a grunt and a groan, the vocal equivalent of an eye roll. Pulling a travel mug from the cupboard, Adam filled it with coffee of his own and screwed on the lid before stowing it in the bag slung over his shoulder.

“I’m biking to school today,” he informed his mother. “I have a few things I need to take care of at the theatre after school.”

“Okay,” she said. “I’ll phone Mrs. Blansky and let her know Aaron will be over this afternoon.” She tilted her head a bit to see around Adam to Aaron. “You get that, kiddo?”

“Mrs. Blansky, this afternoon,” Aaron confirmed around a mouthful of toast. “Got it.”

“And I won’t be home until late, so stay over there until Adam picks you up, okay?” She looked back to Adam, who was digging in the cabinets. “I’m assuming whatever you need to do won’t take long?”

He shook his head. “A few hours at the most.” Tossing a banana and two granola bars in his bag, he closed the cabinet and headed for the door. “I’ll see you tonight."

“Hey, kid of mine,” his mother called, stopping him in his tracks. “Get back here.”

Begrudgingly, but fighting a smile, Adam returned to place a kiss on her cheek.

“That's better.”

“I’m getting a bit old for that,” he advised as he ducked through the doorway.

Her call of “You will never be too old for that” followed him out the front door.

---

The Brewery was extremely busy when Pete and Myka arrived, the pre-work crowd clogging the shop as they vied for spots in line to get their morning caffeine fix. Myka was vainly attempting to shove her way through the throng, much to everyone’s displeasure, when Pete let out an ear-splitting whistle that stopped everyone in their tracks.

“Hey! Could you please let the lady through?” he asked the silent crowd.

Without a word, the lines parted, creating an aisle through the crowd, who eyed each other warily and quickly stepped back into place (and not without the use of a few elbows and at least one high heel) as soon as Pete and Myka cleared them.

“Nice,” Myka threw over her shoulder as she and Pete emerged from the chaos and into the shop proper.

“Thanks,” Pete replied. “Just a little skill I picked up helping my friend coach Little League one season. There’s nothing that will stop twenty-three stampeding eight-year-olds like a really loud whistle.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Myka surveyed the shop. “We need to find the manager, see who was working Saturday night.”

“Uhh... manager,” Pete said, glancing around, “manager’s office... Okay, so I’m not seeing anything that looks remotely manager-like.” He eyed the main bar, where harried looking baristas with slightly manic smiles were filling orders hand over fist. “And unless you want to brave that again, I suggest we snag a table and a waitress.”

“We don’t need a table, Pete.”

“Yes, we do, Myka,” he advised, placing a hand on the small of her back and leading her over to a small table near the windows. He quickly took a seat, as did Myka, with some exasperation. “First of all," Pete pointed out, “we have yet to have breakfast and, as you know, I cannot be expected to perform at my best on an empty stomach. Secondly, there is no quicker way to get a waitress’ attention than by sitting down at one of her - ”

The end of his sentence was cut off by their waitress announcing herself.

“Welcome to the Brewery,” she said. “My name is Wendy, and I’ll be serving you today. Can I get you started with a frappe? Perhaps a macchiato? Our poppyseed muffins just came out of the oven and are still warm!” She grinned widely, looking from one to the other.

Pete and Myka shared a look at the girl’s perkiness.

“Ah, Wendy, was it?”

Wendy nodded to Myka in affirmation.

“We’d actually like to speak to your manager,” Myka said, pulling out her badge and showing it to the girl. “If you could ask him or her to come over, we’d appreciate it.”

“No problem,” Wendy replied, still grinning. "I’ll go tell Mike that you’re here, and he should be over in a jiffy.” She turned to leave.

“We’d also appreciate two lattes!” Pete called to her.

Without pausing or turning around, she threw another “No problem” over her shoulder and disappeared into what they assumed was the kitchen. A few minutes later, a man approached their table, carrying two mugs of what Pete hoped was coffee. Setting the mugs down on the table, he extended a hand to each of them in turn and introduced himself.

“I’m Mike Hudson, the manager. Wendy said you wanted to speak with me.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Hudson,” Myka replied, showing her badge again. “I’m Agent Bering; this is Agent Lattimer. We’re in town investigating a recent death and we were wondering if you could help us. We have reason to believe that the deceased was here at your shop shortly before she died and we were hoping that we could speak with your staff.”

“Particularly, anyone who was on duty Saturday night,” Pete added.

“Sure,” Mr. Hudson said, frowning slightly. “I’ll round everyone up. I - could you tell me who it was, who died?”

Myka glanced at Pete, who responded. “A young girl named Rachel Emerson."

Mr. Hudson’s face blanched. “Rachel? Oh my god - what happened? Was she murdered?”

“We don’t know at this point,” Myka replied, eyeing the manager shrewdly. “Mr. Hudson, how did you know Ms. Emerson?”

“She’s a regular,” he said. “And she is - was - in the same class as my daughter, Becca.” He rubbed a hand over his face, shock clear in his expression. “We’d had her over to our house for sleepovers when she was younger. I - this is terrible.” He was silent for a moment, eyes dark. Then he looked up at them, shaking his head slightly. “Sorry. I - I’ll check the work roster for Saturday and have anyone who was working come talk to you. It might take a bit of time,” he said apologetically, gesturing to the shop, “we’re a little busy right now, but it should die down in twenty minutes or so.”

“Not a problem,” Myka assured him. “We understand that you have a lot going on this morning, and we appreciate your time.”

Mr. Hudson nodded and excused himself. He returned a short while later with the time sheet for Saturday, as well as the first of the employees who had worked that night. Over the course of the next hour and a half - and the breakfast platter Hudson brought out for them - Pete and Myka questioned ten of the eleven employees. A few remembered seeing Rachel, but none had spoken with her directly or paid much attention to her. The last waitress to present herself was their own, Wendy.

“Wendy, do you know this girl?” Myka pushed a headshot of Rachel Emerson over to Wendy, who looked at it and nodded.

“Yeah. That’s Rachel. She comes in here all the time.” She fidgeted in her seat, looking very concerned. “Stephanie said that you guys are investigating Rachel’s murder; is that true? Is she dead?”

“Yes, she is,” Myka replied gently. “We don’t know exactly what happened, which is why we’re here. We’re trying to figure out how she died.”

“Oh my god, oh my god,” Wendy breathed.

“Who waited on Rachel Saturday night?” Pete asked.

“I did,” Wendy advised. “I was working the patio out front. Rachel liked to come in on the weekends when it was quiet to study. She always sat outside when the weather was nice." Tears were beginning to form in Wendy’s eyes. “She was such a nice person. Why would someone do this?”

“Wendy.” Myka waited until Wendy had herself under control and met her gaze before continuing. “Did you notice anything strange that night? Anyone who bothered Rachel or sat with her or talked to her?”

“No, I - wait. There was a guy, a young guy - probably in high school? He was filming her with this ancient-looking camera.”

“Did Rachel seem upset or nervous about it?”

“No,” Wendy sniffled. “She was smiling, seemed liked she knew the guy.”

“What did he look like?” Pete asked.

“Brown hair, light eyes, average height - nothing weird about him. He looked like a nice kid, you know?"

Myka flipped through a folder and pulled out another photo, which she placed in front of Wendy.

“Was this the guy?”

“That’s him,” Wendy confirmed with a nod. “Did he kill Rachel?”

Pete and Myka were looking at each other with worried expressions. “I hope not,” Pete said.

---

The whispers followed him through the hallways. Everywhere Adam turned, people were talking excitedly under their breath. He wasn’t able to catch what they were saying, but he knew something was going on, something much bigger than the normal gossip mill.

It wasn’t until he made it to his first period class, seated in the midst of his peers, that he found out what was going on. The news came at him from every side, in multiple voices.

“Rachel Emerson is dead!”

“I heard she was murdered!”

“Tyler and Joey, too. You think it’s a serial killer or something?”

“Owen was with them. Sarah Wilton told Amber Hernandez that Jimmy Olden said that someone burned them alive!”

“Well, I heard that it was some kind of Russian roulette thing, out in the woods.”

“That’s stupid. Everyone knows they were attacked by a wild animal or something, and Rachel killed herself because she was in love with Tyler.”

“You just made that up!”

“Did not!”

“You guys - Rachel didn’t kill herself; someone poisoned her coffee.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. At the Brewery. There were some cops there this morning asking around about Rachel. She was totally poisoned.”

Adam glanced up sharply at Nicole Hendricks, the proponent of the poisoning theory, who gave him a scathing glare in passing before she and the other students continued with the gossip. Adam ignored them. A deep cold, a rolling uneasiness had settled in his stomach, and his heart was racing. There was a niggling suspicion in the back of his mind that had him terrified. There were too many coincidences, too many things that added up perfectly for him to dismiss his fears as happenstance. He thought back over the weekend, of every place he had been and everything he had done.

The realization hit him like a fist in the stomach and before he knew what was happening, he was on his feet and running.

---

Pete and Myka had been halfway to Newport High when Artie called on the Farnsworth. They could tell from the scene behind him that he was at the Jacobs’ house. They could tell from his grim face that something was terribly wrong. At Artie’s quiet insistence that they get to him as soon as possible, Pete made a sharp U-turn and pushed the rental as fast as it would go.

Whatever they had expected, it wasn’t the scene that met them.

There were very few times that Pete had found himself disturbed by what he encountered in the course of his work. Troubled, freaked out, angry - all that and more, but the things he saw rarely shook him to his core.

He spared a moment to be thankful that Artie had left Claudia at the Warehouse for this one.

An ambulance and three police cruisers had already taken up the curb out front of the Jacobs’ residence when they arrived, forcing Pete to park across the street. He and Myka entered the house to find the small rooms full of people. Through the doorway, Pete could see two uniforms talking with Mrs. Jacobs in the kitchen, Artie hovering surreptitiously in the background. But it was the scene that met them in the living room that left him stunned. As a paramedic stepped out of the way, Pete was able to see what was occupying everyone’s attention.

Aaron Jacobs was sprawled on the living room floor, the carpet beneath him stained a dark red.

His clothes were tattered and nearly every inch of visible skin was marred by bite marks. There was no evidence of a struggle, no upset furniture or broken vases or even blood spatters; it looked at if Aaron had simply lain down and allowed himself to be attacked in the tidiest and least messy way possible.

The team of paramedics worked the scene in absolute silence, clearly trying to hold themselves together. Even the officers, most of whom appeared to have more than a few years of police work under their belts, displayed clear signs of unease. One of the cops - a young man who barely looked old enough to drive, Pete thought - seemed particularly affected by it all. His face was extremely pale, though with a greenish tint, and his eyes kept darting around the room, desperately trying to avoid the gruesome scene before him.

Pete knew how he felt.

He and Myka flashed their badges at the nearest officer as they made their way to the kitchen and a rendezvous with Artie. At the kitchen doorway, they paused to allow the two officers in the kitchen to exit before entering the room themselves. Artie greeted them solemnly.

“Aaron Jacobs was found dead this morning by his mother,” he informed them quietly. “His school called her when he didn’t show up for class. She came home to find this.” He gestured toward the living room.

“Does anyone know what happened?" Myka asked.

“It appears that he was attacked by an animal of some sort, though their dog was safely locked in the backyard and there aren’t any signs of an animal being in the house.” Artie pulled off his glasses to rub at his eyes for a moment. He looked wearier than Pete or Myka could remember. “And Adam was here; that’s why you didn’t need to go to the school.”

Pete looked at Artie sharply. “Adam was here?”

“What happened?” Myka asked softly.

Artie nodded his head toward Mrs. Jacobs, who was sitting at the kitchen table, hands folded in her lap, her face blank. “I think you should ask Mrs. Jacobs,” he said. "Gently.” He looked toward the living room. “I’m going to see what I can find out elsewhere.” He spared the mother another pained glance and ducked into the other room.

Pete steeled himself for the coming conversation and could feel Myka doing the same beside him as she let out a long, slow breath. Together, they approached the table and sat to either side of Mrs. Jacobs.

She didn’t look up immediately, and Pete used the time to take in her appearance. The scrubs she had no doubt worn to work that morning were rumpled, and there were bloodstains on her hands and across the front of her shirt. She looked as if she had dealt with some emergency room trauma; it made Pete sick to think that the trauma had been the horrific death of her son.

And the possibility that her other son was somehow responsible.

The thought shook him from his observations and, meeting Myka’s eyes briefly, he cleared his throat.

“Mrs. Jacobs?”

When she didn’t react, Myka tried, reaching over to place her hand on the woman’s shoulder as she called her name.

“Gretchen?”

Gretchen turned toward the sound of Myka’s voice, her expression dazed. “Yes?” She managed to focus on Myka’s face, recognition seeping into her gaze. “Agent Bering.”

“Hi, Gretchen. Agent Lattimer and I need to ask you a few questions. Would that be okay?”

Gretchen nodded absentmindedly and shifted in her seat. “Of course.”

“We know about Aaron...” Myka began, trailing off as a spasm of pain flickered across Gretchen’s face. She took a slow breath and continued. “But what about Adam? Was Adam here?”

“Yes.” Gretchen nodded. “I got home and found - I found...” She shook herself and Pete saw her eyes clear a bit more. She pushed herself through the next sentence, her words tumbling over each other as she fought to get it out. “I had just found Aaron when Adam came barreling into the house. He was pale, like he had just seen a ghost. When he saw --” She swallowed heavily. “When he saw what had happened, the blood drained from his face. I told him to dial 9-1-1, I told him but he just looked at me with huge eyes and then took off like he was being chased by something.” She leaned against the table and ran a trembling hand through her hair. “I yelled after him, but he was already gone. I --” She mouthed silently for a second, distraught gaze flickering from Myka to Pete and back again. “What’s happening to my family?”

Myka and Pete shared a pained look.

“Gretchen, does Adam have a video camera, an old one?” Pete asked.

She looked at him in confusion. “Yes, he does. He found one up in the attic a few weeks ago. I was surprised that he was able to get it working; the thing looked worse for the wear. He hasn’t been without it since then, filming anything and everything he could.” She sighed. “Why?”

“Did he make copies of anything he taped?”

Gretchen nodded. “Forrest let him use the theatre’s equipment to put everything on disc.” She looked between them with a sharper gaze. “Why?”

“Where would those discs be?” Myka asked.

“He kept them in his room --”

“Can we see them?" Pete cut in. Gretchen was staring at him doubtfully, so he leaned forward to place a hand over hers on the tabletop. “Please, Gretchen. This could be very important.”

Slowly, her eyes never leaving Pete’s face, Gretchen nodded. “Okay.”

She led them through the living room, where everyone had stepped back to let Artie have the floor, and down the short hallway to Adam’s room. They filed into the small space, which reminded Pete more than a little of his own childhood bedroom. Posters from films and comics were plastered across the walls, the bed was unmade, and laundry was spilling out of a hamper in the corner and onto the floor. Pushed against the near wall was a narrow desk that held a computer that appeared to be a few years old, though well cared for. The desk surface around it was covered with scrap paper, magazines, books and the random clutter of a teenage boy’s life. Pete turned one of the books over as Myka sat down and booted up the computer; it was an instruction manual for a media software suite.

The computer hummed and beeped its way to life and they crowded around the screen. Nothing on the desktop stood out, and there weren’t any suspect files to be found so, at Gretchen’s direction, they began digging around the desk in search of the discs themselves. Myka found a few random music CDs in the mess, but nothing more. However, Pete unearthed a case on a nearby shelf that proved to be exactly what they were looking for.

There were three discs in the case, each labeled in Adam’s careful handwriting. With a quick glance at Gretchen, who nodded, Pete handed Myka the disc labeled “Aaron”. Myka placed the disc in the computer’s drive and they waited with bated breath until it began playing.

Heroic music streamed from the computer’s speakers, startling them all. Myka turned down the sound as a colorful title sequence flashed across the screen, frames of two-toned geometric shapes interspersed with text graphics that reminded Pete of the "sound effect” inserts from the old Batman show. A voice that they recognized as Adam's began a voiceover.

“In a land in need of a hero, there was only one person for the job: Aaron the Amazing. Along with his loyal sidekick, Max the Magnificent, Aaron battles the worst of the worst to protect his city.”

Footage of Aaron standing with his hands on his hips, a smug grin on his face and Max sitting beside him, filled the screen. Gretchen let out a muffled sound of distress.

“Let’s fast forward a bit,” Pete told Myka quietly.

Myka nodded and skipped ahead. They stopped on Aaron running around the Jacobs’ backyard, Max at his heels. His eyes were bright and his cheeks flushed and his laughter mingled with Max's excited barks. Myka skipped forward again a few more times. Each time they stopped and watched, they found Aaron at play, narrated by Adam. Finally, they came to the end. The screen went dark, and text faded into view.

“Happy Birthday, Adam!”

“Oh.” Gretchen’s voice was barely a whisper as she breathed the word. Pete and Myka turned to her. “It was a present,” she explained. “Tomorrow is Aaron’s birthday.”

There was tense silence in the room for a minute. Then Myka swiveled back to the computer. Turning the volume off entirely, she replaced the disc in its case and pulled out the one labeled “Rachel”. Brow furrowed, she popped it into the computer. The familiar scene of the
Brewery’s patio came into view, background to one Rachel Emerson.

“Pete,” Myka called.

He turned back to the desk and joined Myka at the computer. The image on the screen didn’t waver in focus from Rachel. She was poised above notebooks and textbooks, as if she was studying, but a tell-tale flickering of her eyes told them that she was completely aware of the camera’s focus. The tiny curving of her lips told them that she was amused by it. Somehow, Adam had made the film look like a moving version of an daguerreotype photograph. The color had been toned to sepia, and the edges had been darkened to create a frame around the image.

As they watched, Rachel picked up the coffee mug at her elbow and took a drink. Myka looked up at Pete.

“It can’t be,” he said.

Myka stopped the disc and replaced it with the last one in the case, this one labeled “Evidence”. From the footage that appeared, they could tell that Adam had been hidden either behind or inside a bush when he shot it. The view was framed by limbs and leaves, but through an opening in the foliage, a small campsite could be seen. Three tents surrounded a fire, at which three boys sat. Owen, Tyler, and Joey passed around cans of beer while they cooked hot dogs over the fire and shared conversation that the camera couldn’t catch. After a couple of minutes, the footage abruptly stopped. Myka stood and looked levelly at Pete.

“No, Myka.”

“It makes sense, Pete," she countered. “Adam and that camera are the common denominators in everything. He was at the campsite and filmed Tyler, Owen and Joey around the campfire - they were burned alive. He filmed Rachel drinking coffee, and she turns up poisoned without any sign of having being poisoned. And then with Aaron - ” Myka placed a hand on Pete’s arm and lowered her voice even further, “ - Pete, almost every minute of that footage shows Aaron with Max.”

Pete shook his head. “Why would Adam attack them, Myka? Maybe the three guys that bullied him mercilessly, but the girl he had a crush on? His little brother? That doesn’t make sense.”

“I don’t think he did it on purpose,” Myka said. “I don’t think he had any idea what that camera could do... until now.” She bit her lower lip and Pete could tell that a light bulb had just gone off for her.

“What is it, Myka?”

Ignoring him for the moment, she sat beside Gretchen on the bed.

“Gretchen, we think that Adam might be in trouble. Can you think of anyone he might be mad at, someone he would be angry enough with to actually hurt?”

“No,” Gretchen replied, shaking her head. “Adam’s a sweet kid. He wouldn’t hurt anyone.”

“Are you sure there isn’t anyone? There’s no one from school or work --”

Realization dawned on Gretchen’s face. “Wade.”

“Wade Mitchell?” Myka asked.

“Yes. Adam’s always blamed Wade for what happened to his dad." She wrapped her arms around herself. “Yesterday I would have told you that Adam could never hurt anyone; now I’m not so sure.” She looked up at Myka. “If Adam planned to hurt someone, it would be Wade.”

“We have to find out where Wade Mitchell lives,” Pete said.

“I have his address,” Gretchen advised. “It’s in my room."

The followed her across the hall, where she moved to the dresser and dug a card out from under the clothes in one drawer. She handed it to Pete.

“That’s Wade’s address,” she told him, pointing to the return address on the envelope. “It’s a card he sent shortly after Connor’s funeral. It was one of the few I kept; there was something very kind about what he wrote, I --” She left out a huff of laughter. “I could tell he was truly sorry about what happened.”

Pete gestured to the card in his hand. “We have to get to Wade’s.”

Gretchen nodded and Pete and Myka started to leave. They turned at the doorway at the sound of her voice.

“Agents - bring him back to me.”

“We're going to find him,” Pete told her. “I promise.”

Gretchen nodded again and Pete followed Myka into the hallway. They met Artie in the living room and quickly filled him in on what they had discovered. He sent them off to Wade’s residence, saying he would catch up with them there. A minute later, they were in the car, speeding toward the other side of town.

---

Pete squealed to a stop outside the Red Oak Condominium complex and jumped out of the car, Myka at his heels. As they raced the length of the parking lot toward the building, they spotted a figure near the back entrance and immediately shifted their direction to intercept it. Once they were close enough, they could make it out to be Adam, who was fiddling with his camera. A few yards away, they slowed to a walk and Myka called out to him.

“Adam!”

He looked up sharply, and they could see that his eyes were red-rimmed, though dry. He looked scared and guilty and determined, and they saw him go tense as he recognized them. Pete and Myka continued to approach him cautiously, hands raised in front of them.

“Adam, we know what happened and we know you didn’t mean it to.” Myka spoke clearly and in as soothing a manner as she could, but she could see the twitch in Adam’s jaw.

“We can help you,” Pete told him. “You don’t want to do this."

Adam’s gaze kept wandering from the camera in his hands to their faces and back again. “I didn’t mean it,” he said quietly.

“We know,” Myka said. “This isn’t your fault; none of this is.”

Pete caught Adam’s gaze. “But if you go up there, if you do what you’re planning to do, it will be.” Adam dropped his eyes and frowned.

“Mr. Mitchell doesn’t deserve this, Adam.”

Right away, they knew that had been the wrong thing to say. Adam’s head jerked up, his expression a fierce combination of despair and fury. Pete and Myka stopped in their tracks as he began yelling.

“Yes he does!” Adam shouted. “He killed my dad! He deserves to die!”

“Adam --”

Before they could react, Adam raised the camera and started filming them. Pete and Myka immediately drew their weapons in response, leveling them at the boy.

“Adam, put the camera down," Myka ordered.

“Don’t be the bad guy,” Pete told him. “Don’t do this.”

Adam ignored them and continued shooting. From the corner of his eye, Pete saw Myka shudder slightly, her grip tightening on the weapon in her hand. He could feel his own muscles tensing, and the irresistible urge to turn toward her came over him, as if an invisible force was trying to pull him around. He fought against it, but it seemed to grow exponentially in strength to the point that he was trembling from the exertion.

“Pete,” Myka called, her voice strained. “Do you feel... weird?”

“Yeah," he pushed out through gritted teeth. “You could say that.”

He was losing the battle, slowly beginning to pivot on the spot to face Myka. As he turned, he could see that the camera was having the same effect on her. Wide-eyed, gun still raised, she was turning to face him. The strain was clear on her face, and he knew that she was trying just as hard as he was to move, to step away, to lower her gun, to do anything. Pete’s heart was thundering in his chest and he could feel his finger tightening on the trigger, despite all his efforts to stop it.

Myka called out to Adam again. “Adam, stop. You don’t want to do this; you don’t want to hurt anyone."

“No one blames you for anything that’s happened,” Pete told him. “You haven’t done anything wrong yet. Don’t start now.”

Adam looked in their direction with tormented eyes. “It is my fault,” he said quietly. His expression hardened. “And this time I’m going to mean it.”

Lowering the camera, he turned away, heading toward the door into the complex. Pete and Myka, too focused now on maintaining control to even call out to him, struggled with everything they had against the increasing hold of the camera. Both were trembling from the effort, guns bouncing slightly in their grips as they fought to pull away. They stared at each other in horror across the small space separating them.

A few yards away, Adam was nearing the complex’s entrance. He was almost at the door when a bolt of light appeared from out of nowhere, striking him squarely in the back. Artie, Tesla in hand, watched as the boy fell to the ground, unconscious. The impact knocked the camera from Adam’s fingers and it hit the asphalt with enough force to pop open the casing, film spilling out like ribbons.

At that moment, the sound of twin gunshots echoed off the building.

---

-TUESDAY-

The B&B was quiet when Artie pushed open the front door. There was an uneasy silence in the air, a feeling of emptiness that was utterly alien to Leena’s. He allowed himself a moment to feel the exhaustion that had settled in his bones, then the sound of hurried steps from the back of the house drew his attention.

Claudia was walking swiftly toward him, rubbing her palms on her jeans. There was an edge of panic in her worried expression, and she searched his face intently as she approached.

“Artie --”

Whatever she had planned to say was lost as movement over Artie’s shoulder caught her eye. She paused mid-stride as Myka and Pete slowly climbed the porch steps and walked inside. They were wearing matching slings on their left arms and looked decidedly worse for the wear, and Claudia’s face lit up at the sight of them standing beside Artie. She darted forward as if to hug them, but - eyeing their damaged shoulders - made a last minute adjustment and grabbed Artie instead.

“I’m so glad you guys are home.”

“Us, too, kiddo,” Artie said, giving her a few pats on the back.

She released him and immediately began to shoo Myka and Pete toward the sitting room, where she commanded that they sit and relax. They gingerly lowered themselves onto one of the sofas and, at Claudia’s insistence, put their feet up on the coffee table.

“Leena’s baking cookies and a huge dinner because, you know, that’s what she does,” Claudia said, bustling around them, fluffing pillows and bringing them blankets, “and I brought a stack of books in from the library so you’ll have something to do other than stare at the walls down here. And there’s a pile of new movies up in Pete's room, so when you guys are up to it, when can move you up there for a movie marathon, and --”

"Claudia,” Myka said with a laugh. “We aren’t invalids, you don’t have to wait on us or anything.”

“We’re okay,” Pete said gently.

“I know.” To their surprise, she looked for all the world like she was about to cry. Then she shook herself and nodded to their injuries. “Matching shoulder wounds, huh? Very hardcore.” She smiled crookedly. “What’s next, tattoos?”

Myka glanced at Pete and raised an eyebrow. “Who says we don’t already have those?”

Claudia raised her hands. “Okay. On that note, I’m going to go check on those cookies.” She walked past them into the hall, and they could hear her calling for Leena as she headed toward the kitchen.

Artie looked after her with fondness. “She was worried sick about you,” he advised the other two. “Called me every ten minutes while we were at the hospital, threatened to get on a plane to come out there. I think the only thing that stopped her is the fact that we got on one headed back before she could got on one headed out.”

“It’s not like there was anything she could have done,” Myka said.

“No, there really wasn’t.” He eyed them closely. “You two got very lucky.”

“I was wondering about that,” Pete said. “How come we didn’t, you know... die? Everybody else’s final performance was pretty darn final.”

“And why did the camera work so much more quickly on us?” Myka added. “The other victims took hours, even days to feel the effects.”

Artie pushed Myka’s feet over a little and sat on the coffee table. “It’s like Adam said: he meant it with the two of you. With the others, he was just filming. With you, he specifically wanted to stop you at least, kill you at most. I think his intent is what amplified the effect of the camera so that it worked a lot faster on you.”

“And the reason we aren’t dead?”

“Sunlight.”

“Sunlight?” Pete asked dubiously.

“The film,” Myka said.

Artie nodded. “When Adam dropped the camera, it popped open, exposing the film to direct sunlight. The light burned the images on the film and that, combined with the fight you two put up, allowed you to pull your aim far enough away from vital areas to --”

“Not die,” Pete supplied.

“In a manner of speaking.”

“What caused all this?” Myka asked. “I mean, we know the camera was the artifact, but how did it become one?”

“And how did Adam get ahold of it?"

“It was Hitchcock’s,” Artie said. Pete and Myka stared at him in disbelief.

“As in...”

“Alfred Hitchcock, yes. It was one of the cameras he used in his filmmaking. After his death, it was purchased at auction by a private buyer.” Artie paused to clean his glasses with his shirt before continuing. “It disappeared for years after that, until it surfaced at a yard sale about twenty years ago, where it was purchased by Connor Jacobs.”

“Adam’s dad."

Artie nodded. “Apparently Mr. Jacobs was unable to get the camera operational again, so it eventually found itself tucked away in the attic, which is where Adam found it a couple of weeks ago.”

A look of understanding dawned on Pete’s face and he slapped his thigh with his good hand. “The poisoning." He turned to Myka. “Remember when I said that Rachel’s poisoning-by-coffee sounded like a movie? That’s because it was a movie - a Hitchcock movie.” Myka and Artie were looking at him blankly. “Notorious? Cary Grant? Ingrid Bergman?” He threw up his hand at their continued disinterest. “Who are you people?”

“What did you do with the camera?” Myka asked Artie.

“It’s been neutralized, but I’m going to take it to the Warehouse,” he said, patting the bag at his feet, "for a second round before it’s put into storage.”

“Snagged, bagged, and tagged,” Pete said.

“What about Adam?” Myka asked.

“He’s been sent to a facility for troubled youth just outside Seattle.” Artie sighed. “I know the manager there; he’s a good man. He’ll be able to give Adam the help he needs to get back on his feet.”

“And Gretchen?”

Artie shook his head. “They have joint programs at the facility for the parents, but I couldn’t tell if she was willing to do it or not. I guess time will tell.” He pushed himself to his feet. “Well, I’m going to check on the Warehouse, see what Claudia’s done to it while we were gone. You two take it easy. And no more shooting each other,” he ordered, half-jokingly.

“Yessir,” Pete replied.

Artie gave them one last look and hurried off. They heard the front door close behind him and suddenly the room was quiet. Myka heaved a sigh and turned to find Pete watching her. They shared a long look. Careful of her arm, she scooted down in her seat to lean her head against Pete’s shoulder.

“Let’s not ever do that again, deal?”

She nodded. “Deal.”



Part I - here.
Part II - here.