Justice Wears Many Faces -- Witchblade Karma

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Date Posted: 22:13:05 06/25/04 Fri
Author: moondreamer
Subject: Justice Wears Many Faces
In reply to: moondreamer 's message, "Justice Wears Many Faces - PG-13" on 22:11:15 06/25/04 Fri

Witchblade Crossover w/Touching Evil (USA Network�s Original New Series airing on Friday nights). This story was written for the TranspositIAN Fan Fic Contest at Mythtime.

Rated PG-13 for implied child nastiness and one dead corpse

You can insert this into the Witchblade Timeline whichever season you think it would fit it best.

Disclaimer: While I confess to a certain, undying fondness for the characters and concept of Witchblade none of them are mine, nor will they ever be. I extend my deep gratitude to those that created them and gave them life in their many forms so that I could play with them. As for Touching Evil � well, The UK Crew, Bruce Willis & USA Network I�m not.

* * *

At first glance, the house was at one with its neighbors; neat and tidy with a slightly aged appearance that still managed to impart a sense of grace and charm. The lawn was lush and well groomed; small, delicate flowers peeked out through the landscaping along the front cement walk in welcome.

But, unlike its neighbors this house pulsed with an aura that was colored both black with the intent of the lone occupant and electric blue with the jagged pain of the same tortured soul. This was the house that would be visited during the night by justice in her many guises. This was the house that by morning would pulse with an aura of a different color and who�s to say if anyone would recognize the change? Who�s to say if anyone would even care?

* * *

Ian Nottingham moved silently into the darkness of the corner, easily becoming one with the other secrets kept long hidden in its depths until he was unnoticeable, just another piece of furniture in this house of long shadows. As he paused he could almost feel the house listening with him; could almost feel the silent straining as it too became aware of the additional violation to its impenetrable fa�ade.

There, faint but audible to Ian�s extraordinary senses, came again the sound that had alerted him to the new presence. The newcomer was good, but impulsive; he was taking the stairs too quickly, his manner too impetuous for Ian�s taste and experience. With control being as automatic to him as breathing, Ian couldn�t understand the almost careless haste with which the newcomer approached the upstairs room.

Ian waited, slowly absorbing the stillness and finality of the room. He could feel the pain trapped within its cold walls, sense the despair that filled the house like a stale odor. Despite these things he stood silent. Letting it flow into him and through him until he simply belonged there. No different than the walls, or the furniture or even the corpse that sat in a chair in front of the desk.

Along with the stillness came a shift in Ian�s perception, until time itself to seem to slow. The imperceptible sounds of the house seemed to become over-amplified. The faint click of the cooling unit, the ticking of a clock in another room filled his senses and hung heavily in the air.

Ian knew the man who approached the room, the sound of his breathing, the way he moved; all these things were as recognizable to the highly-trained former Black Dragon after his many days of observation as if they were his own.

Each step of the newcomer seemed to take hours to Ian. He could almost count the number of carpet fibers as they were crushed under the soles of the approaching feet. How, Ian wondered, would the newcomer react when he entered the room? And more importantly, why was he here?

* * *

The events leading to this night were somehow strangely connected. What was it that Sara always said? �Everything is more connected that it appears.� Yes, truly everything was more connected that Ian had initially believed possible.

The week had started like any other for Ian. His duties for billionaire Kenneth Irons had been superceded of late by the demands of watching over Detective Sara Pezzini, the new Wielder of The Witchblade; the sentient weapon his employer lusted to control as others had throughout the centuries.

It was for this purpose that Ian had been created by Kenneth Irons. His genetic enhancements were a testament to the strides in technology made by Irons� company, Vorschlag Industries. His whole life had been spent training, becoming a strange combination in this day and age; a man who was both a poet and a warrior. An ultimate weapon that waited for the moment The Witchblade would choose the next Wielder.

Unknown to Kenneth Irons, The Witchblade had its own plan, a plan that had spanned centuries in the making. Ian Nottingham�s body may have been of Irons� creation, but his soul, his essence if you will, was one carefully nurtured and reincarnated though the ages by The Witchblade for purposes still not totally revealed to those directly involved and those who watched.

With the fulfillment of his life�s goal upon him, it had been a rude surprise for Ian to be called to the Great Room at Irons� mansion and be given his new assignment. Such a surprise in fact, that he had even dared to protest out loud to Irons his dismay at leaving Sara alone and unprotected from the strange, new forces at work in her life.

Ian mentally winced as he recalled the sharp, dismissive reply he had received. The matter in question had become personal to Kenneth Irons and, as with anything personal it fell to Ian as Irons� bodyguard and symbiotic extension of self to handle it.

�Swiftly, competently and cleanly.� Those had been Kenneth Irons� final words on the matter. His focus on the swift part, all the better to return to The Wielder�s side, Ian had been drawn deeper into the situation the more he discovered about the incident and those involved.

The young son of one of Kenneth Irons� business partners in San Francisco had been kidnapped. There had been no ransom demands, no telephone calls; no contact of any kind. As always with a case involving a missing child the fear of a sexual predator weighed heavily on both the police and parents. The police seemed baffled but Irons was confident that Ian with his para-military background and extensive training would be able to find the boy, dead or alive.

Upon his arrival in San Francisco Ian moved swiftly to set up his observation post and begin his investigation. He utilized his computer skills to infiltrate the local police network and he pored over the available data. He was thankful to realize that this wasn�t the equivalent of a �fund-raiser� for Kenneth Irons; a situation contrived to somehow benefit Irons in the end. But all possibilities needed to be looked at.

Other than the lack of contact from the perpetrator nothing seemed extraordinary about the case until his digging uncovered a second missing boy. The only apparent connection between the two was a small bunch of yellow primroses concealed at each kidnapping site. Further investigation by Ian discovered a similar case had occurred in Denver during the last year.

When it became apparent that more than one boy was missing and the similarities to the Denver Case were found, Ian reported back to Kenneth Irons who used his influence to have the Organized and Serial Crime Unit of the FBI called in. Irons had faith in Ian�s capabilities but it never hurt to have all bases covered appearance wise. As a result, Ian needed to expand his surveillance and as he hacked into the OSC system he began to doubt there would be a swift resolution to this situation.

The lead Agents involved in the case were themselves an odd mix. Susan Branca was a veteran of the OSC. Cool and competent, she prided herself on her analytical ability and devotion to procedure. David Creegan, her new partner, was a totally different matter.

He was just returning to the OSC after a medical leave. Shot in the head while on a previous assignment, he had been pronounced clinically dead for 10 minutes and had somehow fully recovered. Or had he?

Ian perused Creegan�s medical files. There had been definite brain damage. Specifically in the areas that governed behavior, emotions and modification. Creegan was no longer in control of his emotions or able to know if his responses were appropriate given the situation. He was no longer able to feel shame and when he did feel something he acted on it without thought to the consequences.

Creegan�s recovery had not been easy. Happily married with two children the changes in him had brought devastation to his relationships and his life. The differences in his behavior were readily apparent to those who knew him before the incident and appeared odd to those that didn�t.

Simple items now caught his attention. He was easily distracted, obsessively compelled in directions he couldn�t control. The last several months of his leave had been spent in a mental institution, trying to learn to deal with his new self and other�s reactions to him.

Upon his release Creegan and his wife had tried to make a new start but the man he was now could not pretend to be the husband she once loved. He logically knew the emotions he felt for his wife and children, but was unable to move past the knowing. He moved into a motel yet continued to show up at the house at odd hours, usually spending the night on the couch or in the room with his children who couldn�t begin to understand the stranger that had once been their father.

Yet these changes, while devastating, had also brought something else to the fore in David Creegan. Without the ordinary distractions of a normal individual his brain was free to work in alternate directions; able to make intuitive jumps that lent an added dimension to his police work.

There were those, his partner included, that doubted Creegan was ready to return to police work; Ian disagreed. In fact, the more time he spent learning and watching David Creegan the more Ian began to feel a strange kinship with him. They were like opposites of the same coin. Each of them at the mercy of their inability to relate normally to world around them.

The case seemed to progress slowly. Were the two boys alive or were they dead? A witness emerged by the name Ronald Hinks. He gave a detailed description of a homeless man seen in the area of the first abduction. Something about Hinks bothered Ian and he dug deeper into the man�s past. When he discovered that Hinks had worked for one of Kenneth Irons� divisions and had recently moved to San Francisco from Denver, Ian felt there was more here than met the eye.

Ian began leaving anonymous tips on Creegan�s cell phone. Once Creegan knew about Denver and the primroses at each abduction site the case began to snowball. It seemed that Hinks had been a witness to the abduction of a young boy in Denver. Again, two boys had been kidnapped; the only clue a yellow primrose at each site. Those boys had finally been found dead. But there was still a chance these boys would be found alive if they moved fast enough and that fact added to the pressure on those involved � especially Ian and David.

The homeless man turned out to be delusional and harmless. It was obvious he was setup by Hinks who enjoyed toying with the Agents. Every interview was another chance for Hinks to showcase his superior intelligence and capabilities. The tempers of the investigators began to fray.

Creegan grew more and more restive. Visibly chaffing at the bounds placed upon him by his partner and his position. Finally, his own inner conviction of Hinks� guilt fueled by Ian�s insights and tips on the case drove him to confront Hinks and spit on him in disgust while his partner watched his actions in horror. That was the first night the anonymous tips Ian Nottingham gave to David Creegan became conversations.

Unable to sleep, each man driven by his own demons, they spent hours talking on the telephone; struggling to understand this case, themselves, and each other. There was a strange symmetry to be found in their relations with the women around them; Ian with Sara and David with Susan, his partner. David also befriended the homeless man, Cyril. Incapable of helping himself he attempted to aid Cyril in finding the peace that so eluded him in his own life.

The police searched Hinks� residence; finding nothing. Ian followed behind them, a dark, unseen shadow that moved no less urgently. It was Ian that spotted the parabolic microphone and video equipment in Hinks� closet; Ian who notified David using their strangely developing relationship via the telephone and then helped David pinpoint the apartment building within range of Hinks� house.

With Ian�s voice in his ears David frantically moved through the building, searching for some sign of the boys while Ian scoured the landlord�s records until finally they found the hidden window in the floor of an abandoned apartment that Hinks used to spy on the boys. Using the floor plan Ian was able to direct David to the right room and he was the first to share David�s despair when he entered the room and thought the sleeping boys were dead.

The boys were alive, however and after being checked out by medical personnel had been returned to their parents. However happy those involved were with the outcome there was still no real evidence linking Hinks to the boys� abductions, nothing at least that would stand up in a court of law.

Ian had already been contacted by Kenneth Irons and given his final instructions. It was this that had brought him to Ronald Hinks� house this evening. There was one last task to perform before he returned to New York.

* * *

The door to the room opened slowly, and David Creegan entered the room with his gun held balanced before him in the Modern Isosceles stance as he searched the room for threat. He walked slowly towards the still figure sitting at the desk. Willing the figure to move, to resist; anything that would give him the reason he needed to take action. He stood directly behind Hicks, breathing heavily, tears filling his eyes and spilling down his cheeks as raw emotion and bitter impulse tore through him in a wave he could neither control or direct.

David lowered his weapon slightly, then raised it again, his internal struggle obvious to Ian who watched with interest from his secreted position. Such overpowering emotions seemed at war with the lack of expression on David�s face.

David circled around to the right of Hinks and then paused as he saw the bloody entrance wound at the side of Hinks� head and the weapon in his lap. He reached his left hand out as if to touch the wound and lowered his gun to his side.

�David.�

Ian spoke softly as he moved out of the shadowed corner. David reacted swiftly, not even brushing the tears from his face as he raised his gun once again and whirled to face Ian.

�Ian, is that you?� David�s voice was thick with emotion and he hesitated as he recognized the voice that had become so important to him.

The two men stood and stared at each other; separated by the corpse that sat between them. David saw for the first time, the essence of the voice on the phone, the man who had become his friend, the warrior. For some inexplicable reason his throat felt odd, there was a momentary sharp, biting pain and David raised his hand to massage it lightly.

Ian truly was an imposing figure, his muscular strength disguised beneath his trademark black trench coat and clothing. His lush hair was hidden under a black knit watch cap but his dark eyes were filled with a gentle light as the two men surveyed each other.

�Strange to meet in person, finally. Isn�t it?� Ian replied as he saw up close the man he had watched and communicated with from a distance. The scar on David�s forehead stood out in bold relief against the paleness of his skin but over the last several days Ian had seen past the scar and into the man.

�What are you doing here?� Without further thought, moving on the instinctive knowledge that Ian was no danger to him, David put his weapon back in his holster.

�The same as you I expect. Making sure that justice is served.�

David gestured impatiently at the body between them. �Did you kill Hinks, then? Did you do this?�

Ian shook his head slowly. �No, he was already dead when I arrived. Someone else was justice�s hand this evening.�

�Is that what this is?� David exclaimed. �Justice?�

�Do you truly believe Hinks killed himself?�

�No, he wasn�t the type. We had nothing on him really, and he knew it.�

�So he would have gone free. He would have continued to act out his private, petty little fantasies at the expense of others.� Ian walked around to the side of Hinks� corpse and studied the setup critically. �Whoever did this covered his tracks well.�

�Why are you here, David?� Ian looked up at him intently. �What brought you up those stairs this evening? Where is your partner, your backup? If you had nothing on him, what brought you into this room with your gun drawn?�

�I needed�I needed�� David shook his head in frustration. �I needed to look into his eyes and know that this was over. That he couldn�t hurt another parent or kill another child.�

Ian waited patiently as David struggled to find the words to express his inner turmoil.

�I needed him to die.�

�And so he has. What does it matter the manner in which his death was found? The circle is complete. Look into his dead eyes and let him go.�

�I don�t know that I can, Ian. You don�t understand. I was ready�� David walked over to window and looked out into the dark, night sky. As he stared at the pane he saw not his own reflection in the glass, but the faces to his two daughters staring back at him.

Ian followed David to the window and hesitantly reached out before placing his gloved hand firmly on David�s shoulder.

�Will you spend hours trying to unravel the mystery of who killed Ronald Hinks? Will his passing be mourned by those victims he will never have a chance to abuse? Justice wears many faces, David. It�s time to leave this one behind.�

As Ian urged David past the corpse and towards the door he turned for a final glance out the window and at the shadowy figure standing in the trees by the front drive. Three different hands of Justice had entered the house, only one had walked out dipped in blood.

�What was it you told me in one our first conversations, David?� Ian murmured softly into the waiting quiet of the house.

�Welcome to the crazy train, Ian. Welcome to my world.�

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A great story Moon!! -- Spin, 14:27:33 06/29/04 Tue