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Dark Obsession	By : jracklesfan77 Category: 1 through F > Dark Angel Views: 4878 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Dark Angel, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 7
- 8
- 9
Part
8

A big thank
you to JASW: You're a lifesaver! You rock, babe!

And thanks to Dusten for proofing. Wuvvoo, darlin'!

He
wasn't sure how long he sat there, holding the dead girl in his lap. He stared,
unseeing, fingers barely glancing over her throat, as they
traveled the length of the bruises he'd inflicted.

Slowly, the world came into focus again. A cacophony of small noises that hadn't
registered before, were now attacking his sensitive hearing, clamoring together and
rising to a shattering peak and finally breaking through the haze of confusion and
shock.

As the
reality of the situation came ever clearer, Ben hurriedly pushed the slight form
from his legs and onto the floor, scrambling in his haste to remove her clammy skin
from his. Death was an art form; this, however, was not his creation. It was nothing
more than an accident.

He
hastily pulled on his pants and entered the bathroom, stopping only to survey
himself quickly in the mirror. Not a trace of Jinx was anywhere on his person, that
he could see. He wondered, briefly, if he should bother cleaning the body. No
point, he thought, somewhat indifferently. Removing any residuals wouldn't help; as soon as they conducted tests they'd find the evidence anyway. Ben knew that if he set the scene
right, the police wouldn't have cause to assume anything other than that Jinx had
had a fight about drugs which had ended in her death. She was a hooker and a junkie; it
was unlikely they'd delve too deeply into the incident, and even if they did, it was
highly improbable that his fingerprints or DNA were on file anywhere. The perks of being a
Manticore freak, he mused, lips quirking upward into a ghost of a smile. But
then again, he didn't put it past Manticore to do something like that to flush him
out, making it easier to capture him.

That
sent a mental shudder all through his body. Ben
lifted and held his hands before his face, watching as they trembled slightly before steadying. He raised his head and gazed
at his reflection. The face staring
back at him was blank, his eyes empty. His emotions were once more under control and
behind the mask. It was a normal reaction for him, natural, inbred.

His
actions were purposeful, methodical.
Carefully walking through the house and picking up his clothing, he finished
dressing. Ben went through the apartment, mussing things as he went, overturning
furniture and tossing the bedroom completely, making it look as if
there had been a struggle. The mirror above the dresser toppled to the floor with a
crash and a
few stray shards imbedded themselves into his hands as a result. Muttering curses, Ben rushed back into the bathroom.

He
held his hands beneath the faucet, stroking one hand over the
other under the steady stream of water, watching as it swirled around the
basin. The water ran red.

Red. Ben
had always been fascinated by symbolism and the stock people put in it. Red,
he thought again, grimly. A color with so many meanings; most often used for signs
and warnings. Does
that apply to me? he wondered, figuring that following his actions earlier most
people might think so. His hands were stained red in every sense of the word.

In
India, red was the symbol for a soldier. In Africa, a color for mourning. How
suitable, he sighed heavily, watching his blood flow into the sink and disappear
down the drain. Red, yes. Love, hate, desire, pain. Red could
paint almost every feeling and emotion he possessed. He thought of the term 'red
herring' and how fitting it was. His encounter with Jinx had been exactly that: a
distraction, something to take his mind off the real issue;
namely, Max.

Once the bleeding had stopped, Ben
dried his hands and wiped the basin clean. His
work here was done.

Ben
took one last look around the trashed apartment, satisfied that he'd left nothing
behind that could have been removed, and that which could not, well, he wouldn't
allow himself to worry about that. Even if Manticore had shared his DNA with the
authorities, there wasn't much he could do about flushing the dead girl's system.
He'd just have to take his chances and cover his tracks better in the future.

But now was
not the time to dwell on what he'd done, as unintentional as it was, and wholly
unavoidable given the circumstances; a situation out of his control. He had to make
his getaway before the world woke to a new day.

Ben
picked up his jacket and strode towards the door. He stopped shortly at the light
tread of footsteps in the hall just outside.

"Jinx,
babe, you in there?" came a male voice from the other side. Light knocking could be
heard. "Jinx?" the voice called again, clearly concerned.

Ben
quickly looked for the nearest viable exit, deciding on the kitchen window which
looked out onto a dark alley. The sun was coming up. He had to leave before anyone
could take note of his presence in the vicinity.

The
knocking intensified and then stopped, the scratching of a key turning in the lock
propelling Ben to action. He slipped out the window just as the front door swung
open. Dropping to the ground below, Ben landed on his feet and took off at a run
into the Seattle streets, his figure but a blur in the early morning shadows.

| O | O | O |

When
Ben arrived back home, he hesitated to enter. He peered through the window to see
the others already scattered about the kitchen and preparing for the new day. The
small, black and white television that sat on the countertop was buzzing as the
newscaster informed them, in an all too cheery voice for the early hour, that skies
were clear and snowfall was expected later. Then the headlines were repeated and Ben
smirked. Still no solid leads, he mentally congratulated himself. Well
done.

He
made his way round to the window of his room and slipped inside silently. Quickly
changing into a pair of boxers and an old tee-shirt, Ben ambled slowly into the
kitchen, perfecting a semblance of drowsiness and early morning weariness. He caught
the tail end of the report and watched as Max shuddered again. For all that
you're a soldier, you still can't stomach death. Shame, really. Death can be so beautiful...

"The
death toll is rising. There's a pattern, and yet not. Hopefully, Logan will have
some more info for us later. He said something about talking to Matt Sung down at
the local precinct and getting back to me later." Zack glanced at Max, watching her
twist the hem of her tank top, a clear indication that she was unsettled by the
growing number of murders and lack of leads.

"Vulnerant
omnes, ultima necat*," Max muttered quietly. Zack gazed thoughtfully at her while
Alec gave them both a curious glance before knocking her shoulder playfully.

"Don't
be morbid, Maxie. You're starting to remind me of Benny-boy, here," Alec inclined
his head at his twin, smirked at Max, grabbed her waist and squeezed, causing her to
yelp.

"Dying is a very dull, dreary affair. And my advice to you is to have nothing
whatever to do with it," he drawled as he tweaked her nose.

Ben
caught his brother's eyes, narrowing his own in response. ""Quoting
W. Somerset Maugham? A miracle! Shout it from the rooftops: Lover Boy has a brain.
Whoop-di-do."

Alec
flipped him the bird. "Hey! My IQ is higher than yours, big brother. But I
guess it's true what they say - older isn't necessarily wiser." Ben gave an internal
chuckle but kept his face blank, as he took regard of Alec. His twin almost flinched
at the cold look he received, noting the insidious curve to Ben's lip and the icy
glint in his eyes.

"I
said you had a brain, little brother, nothing more. Shocking, truly. Think
you're so big with the famous quotes? Show-off. Fine, but consider this, Al:
Death is not the greatest loss in life. The greatest loss is what dies inside us
while we live."

Leaving his siblings staring after him with stunned expressions and not just a
little confusion, he turned and exited the room without another word.

Max
was the first to snap back to reality. Raising her hand deftly, she smacked Alec
upside the head and chastised him plainly. "Why'd you have to go make light of
death? You know how weird he gets!"

"Jeez, Max, did ya have to hit me so hard? I was just tryin' to ease the mood. Dark
clouds of gloom should be weather related only. I don't need this emotional crap
first thing in the morning! What the hell's his problem, anyway? Killjoy..." Alec's
voice trailed off upon receipt of a patented 'Max glare'.

Zack looked between the two with a mixture of both amusement and puzzlement. Rubbing his jaw
lightly, he commented, "Really. What is his problem? He's been acting...well-"

"What?" Max injected with concern.

Alec's lips twisted into a knowing smirk
and he shrugged indifferently. "Oh, come off it, you guys! He's acting like Ben. Broody and unreadable. That about sum it up, Zack?"
he asked, turning to the blonde X5 who looked pensive, leaning back heavily against
the counter.

The other man didn't acknowledge him. Silence settled between them. Three confused Transgenics sat lost in thought, staring at the empty doorway Ben had passed through just
minutes before, wondering at their brother's acumen. The seeming ease with which he had accepted the news of the rising death toll was almost unreal. A reaction very unlike the Ben they knew.

After a long pause, Zack's worried gaze fell on Alec. "Well, yeah. That and he's been, I dunno, almost apathetic. There are times I think he's unsettled by the killings but other times I wonder what's really going on in that head of his. Have you noticed anything different lately?"

Just outside the room, Ben listened intently to his siblings.

"Cut him some slack," Max interposed softly. "When you make jokes about death, Alec,
it affects him. He's not like you, able to make light of danger and trouble. This is
Ben. He's always been quiet and introverted. He's harmless."

Ben let out a quiet, icy chuckle. Always seeing the good in people, Maxie. I wish I was still that naive...

Zack grabbed his messenger bag and tossed back the last of his juice, downing it in
one gulp. Placing his glass in the sink, he turned to Max and Alec. "We're going to
be late and Normal will can our asses. Will you idiots get dressed?" he huffed,
suddenly back to his stiff self.

"Oh,
stuff it, Zack. We're dressed. If you'd bothered to actually look at us this
morning, you'd have seen that." Max slid her arm around Zack's back and dropped her
cereal bowl into the sink and smirked, "Your turn to do the dishes tonight, Sir."

"Over
my dead bod-" he began, only to clam up and glare at Alec who sniggered behind Max.

"Easy
to 'make light of death', isn't it, Zack?"

"Shut
up."

"Ooh,
good one, Zack. Got any others? I could use some new lines," Alec teased, picking up
his own bag and slinging it over his shoulder.

"Bip,
bip, bip! The slave driver's gonna skin me al-" The two men broke out into
loud guffaws at her gaffe. "Just get moving, will you?" she muttered
darkly, stomping off.

| O | O | O |

Ben stretched out on the
couch. He liked his job. He worked weekends as a bartender at a trendy bar downtown,
with the occasional odd gig thrown his way by a very accommodating boss. It left his
weekdays free to pursue other interests. Like sleeping late.

Flipping channels, Ben stopped on a classical music channel that reminded him a bit
too much of his siblings' friend, Logan Cale. He had to admit, though. The man has taste.
Wine, food, music and Max. Good thing Alec put a stop to that madness, right
away. He couldn't imagine the two as a couple. Norms just weren't cut out for
long-term relationships with Transgenics. No matter how hard Max tried to convince
them, he, Zack and Alec never bought into it.

Sibelius filled the room and after a while, lulled him into a deep sleep. After the
events of the night before and early morning, both body and mind were exhausted.

Hours
later, Ben cracked open an eye and squinted at the face of his watch.
Wow, he thought. That was a nice, long nap. The time showed that it was
one o'clock, and his stomach's protestations concerted with the chime of the clock on
the wall. Just a few more minutes, he grumbled to himself. But soon, hunger got the
better of him and he slowly rose from the couch.

::Ring, Ring::

Weird, that sounds like Zack's phone. He never leaves home without it, Ben
though idly. Making his way into the kitchen, he spied the cellular device on the
counter next to a half-eaten bowl of cornflakes. Left the food and the phone. Go
figure.

The
display flashed 'Withheld'. Ben waited patiently to see if there was a message. He
wouldn't answer his brother's phone. But it can't hurt to check his messages,
right? He wasn't disappointed when a minute or so later the unit began to trill,
'You have one new message.'

Ben
knew one thing about Zack and his privacy: as much as he was a secrecy freak, he was
also as predictable as they came, once you got to know him. What would he
possibly use for his security code? After a few unsuccessful tries, he was hit
by a surge of inspiration and Ben smiled smugly.

He
keyed in the four-digit code. 5-4-5-2.

Brilliant. Stupid. And so very Zack.

Entering the appropriate

numbers as commanded by the automated system, he kept busy while waiting. He opened the fridge and removed some
leftover tuna, sliced bread, tomatoes and a pickle. He laid them all on the counter
and got to work preparing sandwiches.

"First
new message, received today, at one-o-eight PM:

"Zack, it's Logan. I just got off the phone with Matt Sung. Hit me back, soon as you
get this. I need to see you, Max and Alec. I don't think it would be wise to bring
Ben along for this. Please just trust me on that. I won't go into detail until we're
face to face, but to express how important it is that you get back to me
immediately, let me say this:

I.
Know. Who. The. Killer. Is."

TBC

A/N:

'Vulnerant omnes, ultima necat'-
Translation: Every (hour) wounds, the last
kills. (sundial inscription)
- 7
- 8
- 9
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Dark Obsession