HOUSE OF BROKEN SOULS Part 21
Warnings: This Chapter: Mild violence and swear words. Overall: Slash, sexually explicit content, graphic violence
The fiction includes a mental illness storyline. I am not qualified in mental health, everything I know about it is googled. It's fantasy folks, please don't shoot me though helpful criticism is always welcomed.
*Not real. The folks aren't mine. No damage intended. I have played with ages of the Padalecki and Ackles family and messed with names. You can find the definition of fiction in the dictionary...
A big thankyou to Lia (Cheebles) for all her help ((hugs))
House of Broken Souls
Jared turned the drawings around in his hand as Dr. Carver looked on. “They’re good but it‘s not an architect‘s drawing. It‘s less of a ‘to be‘, more of a ‘what is‘, and the measurements are approximate,” he said.
The Doc looked confused.
“This is more of a sketch. It’s the sort of thing that tells you what is already there, shows problems that you have to solve prior to refurbishment or demolition of a building.”
“What building is it?”
“They’re different buildings. You should recognize this one. It’s a floor plan.”
“It’s Glenview.”
“Yeah. This one is home, and this one is entirely different. It’s an elevation, see. It gives the view from the side. I have no idea what building it is. It’s six stories and modern, probably late ‘70’s. I don’t recognize it. It‘s definitely not local.”
He handed the papers back, “Can we copy these for Jensen.”
You’re going to want a copy of this one too,” Dr. Carver held a smaller document toward Jared. “This one’s got a title but damned if I can find anywhere that matches that name.”
Jared squinted at the drawing. “I’ve seen this before. She’s drawn it before. It looks like the basement of an old building, a hospital maybe. I thought it was peculiar. See this room; it has a door that opens inward. The door is clearly there but so is a wall. It shows the doorway as sealed over.”
“And the title?” Doc questioned.
He peered at Caitlin’s neat handwriting, “House of Broken Souls.”
“I have no idea. So you gave her a pencil and paper and she just drew this stuff but she still isn‘t talking?”
“That sums it up neatly, Jay. It gives me somewhere to start. Psychologically there is a long-shot that the sealed room actually represents her core personality. It’s an avenue to explore. Practically we know for sure she does have some sort of connection with the building trade. The doctor put the papers to one side and drummed his fingers on lightly the desk.
“So, we should get to the real reason why I’m here then?” Jared asked.
The Doc picked up another document, neatly printed with sums of money represented in figures.
“It’s a sizeable invoice Jay and she’s not going to be discharged any time soon. We’re absorbing what costs we can but the total will be substantial. I’ve made some enquiries. I’ve found a place at one of the more liberal facilities. I can make arrangements today.”
“No. I’ve already released assets to cover it.”
“Jared, please.”
“Money isn’t an issue.”
“Money is an issue for everyone Jay.”
Jared set his jaw square and stared bright eyed at the Doctor. “It’s not an issue for me. She stays. No more questions.”
The Doctor tilted his head and spoke softly, “How much does an architect earn Jared? How do you manage any of this? Even for the brilliance that designed The Farra Building, there has to be limits.” He was trying to be positive but Jared’s expression started to darken in an unfamiliar way. He certainly wasn’t the expecting the loud, angry outburst, from the usually calm man, “What assets I have and how I use them is nobody else's business. She could stay at this facility for the rest of her natural life and it wouldn’t break me, but that is none.of. your. business. It is not your concern as long as you are paid. Understand?” He spat the punctuated words with venom. “She stays. Bill me. Send the copies on, invoice me. I’ll be visiting as usual.” He turned on his heel and left the room leaving Dr. Carver startled and vexed.
Jared stumbled into his car and sat without driving, forehead resting on the steering wheel, until his breath came under control. First Jensen, now the Doc. He told himself he was overreacting. When the Farra Building was first opened he was feted in the local press, ‘local boy done good’, but outside of the trade no-one acknowledged it any longer. There were whispers and glass ceilings but no-one dared to publicly voice them.
***
Jared was still wound up when Jensen texted, “Need to talk re. Caitlin.”
He keyed a reply, “Me too. Your place, an hour?”
“K.”
Jensen was staring at the sidewalk with a glass of whiskey in his hand, his features carefully neutral when Jared arrived.
“What have you got Jen?”
“I don’t know. It’s an inconsistency, just something that doesn’t fit.”
“You think I know the answer? Shoot man.”
“Who assigned Caitlin as a Jane Doe?”
“I don’t know. Cops, probably.”
“Yes, but when? I’ve gone over all the statements and Doc Carver’s work. As far back as anything goes she‘s called herself Jane Doe. Interviews with street workers back it up. She was never anything else to them, before she ever got cautioned or arrested. Even before Alec was pimping her, she was Jane Doe. It’s not a real name and it’s not a name anyone would reasonably choose. I just can’t figure why unless...”
Jared got it then, “Unless she was assigned it on a previous arrest or hospital admission.”
“Genius! I’m going to see what I can find. How about your news?”
Jared described the drawings and the peculiar title Caitlin had given to the one.
“House of Broken Souls. Sounds more like a book,” mused Jensen. “Well at least we have something. You know it still feels like we may be looking for someone who doesn’t really exist.”
“How do you mean?”
“Misha showed me the film of her arrest. It’s not pretty. He showed me the other victim. The one from a month before. You didn’t tell me about him Jared. Did you think I wouldn‘t find out? You think I need to look like an idiot who goes in half-cocked?” He had been shocked when Misha had tactfully taken him aside to regale him with other unproven suspicions that centered on Caitlin. He had felt his cheeks burn at the indignity of being shown his own job and he had time to nurse anger at the man in front of him, who led him on and misled him, the man who invited attention, then ran out on him, who kissed him and then dismissed him.
“No! Her pimp said it wasn’t her that cut him and there was no evidence, none for the other man. There’s no proof she was even working that night.”
“Listen to me Jared. Her pimp is never going to admit it was her. She worked as a submissive for him. He specializes in S and M. He is not about to put up a neon sign saying his hookers are great fun until they turn psycho. He is absolutely not going to say anything if she’s previously gone Freddie Kruger and he disposed of the evidence. The cuts on the man match, but I’m betting Jane didn’t put the bullet in him. Think about it.”
“Is that it? Is this you giving up?” Jared reached an arm to Jensen’s shoulder to swing him around to face him. Jensen unbalanced and stumbled, hitting his arm against the desk and dropping his glass to the floor.
“Ow. Fuck! Jared. No.”
“What then?” The architect stood legs akimbo and muscles tense and glowered at him.
The whiskey thrummed through Jensen’s veins and dulled his mind and there was no tact in his bitter explanation. “I’m saying it’s possible that whatever education or past she may have had, she chose to sell herself. If, or when, we identify her, we may only be giving a name to someone who is just a hooker with psychotic tendencies. It may be all that is there. You should prepare for that.”
Jared shook as he balled his fists, “JUST a hooker? It’s okay Middle America, you can do what you like to a whore? It doesn’t count because they’re worthless? Is that it Jen? Shall we just round them up and put them down? That work for you Detective?” He rounded on the detective, with his eyes bright. In that moment he hated Jensen, hated every small minded, privileged fuck who had ever judged him. Whatever he did, whatever successes he had, he would never be clean or worthy because you can never wash the street from your soul, “You‘re like all the rest.”
Jensen stilled, horrified, as he realized the impact his careless words were bound to have on the man standing before him. He raised his hand to his mouth as his eyelashes parted, wide and panicky.
“No. Jay, no. Jeez, not you. I can’t even. I didn’t mean it like that. People can change, never worthless, don’t even think...”
...and that was it. It was the moment Jared saw it in Jensen’s eyes, heard it in his excuses and understood what the detective had done. In front of Jensen’s eyes the gentle Architect transformed into the life-hardened street kid he once was, his face shut down into stony features, jaw set and eyes cold. “You researched me. You bastard! You two-bit alcoholic, has-been. What was I supposed to expect from you? You can barely find your way home, your own husband died because you couldn’t keep track of your own work …”
Jensen couldn’t stand to hear any more. His fist cracked hard against the tensed jaw and split the soft red lip, spilling a trickle of blood over Jared’s chin. His other fist crunched into the architect’s cheek, catching his eye socket, before he even registered his hands were moving. The realization didn’t stop him. He still followed through with a hefty punch to Jared’s gut because he hated him for his stupid perfect charity and the way he led him on, then pushed him away. He hated him for all the emotional turmoil the man sparked in him.
Jared doubled over for a moment as pain tore into his face and air was forced from his lungs with bruising force. He recovered his stance rapidly, what street kid didn’t need that skill to survive? And he was furious, with Jensen, with himself, with every fucker who had ever screwed with him. “Oof! Fuck you Ackles,” Jared raised his own large fist, crunching into Jensen’s face twice before knocking him to the ground with a heavy blow to his chest. Jared turned and snarled at Jensen as he left his apartment, “Six weeks notice to leave the building. Expect the letter.”
***
An hour later Jared heard the main door slam. He watched Jensen walk unsteadily away from the building, no coat or umbrella, in cold, driving rain. He nursed his aching jaw and damaged pride and let him because he hated the ridiculously dedicated and handsome man for turning his life and his emotions upside down.
Jensen wasn’t sure how long he’d been walking when the false warmth of inebriation wore off and an uncontrollable shiver started, soul deep, spreading to every pore of his being. He became aware of a shooting pain spiking through his spine and he fought through the agony to continue, needing to hail a cab before the inevitable happened. He didn’t make it. Tears of frustration joined the rain sliding down his face as he sank to the sidewalk by a dimly lit bar. He hid his face in his hands. He would rest awhile here and then he’d be fine, get up, get a cab and go back to his apartment. He didn’t think of the place as home. He’d be moving on soon enough.
He was so cold now, his mind began to drift. He thought he heard voices but they seemed unreal.
“Hey. You okay buddy? You’re soaked.”
“Leave the drunk, I’m payin’ for your body, not your bleedin’ heart.”
“He looks hurt.”
“Oh, for God’s sake, are you working or not?”
Long fingers cupped Jensen’s chin softly tilting it up. Compassionate brown eyes looked down at his bruised and bloody face and recognition sparked in them.”
“Shit! Look at you. Jensen isn’t it?”
“M’okay. Resting. You go, you got business,” He slurred at the hooker, trying to recall a name from their earlier encounter.
Mark’s business was getting impatient. “Look you dumb whore, just ring 911 and leave the loser. My suit is getting ruined.”
“Oh. I’m sorry. I got a better offer. Better get yourself inside before that cheap suit disintegrates.”
“You’re really going to pass me over for that,” the man scoffed.
“Well, the sex is hot and I’m thinking he tips better than you.”
Jensen raised a faint smile at that, “I’m serious man, don’t waste your time.”
“Not wasted, I know you’re good for it. You will be tipping me y’know, unless…do you need an ambulance?”
“No, no. Sex is good or sleep. Mebbe I can jus’ sleep with you.” He collapsed into the warmth of the shaggy-haired hooker. Mark called for a taxi, made a booking at the Hilton on Jensen’s Platinum-card and lifted him to his feet, practically carrying him to their destination.
Jensen’s mobile started ringing at 3 a.m. Mark shook Jensen briefly but his eyes were closed, his eyelashes resting softly on pale cheeks with freckles standing out darker for the pallor of the skin. There were purple-green bruises blooming on his chin and his nose was swollen and blue. He was finally warm and sleeping peacefully. Mark buried the phone under the soft pile of luxury pillows and waited for it to stop ringing. At 3:30 a.m. Mark gave up, grabbed it from its hiding place and took it into the en suite, closing the door behind him.***
Jared couldn’t sleep. He paced his apartment, tried not to think, tried not to let the memories through, but faces came unbidden, places, smells and voices jostled for attention. Sadie whined and licked his hand, Harley yawned and settled himself back onto the rug, brown eyes following his master. Jared reached up for the photo frame on the wall and unclipped the backing. He fingered the top photograph first. It showed Harley, Sadie and himself, carefree and goofing around at the park. It was everything that he had worked to become, everything that he wasn’t prepared to give up just because some jumped up, has-been cop knew what he was. He swallowed, angry with his own thoughts. No, everything that he had been, lifetimes ago.
There was another picture behind the first, Jeff, Chris and himself smiling, with Secret curled up on Chris’ shoulder. It was cute and his heart broke for Jeff but the only emotion he felt looking at Chris was a residual fondness. Chris always got the blame for his screwed up attitude, but it was a convenient lie, something to cover the untellable truth.
He stalled and drew breath before pulling the last picture from the recess of the frame where nobody could guess he hid it. He hadn’t looked at it for a very long time but whenever he saw the picture on his wall, he was aware of the photograph within. The image was burned so intensely into his memory that he had no need to turn it in his hand, but it was comforting to do it anyway. He traced the shape of their faces and put his finger on the image of the lips that had kissed him so tenderly, so passionately, so gingerly, so possessively, so often. Ackles couldn’t know this, couldn’t have this. Nobody could. His heart steadied and he relaxed. You always did that for me thought Jared as he re-organized the photographs and clipped the frame back onto the wall.
With the frame back on the wall Jared returned attention to the present. It was 2:30 a.m. and Ackles hadn’t returned. He had disappeared into the rainstorm in nothing but a light tee-shirt, with blood still running lightly from his nose and probably drunk out of his mind. The enormity of the situation hit Jared. He had physically hurt the man and now he was missing and vulnerable. He didn’t want to be worried, Jensen was an asshole and he hated him, but the green-eyed man got under his skin and he was concerned. Whatever had passed between them, for reasons he didn't want to examine too closely, he needed Jensen to be okay. He scowled, picked up his phone and dialed Misha.
Continued in Part 22 here: anniespinkhouse.livejournal.com/7145.html