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Originally published at The Whitechapel Project (for MP3s and polls, click this link). You can comment here or there.

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Previously on Whitechapel

Six was picked up from the Whitechapel Project by Mister Rich, a man who knew Six before his memory loss. Mister Rich confronted Six about his disguise as Dr. Tucci, but after Six told Mister Rich the truth, he decided to trust Six for now. They went to a run-down motel, where Mister Rich revealed that Six was found in London, England, and that his powers are as dangerous to Six as they are to everyone around him. After Mister Rich went to get new clothes for Six, he came back saying he was followed. Six leaves the motel, and notices two police officers asking questions of the other motel patrons.

Episode Seven – Fighting the Law

I walk to Mister Rich’s car, forcing myself to look casual and unhurried. The cops are behind me, and I try not to imagine them shooting me in the back as I walk. I start to sweat in the freezing cold, and each step seems to take longer and longer. Left. Right. Left. Right.

After an eternity, I make it to the car, and risk a glance back. The cop in the cruiser is talking into a handset, while the other is shaking the woman’s hand. When they’re not looking, I dart into the trees to stand behind Mister Rich. He puts a finger to his lips and points to the snowy ground. I crouch down next to him, and he looks back to the parking lot, holding his gun ready.

“What’s going on?” I whisper.

He shakes his head. “They’re not cops,” he whispers back.

I try to get another look of the two uniformed officers, but a tree blocks my view where I’m kneeling. “Who are they, then?”

“Not sure, but they’ve been following me since the store. If they were police, they would have pulled me over, or gone undercover if they were investigating me.” He leaned around a tree to get a better view. “They probably recognized my car. Fuck me for keeping it, I guess.”

“So what are we going to do?”

“We aren’t going to do anything. You’re going to stay here. I’m going to keep them from following us any further.” He gets up and starts to make his way along the treeline, stalking back to the other end of the parking lot.

One thing I’ve learned since waking up in that cell is that nothing is what it seems. The problem is, I’m never sure which side of the problem is the false one. I consider the options. Maybe Mister Rich is on the run from the law, and this is all just an excuse to keep himself out of jail. Could be the police are after me, and Mister Rich is wrong about them not being who they say they are. Or maybe they just think we’re a couple of drug dealers trying to make a buck. I shift between two trees to see if I can make out the police cruiser.

The second uniform – the one talking to the woman – is gone. I can still see his partner in the car, but the other one isn’t anywhere to be seen. I glance back down the treeline, and I can just make out a flash of orange as Mister Rich moves closer to the cruiser.

“Freeze!”

Looks like I found the other cop. He’s holding his gun at me in both hands, his legs spread on the icy concrete. All I have on me is a plastic bag full of smelly clothes, and Mister Rich is probably too far away to help me. Face it, Six, you’re fucked.

The cop continues to bark orders at me. “Drop the bag and kick it over to me.” I stand up and do what he says in a haze, but my mind is still whirling, trying to think of what I can do.

I think about the man I killed in my cell, and suddenly the mother of all headaches splits my skull in two. I can’t stop myself from falling to the ground and closing my eyes because of the pain. The cop’s voice is coming from far away. I barely notice what he’s saying as I imagine the weight of the axe in my hand. Whether I like it or not, I’m going to kill him.

I remember what Mister Rich told me about the thing inside of me. I remember what the guard said at the Whitechapel Project about what happens if I kill again. Whether this cop is a fake or not, I can’t afford to murder someone else. I scream “Get away from me! If you want to live, get the fuck away from me!”

I close my eyes and try to imagine dropping the axe and walking away, but I can feel my arm swinging down. I hear the cop’s firm orders turn into screams of pain. The axe slashes across his throat once, twice, nearly severing his head. I see his body fall backwards, as the axe splashes open his abdomen. Loops of intestine spill onto the snow while the frozen air turns white with his escaping heat.

My hands shake as I open my eyes. Once again, my dream has become a horrible reality.

A gunshot cracks, and then another. I spin to look over at the police car, and I can make out the other cop. He’s out of the cruiser and slumped against the side of it, his gun lying in a slowly growing pool of his own blood.

My mind runs on autopilot. Feeling a sense of deja vu, I dig around in the remains of my victim, stealing from what’s left of him in order to save myself. I find his wallet and pull it out. The license says “Alex Cochrane,” and he’s got a small stack of hundreds tucked inside the billfold. No police business cards or ID cards, and only one credit card – a corporate one made out to ZM Lacuna.

No time. I shove the wallet into my pocket, and take his pistol and the plastic bag. I quickly mutter “I’m sorry” to Cochrane before I run between the trees to where I last saw Mister Rich.

He’s lying on his back, unconscious. His gun is in his hand, and blood is oozing out of his jacket, near his shoulder. I put my fingers on his wrist and then his throat. His heartbeat is strong.

I go to check on the other cop, the one slumped against the cruiser. The hole in his forehead tells me he probably doesn’t need 911. I take his gun and his wallet as well.

I force myself to take a breath and assess the situation. Even if this is a bad part of town that doesn’t ask a lot of questions, there’s at least one witness to two cops getting shot. Mister Rich needs a hospital, but I don’t know how much time I have. I can’t drag him to a hospital, so I’m going to need a car. I gingerly search Mister Rich’s pockets for keys. They’re there, along with a cheap flip-open cell phone. I take them both and rush back to the black car.

Throwing the pistols and the plastic bag on the seat, I start the car and swerve around the corpses to pull it as close as I can to the trees hiding Mister Rich. I scan the dashboard and find a button marked “Rear Door Lock.” I punch it, and both rear doors pop open with a gentle click. I get out of the car and run over to Mister Rich.

At that moment, a black van slowly pulls into the opposite end of the parking lot. I can just make it out from where I’m crouched over Mister Rich’s body. It’s heavy-looking with tinted windows, and something in the shape or the color reminds me of Mister Rich’s car.

My instincts tell me to run, to get away from this van and whatever it contains. If the passengers are associated with Mister Rich, then I can leave him here, and his own people can take care of him. But he mentioned something about “keeping the car” – what if he’s as much on the run from the Whitechapel Project as I am?

What should I do?

Take Mister Rich’s car, but leave him here. It looks like it’s more armored, and Mister Rich can take care of himself.

Take Mister Rich’s car, and take him with me. He’ll be safe in the car.

Take the police car, but leave Mister Rich here. The police car is probably faster than the black car.

Take the police car, and take Mister Rich with me. I can run the sirens and get him to a hospital faster.

Flag down the black van, and take my chances that they’re sympathetic to Mister Rich.

Or I can hide in the woods until it all blows over.

The choice is yours.

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Author’s Post-Mortem

Episode Eight – The Van