Damien closed the door behind him.

His eyes scanned the Airbnb they would be living in for the time being. The house was a stark contrast from Amanda's place. Rather than bright hues, dark green tones were the theme here as every corner he looked towards was framed by plants with leaves that told stories of their own.

"His name was Vaughn," he'd just finished telling his son who, judging by the look on his face, was not as interested in their new house as he was in this newfound fact. "It's similar to yours because we still wanted to honor your mom's name."

"What was my mom's name?" asked Evaughn.

Damien set down his suitcase atop a nearby coffee table and opened it. "Bailey Eve Vaughn."

While Evaughn repeated the name, Damien unzipped a pocket on the suitcase and retrieved a small photo album. He flipped it open and showed him two photos on either pages, both centered on a sleeping infant clad in an olive green swaddle. To the untrained eye, this was the same baby pictured twice in five-second intervals.

"There's the two of you."

"Woah..." His head twitched left and right in awe. "Which one's Vaughn?"

"On the left." Damien answered. He could tell easily because, unlike Vaughn, baby Evaughn looked bothered in his sleep; his photo shoot had taken much, much longer. Damien smiled at the memory.

"I bet the photographer was confused," he chuckled.

"Haha. Not quite, actually. The photographer was me." Damien told him, earning a jaw drop.

"What? They're so... professional," he exclaimed, taking a final look before he handed the book back.

"Keep it," Damien suggested. He finally slid his feet out of his sneakers and rolled his suitcase inside.

He reached into his pocket to check the time on his phone. At the same time, something fell. Upon picking it up, he was reminded that Lieutenant Morales had given him his business card. It was then that a light bulb lit above his head.

***

By the time the clock hit 10, Evaughn had fallen asleep in the bedroom he had chosen. Meanwhile, Damien was grabbing his car keys, getting ready to leave.

He left the house quietly, made his way to his car, and soon he was on the road. Of course, not many cars accompanied him at the late hour.

"Turn right on Jefferson Avenue. In one mile, your destination is on your right."

Damien followed the robotic voice from his speaker, leading him to the same address on the Lieutenant's business card. For all intents and purposes, the city's main police station was open 24/7. One mile later, he pulled into its parkway, fingers crossed that he hadn't missed him.

But then he recalled Morales' statement on the news: We haven't found him yet, but mark my words, I won't rest until I do.

Damien opened the door and met eyes with the front desk officer, clad in a service cap and blouse. "Hello sir, how may I help you?"

He approached her desk and smiled. "Good evening. I'd like to speak with Lieutenant Morales."

"The lieutenant...? Are you here to report something on the Leroux case?"

"No, ma'am, I'm here to... to seek assistance. If there's any way you can let me see him, I'd really appreciate it."

The woman thinned her lips. "I wish I could just ring him up, but he told me specifically not to bother him while he works up there. Else he'll get cranky. So. Assistance..." She ruffled through papers for a specific sheet. She grabbed a pen and clicked its top. "What can you tell me about your situation?"

Damien started with a stutter. "Well, I requested a hitman for... for me."

The woman blinked. "Sir, it's late, and I don't really have the capacity for games."

Damien would've explained that he was not in fact joking, but a loud yawn that came from a short distance made them both turn.

A familiar set of thick eyebrows entered in. Morales rubbed his eyes. "Ahh, cada café que tomo sabe más a deca." [Ugh, every coffee I get tastes more like decaf.]

The officer in front of Damien shook her head. "¿Te tomarás un descanso antes de desmayarte?" [Will you take a break before you pass out?]

"Nunca." [Never.] Finally, he opened his eyes and his chin drew back with a twitch. "Damien?"

Damien didn't know when or how it happened, but he ended up at the police station's coffee bar with the lieutenant.

"How do you like yours?" Morales asked.

"Just black," Damien answered. He waited as Morales poured a couple sugar packets in his own. "Thank you for your time. I know you're busy."

"I am. But honestly, I need to stop staring at that cork board; I'm at a dead end right now. Celine's off the charts. So are her two eldest. And Neo. The tracker Cam gave me is a dud. We've yet to match the tire tracks. The underground passageways she used to escape were destroyed. And," he inhaled, stirring the cup, "I have a goddamn serial killer on my hands."

Damien rubbed a hand through his hair. "It's hard to believe the day isn't even over yet."

"Don't even remind me. And you also have some concerns, right?"

"If you don't mind, yes."

"Lucky for you, I don't." He smiled, yet it didn't reach his tired eyes. "Let's go, then."

Damien slipped his hands inside his pockets and followed the man to an elevator.

Morales pressed the floor button. "Oh, and I haven't forgotten about your money. That 190 you gave to Celine. We'll get that back to you soon."

The doors slid open and they entered the portable box. "I appreciate it. Honestly, I wasn't expecting to get it back."

"I won't lie, I am a bit surprised that you hold such a large amount." Morales admitted. "Given your illness..."

Amused, Damien chuckled. "With all due respect, people like me do still go to work."

Morales immediately apologized for being "insensitive," which Damien accepted because really, he wasn't far off. For a long time, work was multiple draining hours spent at a desk in his NYC apartment for some law firm that he had no passion for.

And that desk? It was located in a home that was a byproduct of his neglect—a home cluttered with books, layered with dust, scattered with clothes, and soiled with bottles of antidepressants.

Damien shook the scene from his mind.

The two soon walked to his office.

Inside, there was indeed a large cork board. It displayed documents and photographs regarding the case. Some sections were annotated with a bold red marker, and Damien's attention was caught like a fish to a hook when he spotted a picture of Neo within the cluster of stuff.

Coffee in hand, he gawked at it. It must've been a professional headshot. Nonetheless, his brother looked... different. His face was sort of in a frown, his scruff relatively full compared to Damien's stubble.

He was clearly Neo, but... not.

The cling of a coffee mug on a desk was followed by Morales moving a chair to sit. Damien grabbed a chair opposite the man.

There was a fairly large window to the left of them, dark now that midnight was approaching.

"It's a lot, isn't it?" Morales spoke towards the board. "There's something I'm missing before I can figure all of this out, I just know it." He sighed. "Anyway, why did you want to see me?"

Damien sat up. "I was hoping you'd lend me protection."

"Did something happen? We made sure not to reveal Evaughn's name in any news reports..."

"It's not that. Uh, as weird as it sounds, I... I hired a hitman. To... to end my life."

Morales' head twitched in shock. "You—what?"

Damien nodded. "It was... before I knew the situation with Vaughn. Either way, I need protection, Lieutenant. Otherwise, I'll have screwed up a third time in my life."

"Of course, but—" He used his armrests to raise himself up. "Why in the world did you do that?"

"Well, I..." Damien breathed nervously. "I... if I may, sir, I don't think that's necessary to share."

"It's not necessary." He agreed. "I guess I'm just asking you personally. As a friend. Why did you do such a thing?"

Damien blinked at the man. He hadn't expected to go into a makeshift therapy session. For lack of a better term, he'd never been... good at therapy. He'd always end up with words on his tongue too stubborn to leave it. Just like now.

Morales softened his expression. "I've read over your files. I know about your MDD. So that isn't what I'm asking, but, no worries. I'll help you out, of course. I'll just need the hitman's information. Anything you know helps."

Morales grabbed a notepad and pen from somewhere inside the mess on his desk. He started flipping to a blank page.

"It's because I made a promise to someone."

Surprised at the statement, Morales' eyes flicked from the notepad..

"After my first attempt, my wife made me promise never to take my life. It's why I failed every other attempt onwards; I'd remember her words. So, hiring a hitman, it allowed me to keep her promise."

Damien had counted three times that Morales glanced over at the scar on his cheek while he was speaking.

Morales pushed his lips together. "I'm glad you told me. I know it helps to get things off your chest."

"Yeah," Damien replied halfheartedly. Really, letting that out felt terrible, but he didn't admit that out loud. "About the person. Their name is L. I don't know what it stands for. However, I do have their number, though I'm pretty sure it's a burner."

"L... And where did you meet them?"

"On the black market..."

Another interruption. This time a phone call on Morales' phone. He apologized silently and answered. "Yes, Alejandra? ...What? ...Send me the pictures. ASAP."

The lieutenant's turned his computer on. "Someone found Celine's last two daughters. And it looks like they're dead."

He moved the mouse around and rubbed a hand over his eyes. His fingers danced on the keyboard and it became silent as Morales scrolled. Damien waited silently.

At some point, Morales' eyes squinted and his head closed in on the screen. "Did you say the hitman goes by L?"

"Yes."

"I had a hunch when you said it..." He thought out loud. "And judging from this tattoo on her hand, the L might stand for Louise." Morales said, tilting his head. "Damien, I think your hitman is dead."

The statement made his stutter. "I'm sorry?"

"Well, hitwoman," Morales corrected. He stood and walked before the board of evidence, taking his drink along. He used the mug to point at some news article written in French. "Louise Leroux. France's assassin."

"Oh." The fact was sinking in at a snail's pace.

"Of course, I'll have my team make sure she's L. For now, though, I think you have nothing to worry about."

"Uh—okay. Well, thank you. That's all I came here for." Damien rose from his seat.

"Wait. Before you go. Tell me what you think about this."

Morales stepped aside and tapped at a certain corner. At first, Damien wasn't sure what he was supposed to look at. There was a lot to take in. Every inch of space was filled with something. But alas, he noticed it.

Two bright red arrows were drawn. One arrow went from a picture of Celine to a handwritten page out of some notepad. The other went from Evaughn's school picture to the exact same notepad.

Between the pictures were three question marks. On the notepad, was Morales' cursive writing.

Notes from Cameron's questioning,
Wednesday June 13th, 7:54PM:

Celine a diagnosed psychopath @ 6
Parents fearful. Neglect and abuse begins.
They'd starve her. Rip out her hair.
Lock up in basement. Beatings.

Damien froze. His chin retracted.

"See the pattern?"

"She went through what Vaughn has gone through..."

"Weird, right? Neo did to Evaughn what Celine's parents did to her..."

Damien shuddered a quiet, "Why?"

"I don't know... Was Neo abused when he was younger?"

"Not that I know of... We grew up with good parents," Damien added. "He was close with our mom. He loved her."

For a while, they stared at the wall, letting thoughts run laps in their heads. At some point, something clicked in Damien's.

"I may have something to add to this wall." Damien retrieved his mobile and pulled up the messages that Neo had sent him. "It's the reason I was shocked to hear about Neo's character."

His curiosity at a peak, Morales read the messages quickly. When he finished, he peeled his eyes from the screen with a wide grin on his face.

"I knew there was more to the story."

"Does it help?" Damien scratched the back of his head.

Morales downed the rest of his coffee in one go, took Damien's coffee from the table, and chugged that as well. "This is what I was missing, Damien. I can't believe it, man. You just added more years to my life."

"That's good. Haha."

Unexpectedly, someone began knocking on the door. "Lieutenant, open up, it's urgent!"

"What is it?"

A shorter man opened the door, extending a phone from his hand. "Neo Ruhl has been located. He'd like to speak with you. Says he knows where Celine is."

Damien's breath caught in a silent gasp.

"...Mobilize the SWAT unit. Immediately."

At full tilt, they left the office.

***

Time seemed to have woven a web around Damien, for the entire time he was on the road, nothing felt real.

Morales and his team had gone to apprehend Celine. Damien, however, was turning into the parkway of a hospital. His body was flung forward when he hit the breaks harder than he meant to.

He entered the hospital, gaining head turns from the few visitors due to his pace.

A man behind the desk greeted him. "Welcome in, what can I do for you?"

"Hello. I'd like to visit a patient here, please. Neo Ruhl. He's my brother."

"Okay. I'll need ID. And then sign right there." He tapped to a sheet.

"Sure." He pulled out his wallet for the card on which his false name was written. Then he scribbled that name on the sheet.

The receptionist nodded, looking at a screen. "Alright. You'll find Mr. Ruhl on the... third floor. Room 313C."

"Thank you."

The number was written in his brain as he searched for an elevator. Damien tried hard to steady his breathing while he was in there. Soon, the doors slid apart. In seconds, he found the room.

Its door was slightly opened. He took a step towards it and simultaneously, a nurse exited. She noticed him and realized he was approaching. Her half-closed eyes reminded Damien of how late it was.

"Hello, there. Are you here to visit Neo?"

"I am, yes. I'm his brother. Is he... alright? I'm not too sure what happened."

"Me neither. Honestly, he was in very critical condition when he was brought in by a stranger. He went through surgery right away and now he's... recovering. There are signs of a bullet wound, so the fact he's still alive means that whoever brought him here must've helped him."

The phrase bullet wound etched itself into his head.

The nurse bobbed her head. "Your brother will be fine, don't worry."

"Thanks," he replied, half-present.

She walked away. Damien took three slow steps to the door. When he finally entered, the delicate arch of Damien's eyebrows ascended, and he let out a shaky breath when he saw him.

Lying on the hospital bed, Neo's eyes had been reduced to slits, open just enough to see that he had a visitor.

Damien went to sit at a wooden chair beside his bed. He took in his brother's appearance and his hands, once composed, now trembled violently. He rested his elbows on his knees and leaned forward.

"Neo." Damien meant to say more than just his name, but alas the habit of leaving words on his tongue returned.

Neo's voice emerged in fragile whispers. "Who are you?"

"I-It's me. Damien."

Neo's face didn't twitch at all when he heard that. Perhaps he was too tired or too weak to make a reaction. "Damien," he repeated. "Oh. Did you also go to hell?"

"Uh—no, we're not dead, Neo. I'm alive—I've been alive..."

As if he were caught between realms of consciousness and sleep, Neo looked at his brother for what felt like a really long time. With great effort, he lifted his hand and held it over Damien's cheek. He felt the groove of his bullet wound.

"You're Damien..."

"Yeah."

"You were alive... this whole time?"

"...Yeah."

Neo's hand closed to a fist and swung towards Damien's jaw. It wasn't a strong punch at all, but the meaning behind it was heavy.

"I hate you. So much."

Damien bit down his lip and tore his eyes to the side.

"Stop that. Don't look away," Neo demanded. He grabbed a fistful of Damien's shirt, his words much more dense than his voice. "You don't get to ignore us anymore."

His heart aching, Damien pressed his lips together.

Neo let go of his shirt and his hand plopped onto the mattress. He looked up at the ceiling.

"But I also failed him, Dame. I've been the worst to him."

"But why, Neo?" He shook his head. "You were never like this."

"I don't know, I... my head would ache. I'd hear voices." Neo flicked his eyes to his brother. "They wouldn't stop unless I hurt him. It's a shit excuse."

"The evidence suggests that Celine had something to do with it. Is that true?"

"It doesn't matter. They're my sins to pay off."

Damien sat back. So it's true, the voice in his head deduced. "And those messages you'd send me?"

Neo parted his lips but paused and shifted his chin towards the one on the chair. "You'll think I'm lying."

"I won't"

"I believed every word I was typing."

Oh.

Neo's eyes held a distant gaze, as if the ceiling he faced was light years away. "I'd write them only at midnight, when that alternate world felt real."

It really is true, thought Damien for a second time. Amongst eight billion others, Neo's was the unlucky soul whose path led him to the psychopath that Celine is.

The ruffling of bed sheets grabbed Damien's attention. Neo was grunting, reaching towards the table on the other end of his bed. On instinct, Damien had readied his hands lest he stumbled.

Neo paused when he saw his brother. "I'm alright, Dame."

"Hah," he laughed sheepishly. "What's that?"

"It's for Eve." Neo explained, handing Damien a white envelope. "It's possible he'll never look at me again, so I decided I'd just write everything out. He might never read it, but that's okay."

"I see," Damien said, taking it carefully in his hands.

"The detective told me he's okay. Is that true?"

"He's alright." Damien nodded. "Sleeping."

"Are you sure? It's only 11."

Damien scratched the back of his neck. "Yes, but... isn't that way past bedtime?"

Neo raised a brow. "For a teenage boy who'll wake up to the sound of a pin dropping?"

"I left a note in case of that."

"A boy who's just had the shittiest day of his life?"

"I'll come visit tomorrow." At full tilt, Damien went to walk out. Once at the door, he paused and looked over his shoulder.

Neo furrowed a pair of curious brows. "Hm?"

For the first time in a long time, Damien replied to a text message. "I missed you too, Neo."

Author's Note:
"More" to the story. Heh.