2007-03-05: Unprofessional


Mara_icon.gif Judah_icon.gif Sylar_icon.gif

Summary: Detectives Mara Damaris and Judah Demsky bring Gabriel Gray into the station's interrogation room for questioning.

Date It Happened: March 5th, 2007


Police Station

Gabriel 'Sylar' Gray has been captured. Thankfully, he wasn't captured by the Company. He would be in a much worse predicament than now if that were the case. After all, it's much easier to break out of a normal, everyday jail, instead of a holding facility designed for people like him. That Haitian isn't around, and he doesn't have to take any Haitian pills either. Not that it really matters, seeing as he doesn't have any of his powers.

Sylar is currently in an interrogation room of sorts, sitting in a chair. This interrogation room, however, is for those that have been deemed 'unsafe'. His ankles are chained to the legs of the chair, which is in turn bolted to the ground. His hands are in front of him, resting on his lap, cuffed together tightly. His head is tilted downward, chin resting against his neck, his eyes closed… he almost seems to be asleep where he sits, not paying a single bit of attention to anything around him.

It's not often that Judah Demsky loses his temper, and when he does, it's always a fearsome sight to behold. He has spent the past two and a half hours shouting down his partner in front of the rest of the team assigned to the Virginia Gray case; if he could choose only one thing to be certain of, it wouldn't be that the sky is blue or the grass is green — it would be that Gabriel Gray is responsible for only one murder. His mother's.

The balding detective enters the interrogation room, still seething, and flicks on a switch close to the door that causes light to spill out from the ceiling. It's so bright, so focused, that it illuminates only the man sitting in the chair on the other side of the room's table. Beyond this radiant pool, at the center of which is Sylar, there are only shadows. "Wake up."

If there's one thing Mara doesn't do, it's let her partner have the last word. She's matched every one of his screaming arguments with one of her own and now, she's almost hoarse. The death of Virginia Gray was an accident. Nevertheless, Gabriel Gray /is/ a murderer.

The bruised and bandaged detective slinks into the interrogation room after her partner, a dark expression on her face. "Wakey, wakey. Eggs 'n' bakey."

Sylar doesn't respond when Judah enters. In fact, he doesn't even seem to know he's /there/. The killer remains motionless, his eyes still closed, and it's only until Detective Damaris enters that the man shifts. Eyes slowly slide open, and Sylar slowly lifts his head up to make eye contact with Mara, a slow smile spreading across his lips. The light shining down from the single bulb, combined with the bandages and stitches on Sylar's face make for a rather horrifying look. "Hello, Detective. Come to teach me another lesson?"

Judah stiffens visibly at Sylar's smile, his own mouth drawn into as neutral an expression as he can manage. For now, he hangs back, a brown paper folder tucked under one arm. If their friend in the cuffs is willing to talk things out with Mara, then he'll keep quiet until he's needed. He doesn't like it, no, but this isn't the first time something like this has happened. Maybe it's because Damaris is more approachable, or maybe it's because the two share a prior history. Judah doesn't know, doesn't care — as long as they get the job done.

Detective Damaris only hesitates momentarily before she approaches the table, resting her palms flat on the surface opposite of the prisoner and leans forward just a bit. "You used to have such a nice smile."

"Hm," Sylar says, leaning back into his chair and closing his eyes. He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, before his eyes snap open again, staring straight at Mara. His eyebrows narrow, and he smiles even wider. "Well, golly, did I really? It's a shame, considering how savagely you beat me. Although I'm sure you've come up with a cover story, seeing as I didn't provoke you." Sylar glances at Judah for just a moment, before looking back at Mara, then finally at the table. He seems to be speaking more to himself than Mara at this point. "That will all change, Detective, when I find her." He doesn't explain who 'her' is.

Her? Judah's brow furrows, and the expression on his face deepens into a frown. He shifts slightly, lifting his chin as though looking at Sylar from a different angle might offer him a glimpse into the killer's mindset.

Mara straightens up and turns away from Sylar quickly. "You spew your poison, Gray. Whatever gives you hope." She turns her gaze to her partner, looking for some sort of insight.

At the name Gray, Sylar visibly bristles, but he makes no comment on the matter. Not yet, anyway. "Hope?" he says, giving her a quizzical look, and a smile that suggests he knows something she doesn't. "Oh, but I don't need /hope/," the killer continues, staring straight at Mara, never blinking, never looking away, "I don't need hope. I have something greater than that. Greater than you. I have.. well… I have /me/."

If it's insight that Mara is looking to Judah for, she's going to very disappointed. He's clueless. This isn't the Gabriel Gray that Virginia's neighbors described when he asked them to tell him about the deceased's son. He steps forward and tosses the folder, fastened shut with a small metal clip, onto the table. It sits there, ominously obtrusive for something that's otherwise so unremarkable-looking. "Let's talk about your mother for a minute, /Gray/." Yeah, he noticed. "You want to tell us what happened that night at her apartment last November?"

Mara smirks faintly. She just can't help it. In her mind, she's still got the upper hand, of sorts. Her ability is still secret, and she knows more about Gabriel Gray than she's letting on. She turns back when the file lands on the table and approaches after a deep breath. She unfastens the clip and pulls out an array of photographs from the scene of Virginia Gray's death. "It must have been difficult for you. She didn't understand just how… special you are, did she?"

Once again, Sylar bristles at his given birthname, this one much more visible than the last. He actually twitches, almost as if he was going to lash out, but he manages to maintain control. When Mara pulls out the photographs, Sylar looks over them quickly, but stops halfway, averting his eyes. He doesn't want to see it. "You don't know what you're talking about, Detective."

Judah notes Sylar’s aversion to the photographs depicting his mother’s body and the crude piece of artwork left on the floor of her apartment. Idly, he debates bringing out the autopsy files, but in the end decides that he’d much rather watch him squirm under Mara’s interrogation. “Ask him why he did it,” he murmurs.

"She did it to herself, didn't she, Gabriel?" Mara leans forward. The light plays off the battered angles of her face, lending her an almost dangerous sort of visage. "She couldn't understand you, could she? Her /small mind/ couldn't take it. Her baby boy was something /greater/ than she could ever imagine."

"My name…" Sylar begins, visibly tensing before his head suddenly snaps up to look murderously at Mara, "IS SYLAR!" Suddenly, he leaps forward, diving for the detective— arms fly out toward her, still linked together at the wrists by the handcuffs, but before the killer can get his hands on her, his bonds to the chair interrupt his attack. He stops suddenly mid-leap, crashing down into the table and sending the documents flying. He stays there for a moment, his upper torso leaning into the table, breathing heavily with his face inches from it.

"Damaris. Enough." Inciting Sylar to violence doesn't bring them any closer to the answers they need to close this case. In fact, it seems to be pushing them further away. "Call him what he wants to be called." Judah places one large, calloused hand on Mara's shoulder and squeezes, perhaps to reassure her — or perhaps to reassure himself that she's all right. Steady. To the man in the chair, he directs a level stare that lacks any real emotion, save curiosity. "Relax. Why did you take that name?"

The detective doesn't flinch. She doesn't move as Sylar goes crashing against the table. Her lips twist into a grin, nearly sadistic. Even Judah's steadying hand on her shoulder doesn't assuage her. Her eyes fix on Sylar's as she murmurs darkly, "I don't call men by silly little pet names unless they're in my bed screaming for more." She pushes away from the table, shrugging off Judah's grip, and backs up toward the door, sending a look to her partner. "I know, I know. Bad girl, no biscuit." She doesn't leave, however. She just lingers by the door, staying in the shadows.

Sylar begins to chuckle darkly at Mara's words, his breath slightly fogging up the table until he leans back to fixate one of those ever-creepy smiles on the detective. "You really have no idea who you're dealing with. Yes. I killed my mother. She wanted me to be 'special'." Judah's question about his name goes ignored. "She couldn't let me just be a simple watchmaker… and then she died. Just like you're going to. But it won't be like my mother's death. Oh no. I'm going to take my time with you. I'm going to make you suffer. I'm going to make you /scream/. I'm going to make you wish you were dead more than /anything/, and then I'm going to kill you. Then your partner. Then your mother. Your father. Your siblings. All of them." Another dark chuckle, and a smile, just for the detective. "… And they're all going to /suffer/, just like you will."

There's an invisible line in the middle of the room that separates business from pleasure, and Mara's just crossed it. While Judah can understand that she might have a personal vendetta against Sylar, he can't stand by while she teases him with sexual innuendo. For one thing, it's unprofessional. For another, he's a killer. Possibly a serial one, if her theories are to be believed. Needless to say, 'bad girl, no biscuit,' is something of an understatement in Judah's eyes. "Don't be fucking stupid," he snaps at her before turning his attention back to Sylar, hawk-like. "And don't you make this personal, asshole. I want to help you out, but you're going to have to help us, first. Who else did you kill? If you want credit for your work, I'll need names."

Mara lifts her chin and watches Sylar. She's standing tall and brave, but she can't hide that undercurrent of fear that flickers in her eyes. She knows what she's dealing with, and that's the worst part. She copes with her fear by spouting insults and talking big, but all she really wants to do is start pounding on Sylar again. This time, until he stops breathing. For now, she'll content herself with standing by the door and letting Judah take the reins. She might have been heard to utter "Sorry, Demsky," but don't ask her to repeat it.

"I have nothing to say to you," Sylar responds to Judah, finally turning his attention to the man. "You're just an insignificant insect in my way. I'm a psychopathic killer. Don't test me, detective." He turns back to Mara, the apparent target of his sadistic rage. "What's wrong? Scared? Nothing to say? Don't you want to punch me some more, but can't because your partner is here? Perhaps you would like to kill me this time?" He nods slightly, his eyes imploring the detective to do it, his lips turning up at the corners slightly in an almost-smile. "Go on, do it. Kill me. Take my life. Feel what it's like. The satisfaction. The thrill, the pleasure, the energy.. do it. Become a killer." His voice rises suddenly, the sound echoing unnaturally off the walls of the room. "DO IT!"

Judah can see that he isn't getting anywhere. The only person that Sylar seems to be willing to talk to is Mara, and he's not about to leave her alone in the interrogation room with him after what just happened. If he had his way, she'd be off the case entirely. "Let's go," he says gruffly, turning toward the door. Even with the restraints that bind him, there's a small part of him that feels uncomfortable putting his back to Sylar. As for the photos… he leaves those where they lay. Maybe their prisoner will change his tune after he's had a few hours alone with the memories of the crime scene. "Whatever you're thinking," he adds, almost as an afterthought, "keep it to yourself. He doesn't deserve an answer."

Mara flinches and presses her back flat against the door. Her eyes widen at first, and then shut tightly. "Taking your life would bring me no joy," she decides, opening her eyes again. "Having the chance to see your face every day for the rest of your life as I walk past your prison cell? That might come close to joy." She steps away from the door, partially to allow Judah to open it, and partially to keep her view of Sylar unobscured. She's understandably more reluctant to give her back to the psychopath.

Sylar seems to be done ranting for the time, as he slowly sinks back into his chair. His eyes remain on the detective however. He shakes his fists, rattling his chains as he smiles. "You can't keep me here forever, detective. I've been captured once before already. I escaped then, and I'll escape this time. Then I'll find you, when you least expect it." With that, he falls silent, his eyes focusing on the photographs in front of him. He stares at the pictures of his mother for a few moments, then looks away towards the floor.

Although Judah opens the door, he does not yet exit the interrogation room. Pointedly, he ignores Sylar; the delusional ravings of a homicidal maniac are nothing new to him, and he's considerably less perturbed by the threat. After all, it isn't directed at him. One hand drifts down to the small of Mara's back, giving her a gentle push. Ladies first.

The contact causes Mara to just about jump right out of her skin! She hurries out of the interrogation room quickly and stops just down the hallway, waiting for the reprimand that's no doubt coming from Detective Demsky.

The reprimand that Mara is waiting for never comes. Just before Judah leaves the room, he places two fingers under his eyes, and then points one of them directly at Sylar's face. Translation: I'm watching you. "Touch her," he says, "and I'll take you up on the offer that you just made." Then he's gone, his departure marked by the turn of the lock as it clicks into place.

Out in the hall, Mara grabs onto her partner's arm once she suspects she's not going to get an earful. Dark and troubled eyes fix on the elder detective. "Jude… We need to talk." With that, she drops his arm, briskly heading out of the building, with the expectation that he will follow.

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