Tiger Stripes and Lightening Strikes

10: Not A Home

From the outside, the Smythe manor was everything Barry expected. Curving, stone steps leading up to huge a gargantuan double door. White brick layered as high as three floors with, angled, red rooves. There were too many windows to count. What Barry assumed were once perfectly kept gardens had become wild and overgrown. Shaped bushes were getting scraggly and the perfect formation of flowers was fading. The grass was reaching knee height blowing gentle in the soft breeze. An unforgiving sun beamed down on Barry and Joe.

"This, has Lucas Smythe written all over it," Barry muttered, casting a disapproving eye over the monstrosity. Joe let out a rumble of agreement, padding up the entryway steps and pushing open the doors.

The house within was deathly silent. Cold, still air carried the damp scent of must. All of the furniture was wrapped neatly, plastic sheeting over the carpets. The only thing not covered, was the large, crystal chandelier that dangled at the centre of a marble staircase. Everything was white and overly pristine. Tall walls stretched into spacious ceilings. Satin curtains hung over arching windows.

Joe was edging around the place, one hand constantly clenching and unclenching.

"It's even worse on the inside," Barry commented as he ascended the stairs, leering at the coiling bannister.

"Lucas Smythe always had a flair for theatrics," Joe grumbled as he trailed behind his adoptive son. At the top of the steps, Barry found himself grinding to a sudden halt. The space before him was nowhere near what he'd expected. A huge room with a wall of windows and another of mirrors sported a padded flooring.

"A dojo?" Barry's voice lifted.

"Smythe was the top ju jitsu martial artist in Ohio for several years in his youth," Joe explained, brushing by Barry and delving deeper into the house. "He was forced to retire from professional sports after he snapped his Achilles." Barry grimaced, remembering the horrific pain of his own Achilles being cut by Killer Frost.

"So the next best thing was a corrupt lawyer?" Barry muttered, following Joe through the gaping corridors.

"That came after his wife died," Joe muttered lowly. Barry's brows drew in, remembering the miserable state he'd found his future, widower self. "I would not have let Sebastian go to a criminal." Barry peered at Joe's back, realisation dawning on him.

"Don't blame yourself for the way Sebastian turned out," Barry snorted. "That is all Smythe's doing." Joe peered back at him for a moment, an unreadable expression in his eyes.

"I thought Sebastian would fair well with Lucas and Rebecca Smythe," Joe ruminated. "They had so much life. So much potential." His shoulders dropped. "I trusted them with Sebastian, but I should have done something when Lucas set down the wrong path."

"Lucas Smythe is serving time for his crimes, and Sebastian certainly doesn't seem to show any loyalty. The first thing he did was leave home," Barry grumbled. He had stayed in the same city and worked tireless to free his father when he was imprisoned. Then again, Henry Allen had actually been innocent. "It seems you got what you wanted."

Joe gave off a long and low hum. "I wonder..." he muttered.

Finally, they found the office. Most of the seating and desk were covered in the same plastic tarp, but unlike the rest of the house, there were scarce few windows. Large bookcases lined the walls towering over Barry and Joe. "Do we have to move all those bookcases?" Barry grumbled.

"No," Joe shook his head, positioning himself to stand before them. "Knowing Smythe, there will be an inbuilt entrance."  With that, Barry sped into flashtime. In just a snap, he was tugging on a book and watching as one of the bookcases collapsed inwards. Barry sent Joe a goofy smile, to which he promptly rolled his eyes.

They delved into the room beyond the bookcase door. Blinding, white lights flickered on from above. The walls were made of hundreds of filing cabinets built into the plaster. The glossy floor was perfectly reflective, intense lights beaming down on him from above.

"There has to be hundreds of files in here," Joe muttered, his brows lifting. "How many times has he manipulated people behind the scenes in court?"

"I'd rather not think about it," Barry grumbled. There was a flicker of lightening and whoosh of air. A large bundle of folders were collected in Barry's arms. "Slight problem," he sighed, picking up a folder and handing it to Joe. The words and letters looked like black squiggles. "It's all in code."

*

Caitlin and Cisco were seated in the pitch black, crammed into her small, green car. The scent of big belly burger lingered in the air. Yellowed light illuminated the dashboard, spotted with shadows from the lingering water droplets on the windscreen. Cars occasionally rushed past, splashing up water from their turning wheels.

Caitlin was seated in the driver's seat, staring out of the window, past streaks of water, at a large house across the street. It was huge, with intricate stone work and a perfectly tended garden. A single light remained on in the upstairs bedroom, a dark shadow restlessly pacing back and forth behind it.

Nibbling on her nail, Caitlin carefully watched the shadow. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. "Do you think something is wrong with Diddy?" Caitlin murmured. Silence responded. "He has been pacing like this for a hour," she sighed. Still, no response. Turning to the passenger seat, she faltered when she saw Cisco slumped in his seat with his head hanging forwards. Delicate snores escaped his lips. "Cisco!" she barked.

Cisco jolted awake, a panicked cry escaping his lips. "I didn't eat it," he blurted, eyes flashing around in startle. Blinking, he turned to her slowly and cast her a foul glare. "Are you trying to give me a heart attack?" his voice lifted in falsetto, a hand plastered over his chest.

"I'm trying to wake you up so we can continue our stake out," Caitlin corrected, pointing an emphatic hand at the large house across from them.

Grumbling, Cisco scrubbed at his eyes. "What did I miss?"

"Diddy is still pacing at that one window," Caitlin sighed, biting her knuckle. "Something must really be bothering him."

"Maybe somebody yelled at him and woke him up from deep slumber," Cisco grumbled and Caitlin simply rolled her eyes. She would not dignify that comment with a response.

They sat in silence for another while, Caitlin occasionally nudging Cisco awake. Time dribbled away, Diddy's pacing only growing more frantic. Eventually, a polished and slender car cruised down the street and rolled into the driveway. The shadow vanished from the window. A young teen clambered out of the car, his features remarkably like Diddy's own. The front door burst open to reveal Diddy himself. "Where have you been?" he yelled, arms throwing up into the air. 

The younger man answered in a rough mumble and before long the two were loudly shouting and arguing, Diddy ordering the younger into the house.

Caitlin and Cisco traded a long look. "That didn't sound good," Caitlin mumbled.

"That sounded like Dante and I did on games night," Cisco snorted. Caitlin's mouth opened and clamped shut. "Believe me, it got hairy," Cisco chuckled, forlorn pain dancing across his eyes.