A Game of Orange Hints - A Sanders Sides AU

Twenty-Four

The Hickman Gallery is long empty by the time Logan and Virgil return to it.

Logan is standing in front of the lost Vermeer, tapping away wildly on his phone. Virgil hovers close by, massaging his bruising neck, now with Remy Lestrade beside him. All of them are irritable with lack of sleep. Ms. Wenceslas is also there, looking thunderous.

"This had better be good," she says.

"It's a fake. Has to be." Logan says, quietly, shaking his head.

Ms. Wenceslas glares at him. "I'll let you know that that painting has been subjected to every test known to science–"

"Then it's a very good fake." Logan rounds on her. "You know, don't you? This is you, isn't it?"

Ms. Wenceslas turns to Remy indignantly. "Inspector, my time is being wasted. Would you mind showing yourself, and your friends, out." The way she says it indicates that she's not really asking at all. More telling.

But then it happens. The ringing fills the glazed hallway. It's the red phone. Finally. Logan grabs it, fumbling to answer it. He puts it on speaker phone.

"It's a fake," says Logan into the phone. "The painting is a fake, that's why Woodbridge and Cairns were killed."

No voice responds. There is only silence and the crackling of the phone call feedback through the speaker.

"Oh come on, proving it is just a detail– I've solved it!" Logan continues. "I've figured it out. The painting's a fake, that's the answer, that's why he was killed."

Again, silence.

Logan sighs. "Okay, fine. I'll prove it's a fake. Just give me time, how much time do I have?"

Silence.

And then, chillingly, a young child's voice comes from the phone, amplified a thousand times in the expansive hallway.

"Ten."

A frigidity sweeps the room.

"It's a kid," Virgil says, hands flying to his mouth. "Oh God, it's a kid."

"What did he say?" Remy asks.

"Ten," Logan repeats. "Ten what?"

The room goes deathly quiet as the child says: "Nine."

Logan's eyes go wide with realization. "It's a countdown."

Remy's hands grip his hair. "Jesus."

Logan has leapt to the painting, staring at it, devouring it with his eyes. "It's a fake, it's a fake," his words slur as he tries to go faster, think faster, think faster. "How do I prove it's a fake, how?"

"Eight." The child's voice says.

Logan turns, grabbing hastily onto Ms. Wenceslas dress. "This child will die. Tell me why the painting is fake, tell me!"

But she does not move. Stricken with fear.

"Seven."

"No! Shut up! Say nothing!" Logan says to Wenceslas, pushing away from her. "It will only count if I work it out." He's up close to the painting, eyes running over it faster and faster.

"Six."

"How?" Logan's fingers fist into his hair, he's pulling on it. "Alex Woodbridge knew. But how? How?"

"F-Five," says the child, audibly sobbing now.

"He's speeding up." Remy is huddling in on himself, his face panic-ridden.

"Logan!" Virgil shouts into his hand.

"Four."

And suddenly Logan comes to a halt. He stares at the painting. Wham! He's getting it! "Oh! In the planetarium! You heard what it said! Oh, that's brilliant. That's gorgeous! He tosses the phone to Virgil, who barely manages to catch it. Now Logan has his own phone out, tapping away frantically.

"Three."

"What's brilliant? What is?" Virgil asks, pleadingly.

But Logan is typing away, in his own world.

"T-Two."

"Yes, yes!" Logan exclaims.

"Logan!" Remy shouts.

"One."

Logan snatches the phone from Virgil, and into the phone says: "The Van Buren supernova."

Silence.

Then, the sound of the child crying comes through the phone. "Help me! Are you there, sir? H-Help me, please!"

Everyone in the room lets out a breath of relief. They tremble.

Logan gives the phone to Remy. "Here, find out where he is. Go and pick him up."

Remy doesn't hesitate, putting the phone to his ear and introducing himself, stepping away from the group as he begins to try to console the child.

Logan holds out his own cell phone like a badge of honour, showing it to Virgil and Ms. Wenceslas. On screen is a black and white photo of a large, blobby white star. "The Van Buren supernova," Logan says, naming it. "A huge star blowing up. Only appeared in the sky in 1858." He holds the phone next to the Vermeer. The same configuration of stars has been painted in the sky over Delft, including the blobby white Van Buren supernova. Logan grins, voice amplifying with growing excitement. "So, how could it have been painted in the 1640s?"

Virgil's phone beeps. He checks it. His hand is shaking from the relief.

(1) New text message.

He opens it. His stomach churns with worry when he sees that it's from Janus.

My patience is wearing thin.