Jack of My Heart

Bravo!

I sit up, clutching the scar left by the sharp metal. The mortician is gone. I'm alone in the room, with nothing but my thoughts and memories. The memory of Archer awkwardly telling me I'm an orphan. The memory of them calling my aunt, any family, to see if anyone would take me, and no one... wanting me.
Suddenly the door bursts open, and another staff member shuffles in, back to me as he regards a clipboard. He spins around and looks at the table, sees me sitting up, and screams, dropping his clipboard. Quemly rushes in upon hearing this and chuckles as he realizes what happened.
"Ah, thought the dead rose, did you? Is that all you needed, Jack?" Quemly turns his large blinking eyes on me. I nod and hop off the table, straightening my clothes.
"Sorry about that," I gesture to the table while looking at the trembling employee. He tries to shrug nonchalantly but I just laugh. My phone buzzes as I exit the morgue and I pick it up, placing it on my ear.
"Jack Langdon," I give my greeting, sticking a hand in my pockets.
"Jack! So good to hear from you!" Archer Bravo's boisterous voice booms from the phone.
"Hey, Mr. Bravo," I smile, his loud energy not tiring me like it usually does.
"How's my little lawyer doing? Say, I'm in town for a little bit, wanna grab lunch?" He asks hopefully, and I can practically see his chest puffing out.
"It'll have to be dinner. Is that alright?" I look both ways and cross the street, jumping as a police car honks at me. Without thinking, I raise my hand in a 'what's that all about?' gesture, then immediately regret it. Luckily, when the door swings open I'm greeted by Detective Danowitz who looks at me with cautious excitement.
"That's perfect! I'll pick you up at 6?" Archer checks, a broad grin in his voice.
"Sounds good, see you then." I hang up the phone and slide it back into my pocket. "Hello, Detective. In the car?"
"Is it... is it true? Do you remember who did it?" He leans forward, ignoring my question.
"Yes. And it's not Frank Cafre, so if you could remove him from jail, that would be nice," I stick my hands in my pockets, still frustrated with him just going along with the scheme. He nods and gestures to the car.
"I'll see what I can do,"

Captain Singer and Vincent are talking when I enter the room, sticking close to him. I don't even realize when I step behind him. I then remember the man called the Exterminator and step away from the two men, edging toward the door.
"Jack. Vincent was just telling me about your little memory jog. Who is it?" Singer looks at me with a warning in his stare. I gulp and nod.
"Edwin Barnes, though he may be going by an alias," I inform him, then start to describe him, but the captain cuts me off.
"Save it for the sketch artist," He commands and leads us out of the room.
"You alright, Jack? You look nervous," Vincent hisses, bent slightly at the waist.
"Huh? Oh, yeah, I'm fine!" I beam at him, hiding my terror behind my stark white teeth. Vincent looks at me with doubt, but slowly nods.
"If you say so. Hey, what were the things you needed to do? You know, before you came here," Vincent changes gears. Please let there be a distraction, please let there be a distraction.
"Oh, uh, I have a friend here in town, and he's going to be staying with me for a while, so I was just getting the apartment ready in case I didn't have time before his flight lands," I lie, trying to hint that I'm not going to be alone, and I can't go back with him. Vincent gives me a look of understanding, though I know he doesn't.
"Say, have you ever heard of the Exterminator?" I ask, wanting to gauge his reaction. The man at the top of the hill looked pretty young, but not as young as Vincent would've been. Maybe my brain just put the face I've seen the most on the man's body because I didn't see what he really looked like. Unfortunately, Vincent tenses, whether he realizes it or not.
"What is that? A movie or something?" He laughs it off, but the chuckling sounds strained.
"You know me," I try to joke.
"So it's a serial killer?" He asks. God, I hope it's not him. I nod which causes him to sigh. "Is he related to our case or did you just listen to a true crime podcast?"
His frustration is growing, and I can feel the tension resonating from him, but I can't stop.
"He's related to our case. Twice in my memories his name was mentioned. That has to mean something, right?" I look up at him with desperation.
"Maybe Ace just didn't like bugs—wait, did you say memories?" He turns on his heel to face me, sticking me in place.
"Vincent-" I start, trembling as I take a step back.
"No. Is that what the 'preparations' were? You were looking into another memory?" Vincent demands, stepping toward me.
"The crash. I had to know, I had to know who ran the car off the road. Who killed my parents." I take another step back, finding that I've hit a wall as Vincent towers over me. "Vincent... how did you know his nickname is Ace?"
Vincent stops, still enveloping me in his shadow, but not taking another step forward. Then he starts to laugh.
"Are you serious right now? Are you accusing me of killing your parents? Of being a serial killer? I- I can't believe you! I thought you trusted me, I thought I could trust you. I guess I was wrong," Vincent scoffs, eyes flicking over me like I'm a street rat.
"Vincent, no, I didn't mean—I'm sorry, okay? I just—I saw you in the memory. You identified yourself as the Exterminator. I thought it was just my brain playing tricks on me, and I'm glad that I was right. I'm so sorry, I never meant to make you feel like I don't trust you. Please, Vincent," I beg, practically dropping to my knees as I take his hands. He looks down on me, his anger morphing to placidity and pity.
"I'm sorry, too. I overreacted. It's not like you told the captain I'm a murderer, right?" Vincent jokes, then freezes as he looks to the right. Captain Singer has returned from down the hall and is blinking at Vincent very slowly. Vincent lets out a nervous laugh and helps me straighten up. I still flinch when his hand touches my skin, but I pretend it was a shiver. "I knew his nickname because you were talking in your memory. Sometimes as you, and sometimes you would change your voice. The voice for Edwin was... eerie."
It's my turn to look at him with pity, and I feel horrible for even considering that he could be a serial killer. I sway closer to him, trying to show him that I trust him. He notices and looks down at me with a smile as he wraps his arm around my shoulders.
"It's okay, Jack. I forgive you. I can't imagine how terrifying and realistic it must have felt. I bet I'd be suspicious too, if I were in your situation," Vincent reassures me, bumping my hip.
"Thank you... I just... I want you to know that you can trust me." I lean into him, softly apologizing.
"I do trust you. Like I said, I was a little harsh, and I definitely overreacted. You're fine," Vincent says.
"In here, gentlemen," Captain Singer opens a door for us where a gangly woman is bent into an almost pretzel shape as she scribbles away on a small sheet of paper. She looks up after a minute, back down, then back up.
"Oh, hello! I'm sorry, I didn't see you there!" She tucks back a golden strand of wavy hair and adjusts her wildly oversized circular glasses.
"It's okay! Jack Langdon," I stick out my hand with a grin.
"Casey Jones," She shakes my hand with a smile. Finally! "Are you here to get a court drawing? I've got copies from the last trial."
"What?" I frown, head tilting to the left.
"I recognize him." She points over my shoulder at Vincent.
"And you do the court sketches?" I ask.
"Yes, and the witness renditions. Oh, is that why you're here? Here, sit here," Her eyes are bright as she gets a new sheet of paper ready. I hesitantly settle into a chair beside her, positioned in the opposite direction as her. Captain Singer and Vincent sit down as well, though their chairs are tucked away in the corner. She looks up at me as if to say 'ready!' and I sigh, deeply exhausted.
"He had a long, sharp face with distinguished cheekbones. Everything about him was knife-like. His eyes, his long nose, and I swear, even his teeth seemed to be sharp. I... when he smiled he had dimples, but it wasn't cute, it was like the reason he was smiling was because he was picturing you in pain. His eyes looked like they had a fire in them. His hair was straight, blond, and slicked back, coming down to the middle of his neck," I finish my description, cheeks red from embarrassment. Should I have given more detail? Less? I worry, watching Casey work. In a few minutes she holds up her drawing to me.
"Wow, it's just like him," My eyes widen in shock and fear, the look on the drawing's face sending a flash of the memory back into my field of vision. I quickly shake it away, but feel deterred no less.
"Don't be nice. Does it look like him?" She looks between the sketch and me. I nod vigorously, keeping my eyes away from the sinister grin.
"It really does. Thank you," I stand up, Vincent shortly following. When we leave the small office I turn to Captain Singer. "What's next?"
"What?" Singer frowns, hands on his hips.
"What do we do now? I don't think a drawing and a name is going to find our guy," I cross my arms, meeting Singer's stare.
"We put you on lockdown. A man like this is going to find out rather quickly that the police are looking for him, and he will even more quickly discover that it's because of you. You're in serious danger, Jack," Captain Singer insists.
"What!? No way! I'm not letting you lock me up, not now that I'm this close!" I push back, taking a step forward.
"I don't care. You're not leaving your house until we've apprehended him," Captain Singer crosses his arms.
"Please, sir! He killed my parents, the least I can do is throw him in jail! What if you need me? What if I can help find the next victim?" I demand, eyes pleading. Captain Singer looks at Vincent, then down at me.
"Then we'll know where to find you. Vincent, take him home, please. And if he gives you any trouble-" Singer tosses a pair of handcuffs to Vincent, who catches them in one hand and inspects them. I turn my slightly fearful eyes on him and he meets them, then looks at the captain.
"Thank you," Vincent inclines his head, then gestures with it to the door. I pause, but exit, shaking slightly.
"Vincent-" I start once we're both outside.
"I know. I... know," He cuts me off, not making eye contact. Very hesitantly, very cautiously he darts his eyes from me to the ground in front of us, reaching his hand out then taking it back, reaching it out, taking it back, until finally he slides his large hand into my smaller one, giving it a squeeze and leading us out. I pull against him, trying to weasel out of his grip and run back into the station but Vincent turns his hand to grasp my wrist and yanks me back to him.
"No, Jack! No. There's nothing more you can do, and I can't bear to lose you again!" Vincent exclaims, pinning me to my spot with a death grip. I'm stunned, mouth ajar as I lean back in his arms.
"A-Again?" I stutter, eyes wide with terror as I look up into his angry, hurt face, tears welling up in his deep inky eyes. His grip slackens as his anger crumbles in his eyes, his eyebrows knit together as he breathes heavily. We're out of sight of any passerby, but I don't think Vincent would've cared either way. Tears begin to flow down his face. Not openly, I can tell he's trying to push them back, but I reach my hands up and cup his face. When I wipe his tears away he only cries harder, placing his hands lightly over mine.
"I'm so sorry, Jack. I—Jack, I'm sorry, I never—if I knew-" He murmurs between sobs. His body hitches with every attempt at an inhale and I just want to wrap him in my arms and tell him that everything is okay. I gently brush off his tears and slide my hand to the nape of his neck, pulling the weeping man's head to my chest and letting him cry harder. He keeps trying to make muffled apologies, but I just shake my head.
"Shh, sh, shh. Let it all out," I stroke his hair, kissing the top of his head softly. His sobs grow more violent as he grips the back of my sweater vest. I just continue to run my fingers through his hair, whispering reassuring things to help calm him down.
"I'm just s-so scared. You're the... the best thing that ever happened to me, and I don't know how to protect you, I don't know if I can protect you, and-" Every word is separated with a sharp inhale as he tries to get his breathing back to normal. "And I don't think I'm strong enough to... I can't lose you. So, please, try your hardest not to run head first into danger; at least, not alone."
He gives me a bleary-eyed smile, pleading with me silently. I look to the door, then back to him and nod with a reluctant sigh. The smile turns into a shaky sigh of relief as he takes my wrist in his hand and leads me to the car.
"Just please, Vincent, please don't handcuff me," I wince away. He looks at me with pity and lays a hand on my shoulder.
"I will never hurt you, okay?" He looks deep into my eyes then they trail to the bruise on my cheek. "Never again."
I nod with a soft smile, fully trusting and believing him. He smiles too and opens my door, one hand pointed toward it to gesture me in. When he gets settled and buckled we drive to my apartment.
I fumble with my keys while trying to open the door, still talking to Vincent over my shoulder. He wanted to see that I made it home safe, but told me he had some work to do on a case. Before I could even ask if he needed my help, he shot me a look that shut me up.
"Jack! Welcome home! I'm sorry, I know I'm early but I figured I'd wait here for you before... we..." Archer is standing in my kitchen area, looking Vincent up and down, as if surveying him. "Who's this?"
Vincent stands there, slack jawed and star struck. I always forget that Archer's a famous actor, and my friends get worked up when meeting him.
"Is he okay?" Archer looks at me, then back to Vincent.
"Yeah, he's fine. Vincent Martruto, meet Archer Bravo, and vice versa. Unfortunately, I'm under house arrest, so would you mind if we just ordered pizza instead?" I walk further into the house, setting down my things. I take off the sweater vest and drape it over Vincent's shoulder as he still stands stunned in the doorway.
"Wouldn't mind at all. Will your, er, friend be joining us?" He asks seemingly not uncomfortable with the thought.
"I don't know. Vincent? Vince-"
"Sorry! Uh, yes, it's an honor to meet you, Mr. Bravo, I've been a fan of yours since I was a kid, I-" Vincent gushes, his cheeks a crimson color. He's cute when he's flustered, and I very rarely get to see him like this.
"Oh, stop, you're making me feel old. What kind of pizza do you want, kid?" He turns back to me, pulling out his phone.
"Beef is fine. Vincent?" I look up at him, his lips still trying to form words.
"Oh, I... I can't, I'm sorry. I have a lot of work to do, I just got a call from a client, I... I'm sorry." Vincent looks like he's just been stabbed with a lance of regret.
"That's alright. Some other time, maybe," Archer smiles at him, then looks back at the phone. I feel as though Vincent's just gonna melt in my arms and I walk him out.
"Why didn't you tell me you know Archer Bravo?" Vincent hisses when we walk out.
"He was kind of like a big brother or father figure, so his fame never really got into my head, except at the beginning," I shrug, then think, he was never around that much anyways, it's not like I was witnessing his fame first hand.
"Like a father... do you know how lucky you are? Oh my god! I would kill to have Archer Bravo be my father figure!" Vincent exclaims in a whisper, hands moving emphatically.
"I'd rather have my father," I grumble before I can stop myself. When we both realize what I said we look at eachother with wide eyes and apologize at the same time.
"No, really, I'm sorry, I understand how you feel, he's my hero too," I shake my hands in front of myself.
"I should've taken the circumstances into consideration, of course you would rather have your real parents, I-" His forehead is creased with regret.
"Really, it's fine, don't worry about it," I finally calm him down. He takes a few deep breaths, looks down the hallway and sighs.
"I guess I'll... see you later?" He looks reluctant to go, but we both know he will.
"I'll see you later." I get on my tiptoes and plant a kiss on his cheek. "Bye."
His fingers find the spot I kissed, his eyes the spot on my face where he hit me.
"Bye," He whirls around, leaving me at my door.
"Jack!" Archer calls from inside, shaking me out of my trance. I trot back in, finding myself at Archer's side.
"He's nice," He places the order, then slides his phone back into his pocket.
"Yeah, he is... I really like him," I still feel like I'm in a trance, fiddling with the paperclip on a file I brought home from work.
"Oh? Well then he isn't nice anymore," Archer crosses his arms, putting on a playful frown. I look up at him and slide the paperclip into my pocket without really thinking.
"Ha ha. What are you doing in town?" I sit across from him, leaning on the bar.
"We're shooting a movie here, it's about a serial killer from the late 90s," He tells me. Usually I would get excited about true crime movies or documentaries, but now I just shudder.
"And who do you play?" I try to act like nothing's wrong.
"Why, the serial killer, of course! I'm just kidding. I play the prosecutor. Figured I could learn a thing or two from the little lawyer before filming." He leans over the bar and ruffles my hair.
"Well, sorry to disappoint but I've mainly been running defense lately. And I'm not a lawyer yet! You're going to jinx it!" I exclaim, propping my head on my fist.
"Oh, right, my bad." He smiles, then his eyes fall on the spot where my head is resting. "What's that?"
His voice is stone cold, the question sounding more like a statement. Oh no.
"What's... oh, this is nothing. Tripped and fell into a trash can," I lie, waving him off.
"That doesn't even make sense. What happened?" He pushes, standing up straight.
"Literally nothing," I lie again, afraid of what would happen if he found out what Vincent did.
"It couldn't have been that boy, because you said you really like him and I know you're not naïve enough to be involved with someone who hurt you," He places a hand to his chin, rubbing it dubiously.
"He's not a boy, and I'm not... 'involved' with him!" I exclaim, face red as my clenched fists are rigid by my sides.
"Really? Does he know that?" Archer looks at me, then raises an eyebrow. "Do you know that?"
"Is the pizza on it's way?" I change the subject, my eyes darting to the floor.
"Should be here soon. So, do you want to hear about the movie?" He gets excited again, grinning from ear to ear. I nod and sit back down, looking at him with earnest. At first I really was capsized by his fame and my admiration for him and his characters. I couldn't speak for a whole week after I got out of the hospital. I remember all the People Magazine articles about 'Archer Bravo's Secret Son' and all the celebrities I got to meet because I ran away from a foster family and found Archer on set.
"—And then the aliens come down and I have to-" Archer's voice pulls me from my reverie.
"Wait, wait, wait. I thought you said it was a serial killer movie," I raise an eyebrow.
"It is, I was just testing you. You passed—barely," He gives me a playful expression, not actually mad at me. "Say, that Vincent fella seemed a little bit older than you. I don't know if it's just me or—I mean there's nothing wrong with that if he is, I was just... wondering."
"He is. But that's not important, all that's important-" I start, defending Vincent.
"No, I understand! Like I said, nothing wrong with it, just... he's like, my age," Archer's forehead creases and his lips purse.
"And you're so young! See, no problem!" I smile, spreading my hands on the table.
"Right, no problem," He still looks doubtful, but lets whatever he's thinking go unsaid. "Why are you on house arrest?"
"Oh, uh, it's a long story," I chuckle, moving to my small sofa. He follows and stands in front of me.
"Pizza won't be here for another thirty minutes," He raises his eyebrows as if handing me an invitation. I sigh and bite my lip, patting the spot next to me on the couch. When he sits down I begin my tale.

"Wow," Archer breaks the silence, staring at his feet.
"Yeah," I let out a breath I didn't realize I had been holding.
"I still can't believe you were poisoned. I mean, I can, but I can't. Why would someone do that to you?" He looks up at me. I can't formulate an answer and he just waves me off. "It was a rhetorical question, you don't have to answer it. Listen, I know this is a horrible time, but I've had to go to the bathroom for the last five minutes. I'll be right back, I promise."
I nod and he gets up, finding his way back without my help. I wonder how long he'd been waiting for me, but I don't get to dwell on it for long because the buzzer near the door vibrates then a scratchy, high-pitched voice comes through.
"I've got a, uh, pizza for... Thomas Flavian?" The man sounds shaken. He did not. I laugh to myself as I move to let the man in. I can't believe he used his character name to order a pizza.
"Yeah, come on up," I let my finger off the button, turning back around. A few seconds later I hear a knock on my door.
"Oh, wow, you're quick," I open the door, eyes angled toward the floor. They fall on a pair of Italian leather wingtips. They must pay their delivery drivers really well. When my eyes find their way to the man's face I gasp and stumble back.
"Somebody order a pizza?" Edwin Barnes inquires, a sick grin on his face.