Projected Showers


brennan_icon.gif delia2_icon.gif

Scene Title Projected Showers
Synopsis Harve gets caught in a nightmare that isn't his own…
Date October 10, 2010

Gun Hill Road

The forecast didn't call for showers today, yet here it is a thunderstorm that reduces visibility to zero. Sitting in his car, Harve Brennan watches as the poor pedestrians get soaked in the torrential downpour. Already the city sewers are beginning to back up and muddy water is burbling at every escape, from manholes to sidewalk grates.

The crackle of the radio as it fizzles in and out from lack of signal is somewhat annoying, but the church choir coming out of it is sort of soothing. It's Sunday afternoon and the programing on every station is the same song, some indistinct piece sung by the Mormon Tabernacle Choir.

Between the radio, the sound of the rain hitting the car, and the dingy gray of the view, Harve doesn't notice right away that one of the dolls in the back seat of his car, mixed in with his daughter's toys, is trying to pull herself out. A curly redheaded thing in a white dress that could be mistaken for a nightgown. She's got the height of a barbie doll, but realistic proportions. Possibly, it's one of the real girl line that never went anywhere.

Brennan's attention is not on the myriad of toys that occupy the back of his vehicle. Not normally toys back there though, booster seats yes, toys no, he's oblivious as he leans his head against the window, watching as his windshield wipers go back and forth, wiping away drops of rain the plummet down from their heavenly abode when they gain too much weight and splatter on his windshield only to be whooshed away with as squeak of the wipers.

Hand over his mouth, elbow on the armrest of the car, he's thinking, ruminating on who knows what as he watches the water swirl and rise and people struggle through the rain. Not once does the thought come to offer someone a ride, just watching them.

A bus pulls to the curb behind him and in the rear view he can see two drenched women getting on, it's closing in on tea time and it could be surmised that they're heading out to dinner. Maybe with relatives, maybe not, it's hard to tell. As the bus pulls out from behind the car, the driver doesn't seem to notice a car careering in its direction.

Harve can see it though…

He can also see the whites of the eyes of the children as the car plows headfirst into the front of the bus, causing it to slide into his car with a jolt. The little doll falls to the floor, picks herself up, and brushes the dirt off her clean white dress.

Oh shit, christ, this is going to be bloody. He's already mentally predicting what the wounds will be when the vehicle rebounds and hits his own vehicle. Brennan turns away from the inevitable hit, arms away from his side to protect his hands, gaze landing on the doll which takes his breath away at first, not recognizing the plaything from others that his various spawn might have. He stares, while hsi brain reels. TRAUMA TRAUMA TRAUMA!

The jolt of the bus colliding stuns Brennan for a moment but as he shakes it off, he can see the children in the back of the car screaming in terror. The sound of the horn from the other vehicle is blaring over the angelic music of the choir, sullying it.

The door of the bus is blocked by his own vehicle, trapping the passengers inside, he is unable to move from his location to free them. The woman, presumably the mother of the children is laying over the steering wheel.

Outside the vehicle, a redhead in gray scrubs, drenched from the rain is trying to pull one of the doors on the other side of her vehicle open. "Unlock the door!" she's screaming to the children inside.

And there's the smell of smoke…

He can't move his vehicle, can't open the door, But he can move his steering wheel up and he can work at getting his window rolled down. "Break the window!" Brennan yells to the passengers of the bus on the other side of the window of him. "Find something, break the windows!" His plan to get people out the buss doors and through his window and out through to the other side, even as he spots the red head nurse trying to help the kids and the woman. Christ. Kids. But she has them, he believes, and time is of the essence with the smell of smoke.

Through the rain, it's hard to see the wisps coming from the bus, but it's not hard to catch the sparks of fire that burst out of the front of it, only to be extinguished on the crumpled hood of the car. The redhead outside is doing her best to try to hit the car window with her elbow, but it's not even making a crack.

They need your help… the whisper in the back of Harve's mind says. They need your help… it repeats again.

The fumes are dizzying and his entire world seems to cloud for a moment. It could be the smell of smoke or gasoline that's making him a little dizzy, but that doll in the back seat definitely moved. In fact, she's crawling up onto the back seat to look out the window.

Outside, the redhead is getting a little more frantic and screaming louder at the children to open the car door. They're coughing and crying, one of them is trying to shake the woman in the driver's seat awake.

They can break the door open themselves. He's reaching to the passenger side and wrenching it open, getting himself out of car grabbing his briefcase as he goes. Into the rain, getting soaked as he's following the instructions that seem to come from his mind, a small part of his mind latched onto the moving doll. "Out of the way!" He bellows to the redhead, raising his briefcase, angling it so that the corner of the briefcase will come crashing down on the back window of the vehicle. If he has to do it a few times, with all his might to break it, you can bet he will"

The redhead jumps back, reeling a little before falling into a large puddle. It doesn't do much more damage than the rain already has, she's soaked to the bone. Brennan reefs at the window like a madman, trying to break the passenger door window. It takes a few swings before the glass actually cracks, then spiderwebs enough to smash.

"Get the woman!" Delia yells out to him as she reaches through the broken window to pull up the lock on the back door. It's freed almost instantly and she's tugging at the seat belts of the two children inside. Twins by the looks of it. Twins that look oddly like him.

Brennan's unlocking the door while Delia's on her ass, to the front, yanking the door open for the mother of the group, a double take regarding the twins in the back. Dessandra and Genevieve, a pain in his chest at the sight of them. Delia is getting them out though, and with the briefcase tossed to the side, he's working at the strap that holds the woman in the front in and starting to assess her as quickly as he can, mindful of the smoke that rises. Is it Michelle? He peers at her face to see.

The woman is unconscious, bleeding, and the one he married. Upon reaching to her throat, the pulse is slow and faint, her skin, even though in the dry interior, is clammy and cool to the touch. Michelle slumps like a rag-doll at his first nudge, her body straining at the seat belt that's holding it in place.

The twins in the back seat are still screaming and crying, one by one they're hoisted out by the tall redhead who ushers them toward the bus shelter on the other side of Harve's car. They're unhurt, but utterly frightened. Huddled together in the shelter, they watch with whimpering breath as the doctor tries to help their mother.

The redhead has disappeared.

No belly. His hands slide down to her flat belly. It doesn't turn over to worry, just gets the seat-belt off his wife, his bride, and sliding his arms under her shoulder, not caring that to move her might very well kill her, he's doing just that, other hand going to under her knee's and working her out, bracing her weight till he's got her in his arms and is carrying her over towards the shelter, trying to be careful in his steps.

Behind Brennan the car hisses and pops before a fire erupts under the hood. It seems he was just in time to get his wife out. As they reach the shelter, the two girls are still huddled against each other, crying. His wife completely unresponsive… and now there's a fire.

They need your help… a voice whispers in the back of his mind again. They need your help… it repeats again. But who?

The bus that was once full of passengers is now empty. The shelter where his wife and children are is also empty. The streets… empty. Harve is alone in the rain.

One minute there's his wife, his children, the next, he's under the bus stop, drenched, water dripping from his hair and down the bridge of his nose as the voice in the back of his head, his collar wet, the trench coat does nothing to keep him dry with the deluge that falls outside the shelter.

Not likely to keep him any more dry as he darts out into the swollen street, the vehicles left there like a ghost, taunting him as to what once was. "Michelle!" He calls out, hands cupped around his mouth while he blinks furiously in the rain, eyelashes not protecting him.

"Dessy!! Gene!" He looks left then right, wondering where, and how people were present and then not even as he runs his hands through his sodden hair, panic setting in.

The rain slows just enough to allow him to see clearly across the street. There is the redhead, running toward a building, seemingly panicked about something. Tugging on one door, then racing to another building to tug on the next, she pauses at his yell and turns to stare at him. "RUN!! THEY'RE COMING!!"

Her voice booms out over the pit-a-pat of peaceful rain, and without waiting for him to react, she's off again. She tries one more door and when it swings open, she races inside, slamming it behind her.

Over the din of the weather, Harve can hear the clear cadence of a military march. It's growing louder, as though hundreds of people are headed his way, perhaps even thousands. The door across the street opens again, and without making noise, the redhead is trying to usher him in. Her eyes are as terror filled as those of his now missing children.

He stares dumbfounded, in awe of the sound, the way the ground carries the feel and number of them. He turns on his heel, leather loafers not meant to take the wet or work in tandem with the water and runs for the door, running for Delia as she holds the door open for him. He throws himself towards the portal, slightly breathless with the panic that seizes in the pit of his chest. "Who are they?"

"Them…" She whispers as she peeks out the window. Looking over at him, Delia's chin quivers with cold and fear before her brow furrows in confusion. "What are you doing here? Why are you here?" The sound grows louder and the young woman ducks down out of sight.

Just before she reaches over to pull Harve down, he can see the Horizon Armor of hundreds of FRONTLINE soldiers. "C'mon, we have to hurry… we have to find a way out…" The redhead grabs his wrist and tugs him along behind her. They run, up the stairs, he knows somehow that it's the wrong way. Maybe because of watching too many horror movies, maybe just logic dictating, but up the stairs is the wrong way.

The black armor affiliated with FRONTLINE, affiliated with Harper is there, and so many of them. "I don't know why I'm here" He blinks, trying to wipe water out of his face, away from his silvering temples. Hampered by Delia who's tugging him upwards. "Hey, hey, going up, not a good idea. We gotta go down, they always go up, people always go up and get caught on the roof" He points out, resisting, hand latching onto Delia's wrist with a grip quite like what's given a scalpel or his wife.

The redhead snaps back as she's pulled down by her wrist. The sound is growing louder, it's horrible and frightening to the young woman who just crumples to the floor and holds her free arm over her head. "You're not supposed to be here… No one is supposed to be here…"

There's a bang on the door, just before the shadow of a helmet blocks one of the windows. «I found two of them, in here!» Somehow, Harve can hear the hollow voices through their helmets. It only furthers the urgency of their flight. Unfortunately Delia is huddled on the floor, too terrified to move.

"Doesn't matter if we're supposed to be here or not, we are here" Brennan's face snaps towards the shadow at the door and with little hesitation and despite the reservations from before, he's scooping the young woman up, throwing her over his shoulder in a fireman carry and starting to head up. Let her cower over his shoulder as he starts up the stairs, step by solitary step.

Delia's left to watch, horrified, as the soldiers break down the door and take aim at the pair of them. "Wake up!! Wake up now!! You have to wake up!!" She's pounding on his back, just as the first soldier fires. A spray of blood hits the wall in front of him.

The forecast didn't call for showers today, yet here it is a thunderstorm that reduces visibility to zero. Sitting in his car, Harve Brennan starts with a gasp as a memory of pain in his chest subsides…

He startles, hand hitting the horn of his vehicle which elicits a sharp honk as he blinks, transported from a hallway with a woman over his shoulder and a pain in his chest that feel so real and leaves him bewildered. His palm pressed, heel of his hand rubbing where the shot had gone through, looking around to see if anyone in the Bronx had taken notice of the physician who had pulled over to take a nap.

It doesn't leave him even when he finally starts the car, pulling out and heading off towards Brooklyn after having done a house call for someone from the medical group. It's eerie, the nightmare. Too close to what went down in Midtown on a cold cold day but with a rubber bullet and a trip to the institute. It haunts him, all the way home to Brooklyn.

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