#not sure what the suit scene would be from but the cousins tee is listening to belly dumping jere

[sarah-cam]

the fact that we're probably getting all these scenes in conrad's pov in s3 is quite literally the only thing keeping me sane right now

[thepeasentauthor-blog]

Secret project

Chapter One; The roots of an Addict  

Connor stood there in the middle of the dimly lit nightmare of a room. The air was damp and musty. As it settled wet and heavy upon his ivory skin. Reds and blues screamed towards him still distant but steadily drawing nearer. As neon signs lit up the pale corpse laid in a painful  placid pose. He felt very little looking at the body. Shock had taken root, deep within his system. As he crouched down, he lifted up a track marked arm. A broken hypodermic needle jammed deep within a vein. It dripped a clear viscous liquid almost like see-through mercury. As it fell it made a loud metallic sound into the puddle of water.

When the officers finally came upon the scene. Connor greeted their eyes with his own empty eyes. As they examined the female body they kept mentioning him. Often in an accusatory tone. He would have refuted these claims. He felt so drained from this surreal experience. The police psychiatrist  arrived to help question him he showed her the text and told them all he knew about his elder sister's life. He tried to explain that they had grown very distant over the last few years. They nodded and took detailed notes.

The forensic team rushed past carrying their kits and body bag. Taking samples of the liquid on the ground and removing the broken needle from her arm. Putting all of it the little baggies. Finally putting her body into the bag. A euphoric smile painfully stretched across her face. Bloodshot eyes with pupils like black holes, staring into the abyss. This was the face Conner’s parents were greeted by when they finally arrived. The tragic sight of their daughter cocooned in a black body bag brought to their knees with tears. And still Connor felt nothing but empty. Maybe it was the shock. The shock of seeing his elder sibling dead, he thought. No, this is more than that, he furthered his previous thoughts. This is just emptiness.

The next few weeks were a flurry of visits and questioning as the investigation into his sister's death. After awhile it quieted down the days just drove onward silently as life went on, as normal as it could, outside. To the world, no one had passed. Nobody important had died. And Conner, he felt dead inside. The phone rang and rang and he did not notice. He didn’t notice the missed calls from the coroner's office and his work, the morgue. He stayed home and did nothing just sat staring at his unfinished painting. Ruby and sapphire squares sat in a semi-abstract mess. Waiting and wanting to be finally assembled, to be given a purpose. His dark suit sat somber on the hook in the wall beside the front door. Silently counting down the hours till the funeral. He turned his head to his desk looking at his leafs of paper and the pen left sitting there lit in the pale gold light of the setting sun.

Turning on the dim, incandescent desk light he started to write slow at first. The words flowed in a stumbling, staccato pattern from him. He stopped his scratching and looked at his work. “My sister,” . That felt right to him, the rest of it looked like incomplete nonsensical drivel. Incomplete thoughts and broken sentences  The papers began to pile around, crumpled into balls. Connor began to feel the desperation to honor his sister. Feverishly he wrote on, getting a little more written down just right. So that he could feel satisfied. Crumpling it and starting again. Another line feeling correct.

Against his will tears dripped down. Dotting paper after paper. He began to feel less empty as he wrote his morbid memento.The tragedy becoming more apparent after every rewritten page. Another few words and tears stain another page. His obsession nearly complete. The sun began to paint the room golden red. He looked at his finished Eulogy. Satisfied with his work he looked at the clock, his face contorted.

“Seven-Fifty, a little over three hours till the funeral I need to get ready”, he muttered to himself. Connor reluctantly got up and shuffled through the mountain of crumpled papers. Making his way to the bathroom, he took note of the alert light on his phone. He vowed to get back to his life sooner, rather than later. The water started to flow, Conner started to hum  to himself in a dry manner as he washed his hair.

Stepping out of the shower Conner stared, blankly into the mirror. He looked at himself and sighed he had aged a year in such a short amount of time. He brought up his hand and stared at it for a moment, contemplating his next action. Flexing it he closed his eyes. And with a determined speed and with much dedication he slapped himself. Searing pain hit him in a second. Wincing at the red five fingered tattoo as he traced the red lines.

“This is still not a dream.” he hollowly moaned. His eyes dragged themselves to the tattoo on his chest. A half finished project left from a dream of hers. Half of a Taro card and a sun. Should I get it finished or just let it be? His thoughts came in, lazy and half abandoned, as if they regretted their own existence. Removal is a very painful but possible option. He breathed heavily turning away from the mirror. He walked to his room and put on a pair of grey sweats and a large tee with a cartoon unicorn.

As he made his way through his apartment he glanced at his abstract paintings hanging on the wall. The last one he did for his sister was called “The Fade Away Girl”. Her hand fading into a mirror. As a cheshire grin sprawled across her face. Negative memories started to bleed out from their abyss colored shadows. He spun around and flew to his bedroom. Tarring a silk sheet off of his bed he raced back to the hall and cloaked his paintings. One by one he tore his precious works off the wall hiding his grief from himself more than anyone. Stacking them neatly in the guest closet. Carefully he moved the armoire to hide the closet from future guests. He sat down on the bed and tried to slow his breathing. Calming himself, he went to the hallway. Blank spaces hung instead of the memoires. Slowly his home was becoming his prison.

Making his way into the living room he checked his phone. Fifty-two missed calls and almost as much in voice mails. As he went through he skipped the blithering of people saying sorry for his loss. Everyone the same using the same words. Offering him help if he needed it. He stopped on the Coroner's office and listened intently.

“Hello, Mr. Younge. Your sister’s toxicology report came back”, The mortician paused mid sentence as a noise sounded faint in the  background. It was drowned out by an unknown source of static but is sounded as if someone had barged into the coroner's office. The toxicology report was old news to him though. The police had came by almost a week before to see if he knew where his sister got her drugs from. He didn’t. He didn’t want to know. The drugs are what caused them to become so distant. Muffled and static voices played in the background as he sat in thought. He halted mid thought as the message abruptly ended.

Next message sounded. It was the Funeral home. He worked there as a sales clerk helping families choose the over-priced wooden boxes and urns for their dead. It was a decent job with good benefits and decent hours.

“Hey, Connor it is Joan.” Connor's heart sunk. Joan was the owner’s, Mr I. Kramer’s, assistant. She rarely had to call anyone and if she did it was not good news, ever. “Look, we know you are going through a rough patch.” He let out a small breath and continued focus on her next words, “We are going to be letting you go. You haven’t cal-”, Connor cut the message short. Not wanting to waste his time on her witless droning. He tossed his phone onto the glass coffee table. It gave a hollow thud in protest.

Grimacing at the criminally early time, nine thirty time to get dressed. Conner grabbed the morose suit off of the hook it solemnly hung on. As he took off the plastic, dread took an aggressively tight hold of his stomach. Dropping the suit on to the floor. He raced to the nearest  trash can. The contents, however little they were, violently ejected themselves from his body.

Vehemently, he stared at the bile and half digested food. He felt utterly betrayed by his body to a point. Shambling, half dead, to the bathroom he held on the wall his body still shaking from the trauma. Gripping the sink with one hand he searched for his toothbrush. Finding it lodge in the wrong cup he snatched it up. Realizing he needed to use the other one for toothpaste. He released the sink from his death grip. Frowning he brushed his teeth. The mint flavor caused him to make a disdainful look. Spitting and rinsing, he tossed his clothes into the wicker hamper. Marching back to his room he started to dress himself.  After awhile he came to the tie. A double Windsor felt more promising for a funeral than a half.

Twenty minutes went by until he got it perfect. The right length and knot. A sharp knock came at the door. His cousin, Penelope, was here. She was, as always a ball of unbridled emotion. Always trying to be a kind person. Conner always looked at it as being soft. But now he thought about how much effort it took him to feel anything but apathy. She impressed him on this day. She was the only one who volunteered to bring him to the funeral and back.

Taking a slow breath, to brace himself against the onslaught of emotions that would be flowing from the person on the opposite side. He looked back staring at the apartment making sure he did leave anything out of place before he opened the door.

"Hey there, Con." A somber tone came from the pale girl. She was clad in a dark black suit similar to his just with buttons on the opposite side. Rose red lips started after her lace veil. A pair of gloves hands came up and hugged Connor. "It will be easier. I just don’t know when." She cooed into his ear. Squeezing him hard it felt as if his ribs would break.

"I know, Pel,” he muttered wanting to get out of this embrace. He could smell the lilac and camomile perfume. Penelope pushed away from the hug and looked him up and down fussing with this and that. Straightening his tie she took him by his eyes.

"You always cleaned up too good. Even with that permanent bed head of yours." She smiled trying to get him to feel something more than the hollow regret and shame he already showed on his face. Her hand came up and ruffled his dark hair.

"Thanks." He replied meekly. Looking away preferring not to keep eye contact for too long. He felt as if she could read his mind better than he could on a good day.

"Let's go Jasmine is in the car, waiting." She said hurried and nervous manner. Trying to grab Connor’s hand.

"Give me a moment. I have to grab my stuff." He said pulling away moving he grabbed his bag. Looking at his desk he quickly grabbed the eulogy. Last words about the dead. What a sentimental waste, he thought with a tragic smile. Folding it into his pocket. And grabbing his bag. Turning he found his cousin looking at the unfinished chaos of a painting..

“Commision?” She asked not as hurried as before. Connor nodded. In truth he had forgotten about the purpose of the painting for awhile. And to whom it was intended for. It just existed for now. Waiting and wanting to be finished. “Oh, okay. Ready?” She asked wanting to be on time for the morouse gathering. Connor nodded grabbing his keys from the hook by the door.

They left the apartment building in a quiet rush. Their footsteps talking for them. Leaving the lobby he saw Jasmine in her car. It was sporty, but elegant and deep rose red. He inadvertently whistled at the beautiful feminine vehicle.

“Thank you”, Jasmine said with a sad smile leaning against the car. Looking Connor up and down. “Careful or the ladies will end up trying to kidnap you.” She stated this in a joking manner but with a tone that suggested that it may actually happen.

“Heh, thanks Jasmine.” He said as he entered the vehicle. The leather seats did not give his suit any traction and caused him to sit upright bracing himself with his feet. From where he sat he could see Jasmine's carefully done makeup and Chinese bun in the rear view mirror. She wore what seemed to be a backless dress with one sleeve that went down her toned arm. Her lips wore a candy red. Penelope entered and gave her a quick peck on the cheek.

“Thanks, babe,” Penelope spoke in a slightly quieter tone almost a whisper. It was only meant for Jasmine. They took each others hands after the car got moving. The ride was mostly silent. Talking had no place in this car the radio played for deaf ears.

The city looked perfectly normal. The sky shone through breaks in the large buildings. It was mostly sunny and a cool autumn day. The city felt too normal. People were going about their day. While him and his cousin sat in placid silence. The world didn't ever change even if more than his sister had died nothing would or could ever change. Anger rose hot under his collar. He turned away from the window and began to focus on the radio.

“And this next hit goes to all those people who are just wanting to love the one they love.” The DJ tried to make it seem like a last minute choice. But all he did was sound cheesier than normal. They all started to sing along to Hoizer: Take Me to Church.

“My lovers got humor!” Jasmine started with a soulful sound. “She’s a giggle at a funeral!”

“Knows everyone’s disapproval!”  Penelope got the second line in a tenor. “Should have worshiped her sooner!”

“If the heavens ever did speak,” Connor took the next set with a hollow bass. “She’s the last true mouthpiece”. They passed buildings and parked cars grimly singing along. Leaves swirled in tiny tornadoes. Kids wrapped up in jackets helping parents load up their car for the holiday. The timing seemed like such a mockery of the day. What was he supposed to be thankful for? The loss of his addict sister? The shamble of a life that had emerged from dropping out of college? His talent? Questions rose and dog piled themselves onto his ever expanding list of quarrels and quandaries. He wrestled with his growing anxieties. Trying to gain composure before they arrived at the funeral.

As the song came to a faded end as they parked in front of the macabre brown stone. Oakson & Kramer, the sign read in cheap helvetica font he had worked for this place for about two years. He had always found the job fairly easy. Comforting the mourning while selling become routine for him. A lot of it was just listening to them, getting them to talk about their loved ones. While leading the conversation to the subject of product. He thought about how disgusting his job actually was. Death is a very lucrative business. And the mourning never ever questioned it. The comforting and the leading. He wanted to be alone with his thoughts not comforted by salesmen and host. Not even his own family.

Making their way into the parlor, he could hear the sounds of relatives talking and crying, it made him cringe. Making his way to the coat room he could hear the soft sounds of kids talking. He skipped the door and made his way to his old desk. opening the bottom drawer he grabbed the bag Tootsie-pops he had bought for kids when they came here. He made his way back to the coat room dodging the myriad of relatives wanting to know how he was doing. Knocking on the door brought hushed voices to a stop A light set of feet moved towards the door it opened slowly. Blond hair and small green eyes looked upward at him.

“No adults!” Her tiny voice tried to sound commanding. Connor smiled and held up the bag of lollipops and a deck of cards. “Okay, maybe one adult is okay”. She said trying not to get excited. Inside sat two other kids, Alex and Tom. Alex was older than the girl. He had dark hair and lanky. And Tom was a small kid with platinum blond hair and a bit of an attitude.

“M! We agreed no adults!” Tom said before seeing the bag of sweets.

“Connor is cool, Tom.” Alex announced adjusting his dark rimmed glasses. He had a fairly large book next to him.

“Yeah!” M concurred eagerly. “Uncle C is the coolest!” Connor chuckled and hugged his adoring niece. And Gave the young boys a hand shake and a lollipop.

“How are you guys?” Conner asked with a little smile handing M her lollipop.

“Alright. I guess...” They mumbled, sucking on their lollipops. Connor felt the mood blacken quickly. Quick to change the subject he pulled out his 3DS. “Battle or trade?” He asked with a cocky tone trying to distract them from the morbid truth. It had worked a little. Their moods brightened. And they grabbed their own 3DSs. Soon they were locked in a two on two match. Alex and his brother Tom against M and Connor.

Time started to fly by till the door opened Natalie, M’s step-mother, stood there with her hands on her hips. Connor and the kids looked up at her. She paused looking at their faces and sighed.

“Let's go. Time for the service.” She said with regret. She was two years older than him and had known him and his twin siblings for what seemed to be all of time. Her caramel coloured skin was flawless in the light of the large closet and her dark curly hair was done up in a bun leaving a few strands down her face.

“Oh, okay”, Connor moaned with the kids. Getting off of the floor he made his way out of the closet. Natalie stopped him on his way out and let the kids pass.

“You alright?” She asked motherly placing her hand upon his shoulder. Her eyes glistened with fresh tears her mascara beginning to run down her face. His older sister had been her best friend and confidant for most of her life.

“Not even close.” Connor answered honestly, his voice let him sound more stable then he felt. “And yo-?” His return question was abruptly cut off by a tight hug.

“Time doesn’t cure”, She gave him the pass phrase that her and his sister shared when they were kids. It was only used in tragic circumstances. They always used it as shorthand for the amount of pain they were in. Most of the time he heard it used about their break ups. Her words were cut short by tear and small sobs.

“Anything.” He finished it knowingly. She pulled away from the hug and he gave her his  handkerchief. She wiped away her tears. She handed it back to him.

“Thanks.” She said in a tiny shivering sigh. Handing him the piece of ornate cloth. “You should get in there now they are starting the service.”  Connor nodded and patted her on the shoulder hoping it would reassure her.

As he entered the ornate hall he found his seat next to his father. The greyed professor didn't look at him. He just sat there staring ahead waiting for the pastor to walk to the podium. Instead the young pastor altered his course and made his way towards his father.

“Sorry for your loss, Mr. Younge.” The somber priest said to the older Younge. Turning to Connor, “Your sister really did appreciate your gifts. She was Seeking help for her addiction. I would often see her at mass. She spent a lot of time in confession.”

“Thank you pastor”, Mr. Younge said in a kind tone that he was not known for. “It is really amazing the power of prayer.” The man said this in a tone that was mocking and belittling. The young pastor was taken aback by the professor’s disdain. He quickly made it up to the podium without another word. The room began to fall silent.

“Erhm”, The pastor cleared his throat. “My name is Brian and I am a pastor. I knew Emilia, for only a short time. And it was at her worst. She was addicted to Euphoria. I was her sponsor in AA. She always was talking about her brothers and how they are so great. She had a light of her own though. It wasn't always apparent. But on the days she was sober she had the most mischievous of grins. She liked to cook and would often volunteer at soup kitchens. Her food was a like a gift from God. It always tasted of happiness.” He paused for a moment as a tear welled up in his eye. Conner looked closely at the priest. The man was shaking. It dawned on him the priest loved her despite everything his sister was. The man had fallen in love with her. A deep shuddering sigh came from the pastor. “And it is with a heavy heart that I ask of you to bow your heads in silent prayer.” The crowd began to pray as the pastor walked down to Connor. He leaned into his ear, “I loved your sister with all of my heart. But I fear my prayers are not enough. Will you pray with me?” The man seemed so desperate it made Connor cringe.

“Sure.” His answer was soft so only the priest could hear it. The man decisively took his hands into his own and held them firmly in his. As Connor began to bow his head the pious man began to pray.

“Dear Father, who art in heaven,” the pastor voice was in a tremble. “Please let Emilia into your kingdom she was a good soul. And in the end she was the most precious thing to me.” The pastor stopped trying not to sob, holding his teàrs back. He just sat there in silence.

Ten minutes to an eternity passed. One by one, amens came filing in. The pastor was the last to say it. Connor remained silent waiting for his turn.

“I believe we have Connor next to speak”, The Pastor spoke while gripping his shoulder for support. Connor got up and let the Pastor take his place. He made his way to the podium. It felt like it would take a life time e to get there. Reaching into his jacket he found his eulogy. Looking down at the crowd seeing the faces of his family and her friends. He felt rage starting to burn in him as he saw his his father’s face. This disappointed scowl that the professor wore. It felt aimed at him.

“Ehem”, Connor cleared his throat as he looked down at his paper. “ Mu-mu-my sister”, he stumbled with the words. Looking towards his father for support but all he could find was shame. Anger whispered violently in the back of his head. “I-I idolized her when I was a ki-kid.”  He tripped over his words nerves getting worse as his knees began to shake. His father looked away in disgust. “I ap-apol-apologize, I can’t continue.” He hurried off of the stage and took the side door out. His father took after him. Making his way to the exit he stepped into the sun lit day. He turned to see his father standing in front of the door.

“Get back in there.” He demanded. He stood three inches above Connor. Even though he was a Physicist and a Professor he was built. Though this did not intimidate his son, not anymore. Connor had grown up.

“No.” Connor breathed out in defiance, trying to grab hold of his rage. Try as he might he was having a hard time holding it back. His father was not making it easier with his scowl.

“You will!” The aging professor growled in retort.

“I will not!” Connor growled back puffing out his chest reflexively. “And you can not make me.Not anymore.” He made sure to put emphasis on the pronouns to get his point across to his father. Connor wanted to make sure that he was aware that he was not a child any more.

“I am your father, and you will do exactly as I tell you.” Mr. Younge spoke as he took an aggressive stance. “Now get your ass back in there and give that Eulogy. You will not fail your Sister, this family, again!” As he spoke the final words something inside Connor finally snapped. His anger roared hot through his head. Connor swung and connected with the right side of his father's face. The older Younge smiled.

“So?” The professor mocked. “Did I hit a nerve? Then it means I am right.” He took his left hand and backhanded Connor across the face. Connor responded with a jab to the stomach.

“Shut the fuck up!” Connor yelled at the man, “YOU! Were never my father.” Connor made sure that  the professor knew this.

“What?” Mr. Younge stopped and stepped back, “How did you know?”

“I took a sample of your dna and mine,” Connor began to explain wiping away the blood from his cheek, “there were no matches found.” As he finished a couple of police cars drove up, their sirens  blaring.

The cars  stopped in front of the funeral home. People began to stop and stare at the two men. Connor looked back at the man who had played his father. A fist came suddenly to his gut. Coughing he returned two more back and began to brawl with the Professor.

Police began to rush towards the crowd pushing people aside and getting to the brawling men. An elbow caught Connor in the ribs as he was flipped onto his back. Coughing trying to get the wind back into his lungs. A toe came to his ribs. And again and again. It came a fourth time and he grabbed it and pulled. The professor came crashing into the concrete. Connor scrambled to get on top. He felt the blood from Mr. Young’s face and stopped and looked around. Police came in from the crowd and grabbed Connor and pinned him to the ground.