Hello There

The next few months went by without too much of an issue. Of course, getting used to Jake's presence in the headspace took some time, but after a few weeks, they had become comfortable with their routine. Steven went to work. Marc got dinner and took them home. On nights when Jake wasn't working for Khonshu, they would invite Layla over for a date night. Jake slept over at Marlene's on the weekends. Occasionally, Marc or Steven would jump in to say hello to her, but for the most part, they let Jake have his time with her. Steven came with her to her baby doctor appointments though, which he was okay with. Jake was not one for domestication or social interaction, and even though it wasn't Steven's kid, Marlene felt comfortable enough with him to allow him to come with her. Even Marc seemed less tense after awhile.

In fact, things had become so easy between the three of them that Steven had completely dropped the subject of therapy. In his opinion, it was probably still a good idea, but he didn't want to mess things up between them by broaching the subject. Layla had mentioned it once, but Steven warned her to drop it so as to not upset the other two, and she didn't bring it up again.

Tonight was no different than any other Wednesday. Layla was helping Steven cook dinner (since last night he had refused to let Layla help and had completely burnt their garlic bread), and that was when they heard the knock at the door.

They looked at each other. "Are you expecting someone else?" Layla asked.

Steven shook his head. "As far as I know, it was supposed to be just you and me tonight." He looked over at the mirror next to their door. "Marc? Do you know anything about this?"

The reflection shook his head. "I didn't invite anyone over. Maybe Jake invited Marlene?"

It was an odd thought, considering Jake was not currently anywhere near the front, and Steven would usually have expected him to be the one to greet Marlene, especially since neither Marc nor Steven knew anything about it beforehand. Still, it was rude to just leave a person standing at the front door, so Steven opened it.

Steven didn't recognize the person standing at the door, but Marc clearly did. He tensed up in the headspace and Steven could feel Marc's panic rise. The man at the door was dark-skinned and heavyset, and Steven noticed that almost all of his teeth were made of gold. Steven did not like the vibes this guy gave off, but it would be rude to shut the door in his face. "Hello, Spector. Or perhaps I'm speaking to the maniac, Lockley. Or is it the sweet British one?" He had a thick accent that Steven guessed was from some sort of African country, but he couldn't pick out which one.

Steven blinked. "Um. Hello."

"Steven. We have to go. We have to go right now."

"Ah! So it is the British one!" The man peeked around Steven to see into their flat. He noticed Layla and gave her a teethy smile. "Layla El-Fouly. I don't believe we've met."

Layla furrowed her eyebrows and looked over to Steven, who gave her a puzzled look in return. "Steven. Please. Give me the body."

"And who exactly are you?" Layla asked the man.

His teethy grin turned into a smirk. "I'm sure Spector has told you about me, dear. My name is Raul Bushman."

Layla's eyes widened. Steven glanced back to the man, having also heard the name before. Bushman. Marc's old CO. The man who killed Layla's father.

Oh, shit.

Steven could feel Layla's anger radiating off of her, and he knew it was taking everything in her not to kill the man right now. Steven had frozen in place with fear, but letting Marc take over meant that the man would probably die. While he certainly deserved it, it couldn't be here. Not now.

"Why are you here?" Layla asked through gritted teeth.

Bushman tilted his head and gave her a sad smile. "I simply wanted to catch up with Spector, my dear. After all, I don't believe I've seen him since that job we did in Egypt." He turned back to Steven, who was hyperventilating by this point. "Marc, I must admit, I was quite surprised to hear you were still alive. Oh, Marc can hear me, can't he? I know he's inside your head but well... well, maybe you can pass my message along for me."

"Steven, you have to let me in. This fucker needs to die."

Steven shook his head. No, Marc. You can't.

Marc pushed anyway, making it very difficult for Steven to focus on what Bushman was saying. "I heard Lockley and that girl he was with are expecting a baby now! Perhaps he'll let me come visit sometime."

"Steven!"

With one final push, Marc took over the body and immediately wrapped himself in Khonshu's armor. "You'll pay for what you did to those people, you fucker."

Bushman did not look afraid, but he started running anyway. "Marc, don't!" Layla called after him halfheartedly.

Bushman ran towards the window at the end of the hallway, which was already open for some reason, and Marc chased after him. When he climbed out the window, he shut it behind him, slowing Marc down a bit as he paused to open the window back up. He jumped out and followed Bushman down the stairs of the fire escape. Something was off, Steven could feel it. It made no sense for Bushman to show up and rile Marc up, especially since Bushman knew of Marc's past. Bushman had some sort of plan.

"Marc, it's a trap! Stop!" Steven tried, but Marc ignored him. Steven could feel the presence of Jake emerge from the Innerworld as Steven grew more panicked. 

"¿Qué diablos está pasando?" He asked Marc, but it was Steven that answered.

"Bushman laid a trap for us. Marc is falling right into it."

Marc groaned from the oncoming headache of having so many different voices in his head. He continued chasing down Bushman, until the man stopped. Marc tackled him, and Bushman gave him a toothy grin. "Officer! I got him!"

Marc tilted his head in confusion, then felt his arms get pulled behind his back. A pair of handcuffs were slapped onto his wrist, and Marc gasped, letting the suit fall away. "Good evening, Mr. Spector. You're under arrest."

"What the... what the fuck is going on?"

Raul Bushman stood up and brushed himself off. "There have been numerous reports of a man in costume running around and beating people unconscious, and in many cases, even killing them. It's been all over the news. The man has been deemed the modern day Jeff the Killer. I, of course, being in the area, decided to take a look into it, and that was when I learned that you were still alive. The way those people had been killed, yours and Lockley's style of killing... I knew it wasn't a coincidence." His face pulled into a smirk.

"You... you set me up."

"Spector, let me handle this," Jake urged from the headspace. Marc didn't give much resistance, and suddenly Jake was fronting and Steven was alone in the headspace.

"Pagarás por esto, bastardo," Jake said, glaring at Bushman and unsuccessfully attempting to move.

Bushman smiled once he realized he was no longer speaking to Marc. "Ah! Lockley! Long time no see. Congrats on the baby, by the way."

"Te callas la boca!" Jake shouted. Steven could feel Jake attempting to summon the suit, but to no avail. Nothing happened. "The suit. ¿Dónde está mi traje?" 

"Magnetic cuffs," the officer said. "Immobilizes the prisoner. Sorry, Mr. Spector, but you're not getting out of this one."

Jake grunted. "My name is Jake Lockley," he said, and Bushman watched as they were taken away.

"I hear you're a mercenary," the interrogator said. It was more of a question than a statement, but Steven decided he did not like her tone. He, of course, was nervous beyond all belief. There was no way he could survive in prison, even if Marc and Jake could. Steven would get his ass kicked. He'd have to hide away in the Innerworld. They had to escape. Maybe Layla and Taweret would help them. Maybe they could call on Khonshu. They would come up with something, surely.

"Oh no, I'm no mercenary. Marc and Jake used to be mercenaries, but they're not in that kind of work anymore. I work at the museum, now. Marc comes with me sometimes."

"Right. And Marc and Jake are the other people living in your head, correct?"

"That's right."

The interrogator, whose name escaped Steven, leaned forward. "And what can you tell me about your headmates?"

Steven blushed at the question. "If you're asking me to spill all of our secrets, it's not going to happen," he told her, feeling a bit proud of himself for standing up to someone that has authority over him. He had never done that before.

"Mr. Grant," she stated, looking more tired with every minute that went by. "This would be much easier if you cooperated."

Steven bit his tongue, trying to keep himself from bursting into tears. "Ma'am, this would be much easier if you understood that I had nothing to do with this. And I don't plan on tattling on Jake or Marc. Whatever happens to them happens to me. Surely you understand that. I would rather not spend a lifetime in prison, if that can be helped."

Her face softened a bit, and she smiled at him. "Of course I understand, Mr. Grant. You three are quite a fascinating case. I've never met anyone with DID before. You do know what that is, don't you?"

He hated her patronizing tone of voice. "Of course I do."

"Well, Mr. Bushman has requested that we not send you to prison and that perhaps you would benefit more from a mental health establishment." Steven immediately tensed up at the thought of that, being painfully reminded of their time in the Duat. "In order to follow through with that option, however, we need your cooperation so that we know exactly what we're dealing with here. We want to help you and your headmates, Mr. Grant."

Steven felt patronized and used. What would Marc do in this situation? What would Jake?

He looked down at the handcuffs around his wrists. He felt helpless. Poor, helpless Steven. Never able to save his headmates from danger. He was the one that needed constant protection. Maybe Marc and Jake would be better off by themselves in prison. Maybe he would be better off staying in the Innerworld.

"Steven," Marc called out to him from the headspace. Steven was disassociating. He hadn't even heard Marc wake up. "Steven, let me handle this."

"Marc, they wanna send us back to Putnam," he said out loud. The interrogator just watched him curiously and said nothing. "That or prison. I don't know what to do, I-"

He closed his eyes and when he opened them, it was Marc in control of the body. He hoped Marc would know what to do.

"Mr. Spector, I presume?" The interrogator asked. She seemed to have noticed the shift in posture. It was subtle, but interrogators were trained for stuff like that.

Marc simply nodded.

"I'm not sure what Mr. Grant has told you, but the city has offered to drop all charges if you are instead sent to a mental establishment rather than prison, at the bequest of Mr. Bushman."

At that, Marc shook his head. "Nope. No way. I'm not doing anything that sociopath wants. Send me to prison. I don't care."

She tilted her head and offered him a smile. Steven was very open-hearted and was all for giving people second, even third chances, but no amount of chances could make him like this woman. Perhaps it was just because he was in a bad mood, but her vibes were all wrong. "Mr. Bushman tells me you all had a history together." Her London accent was thick, yet professional.

Marc slammed his hands on the table, cuffs still on his wrists. "A history? Yeah! He tried to kill me! He killed every one of those hostages in Egypt! He killed Layla's father! He killed Marlene's father!"

The interrogator just nodded. "Yes, Mr. Spector. I was aware of all of this. He served his time."

"And yet he walks free? It's only been 16 years, lady. 16 years later and I think about that night every day in my nightmares. And yet he walks free." Marc slumped back into his seat, and Steven could feel Marc pulling him back up to the front.

He blinked and he was back in front of the interrogator again. "I understand your dilemma Mr. Spector, but-"

"Ah, it's Steven, again, actually," Steven said, not in the mood to continue Marc's tangent.

The interrogator nodded. "Well, of course the choice would be up to you three, but the evidence is stacked against you, I'm afraid. I doubt you would pass through the court of law without some sort of significant consequences."

"I understand that," Steven snapped, then immediately felt slightly guilty, despite his bad mood. "Sorry, it's just been a bit of a day."

The interrogator offered him another one of her annoying smiles. "That would be putting it mildly, Mr. Grant."

Steven sighed. "I think... perhaps putting us in a mental facility would be our best option," he said, surprised at his own words. "I know Marc and Jake won't like it, but I think this is our best option."

The interrogator nodded, and gave her first genuine smile since she and Steven had met. "I agree, Mr. Grant. Now, of course, you understand that there will be strict rules that you must follow in order to still be considered a patient and not a prisoner."

"What the hell is thedifference?" Jake asked, startling Steven a bit with his presence. He had hoped that Marc and Jake would both remain asleep while Steven signed their lives away to the British authority, but he should have known better. Jake was the protector. There was no way he was ever going to be okay with either decision Steven had made. "They're both a fucking prison to me."

Steven couldn't help but feel extremely guilty about his choice, but he knew that he had made the right one. Being sent to a mental facility at least allowed them a chance to escape, or recover, or be released, or just obtain some much-needed therapy. Besides, it was their best chance to work together. Steven never would have survived prison, even with the help of Marc and Jake. At least now they could try to work some things out between them, maybe make things right, in a way.

Steven would never apologize for wanting to be a part of the system.

It was another ten minutes before the interrogator (who finally reminded Steven that her name was Melinda), left the room and came back with the lead therapist from a nearby hospital. She had red hair and somehow, looked strangely familiar. She smiled at him. "Hello, Mr. Grant. My name is Doctor Emmet." Her teeth were a bit too white, and Steven could feel Jake's uneasiness, something that did not happen too often.

"Something about her I don't like, hermano," Jake said.

Steven nodded in both response to Doctor Emmet and to Jake.

"Now, if you wouldn't mind coming with me, I'll show you where you'll be staying."

Steven, personally, didn't think the facility was too bad. It was nice, spacious, and cozy. It felt nothing like the asylum from the Duat. It felt almost homey. Marc disagreed, and Jake was so upset that he didn't even bother coming on the tour that Doctor Emmet had arranged for them. The room that they were given was small, but large enough where they could each have their own space if they wanted to. Steven had a feeling that Jake wouldn't be coming around unless he had to, and Marc wasn't much for interior decorating (as made evident by the storage locker he slept in for two months), which just left Steven. He wasn't sure how much decorating he could do inside a patient's room in a mental hospital, but Steven decided to make it his goal to try.

Marc was fronting. Steven offered to take the reigns for awhile but Marc insisted that he "get a feel of the place" before he let Steven do anything with the body. That was fine with Steven. He didn't want to be there as much as Marc, but he was willing to step up if Marc or Jake needed him to.

Marc had been lying down, playing with a Rubik's cube that Steven had requested from a nurse for over an hour (without making any progress), when a nurse came in. "Mr. Spector? You have a visitor."

"A visitor?"

"Maybe it's Layla," Steven suggested, and hopeful, Marc stood up. Cautiously, he followed behind the nurse, who wore a hijab and whose skin was a shade of medium brown. She was very pretty, Steven thought, and he hoped that she didn't get harassed too much by the other patients.

When they arrived at the visitation room, both Marc and Steven tensed up.

It was not Layla.

"Marc Spector! Just the man I wanted to see!" Marc had frozen in place, shaking with rage. "Don't be shy, come sit next to me, old friend."

"We are not. Friends."

The nurse didn't leave, just in case.

"Marc, don't do anything rash. Remember how we ended up here."

Bushman smiled and patted the seat next to him. "Come on, for old time's sake?"

"I am not sitting next to a murderer."

Bushman tilted his head. "But don't you share a head with one?"

Marc didn't have an answer for that.

"Fine, I guess I'll just have to come to you."

Bushman stood up. Marc didn't move.

He approached Marc and put his hand on his shoulder. Steven could feel Marc tensing up, restraining himself so hard that every muscle in his body cried out from the pressure.

"Do you know why I was searching for Khonshu's temple in Egypt?" He asked Marc. He was so close to them that even Steven could smell his breath. Marc didn't move. "Because I was looking for that dusty bird myself." He looked them up and down. "But I see you got to him first." He smirked.

Marc didn't break eye contact. "What do you want from me?"

Bushman smiled. "I don't want anything from you. I want that bird to realize that I'm his best bet at a new Avatar, not you, who's stuck in this place for possibly the rest of your life. Not you, who didn't want to be his Avatar to begin with."

Marc didn't falter, but his breath did catch in his throat. He knew Bushman was right, and the thought scared him more than he was willing to admit. Steven saw right through him, though.

He furrowed his eyebrows. "You are not worthy of Khonshu's loyalty," he said simply.

Bushman looked them up and down again. "Hm. Maybe not. But perhaps there is a god I can serve, after all."

Without another word, Raul Bushman left, and their shoulders dropped. "I feel like this can only mean trouble," Steven warned, and Marc sighed with nervousness.

"Come on, Mr. Spector. Back to your room."

They followed, but they felt the weight of the entire world resting on their shoulders.