Ingrams & Assoc Prequel: Broken

"The church itself was outside of Jordan, on a hillside, about sixty miles out, past a mountain range. Alice had come with us that night leaving April in the hands of a hastily hired nanny because, in her words, 'You guys can't stop me having at leastsomefun. Being a mom is great, but so is this.' Which was Alice all over.

"So the three of us, burdened with digging equipment, rode motorcycles out at dusk to the church. I was in a motorbike with a sidecar and Johnny had some powerful 1000cc thing that made a hell of a ruckus. We didn't take anyone else with us because we just couldn't trust the locals. So it was just us.

We arrived at the church and let ourselves in. It was deserted and we set to work, trying to lever off the tomb we thought covered the one we wanted.

"We got about an hour into it, when suddenly the lights went on, we turned around and there they were. Some local group, wearing robes and face coverings. They had rifles and swords and they were decidedly not happy. It transpired later that this group were descendants of the original Knights Templar, who had 'gone native' and they were there to protect their heritage. And they weren't shy about doing it.

"They led us outside, and Johnny, true to form, went off. He took out three of the men before they knew what hit them. We got away from the group, ran around the church and jumped onto our motorbikes. I had Alice in my side car and I could tell she was both thoroughly scared and excited at the same time.

"We raced off and the local guardian group took off after us, in rag tag cars. They shot at us – missing us because shooting at a moving target is far harder than it looks – and we raced away.

"And then it happened. Johnny was weaving behind us, trying to draw fire, when his bike collapsed. The front of it just caved in, the front wheel coming off. Whether it was from mechanical error, the bike being old and abused or a lucky shot from those chasing us, we'll never know. But Johnny went down.

"We raced off a bit, then pulled over on the brow of a hill, right before a bridge over a cliff gorge. We could see Johnny on his feet, taking on the chasing villains. Alice was beside herself, screaming at them, screaming at me, demanding a gun, that we go back, but I knew better. If we went back, we would have suffered the same fate he did.

"Johnny took down about four or five of the guardians before the inevitable happened. One of them got behind him. Johnny didn't even know he was there till the dagger was stuck between his ribs. Johnny went stiff, and the dagger was dragged out and then pulled across his neck. We could see the blood spurt and Johnny fall, and that was all she wrote. Alice was berserk, and then suddenly went silent. She was pale, cold and just slumped down in the sidecar. I kept watching and saw the pursers jump back in their cars and look towards us. We needed to get out of there with alacrity. So I turned and drove over the bridge, stopping at the other end to jump out and grab the pickaxe on the motorbike that we'd brought for levering open the tomb.

"I attacked the bridge supports that were nailed to the rock edge of the cliff and succeeded in breaking most of them. The damage wasn't obvious, but it was going to be enough. Indeed, it had to be, the opposition was just starting to cross the bridge. They could see what I had tried to do, but they didn't know if I was successful – it didn't look like I was – so they sent one car over.

"It got about half way across the bridge when the end gave way on our side. The entire bridge swayed, and then the end just tilted away and down and both it and the car on it plunged down into the gorge.

"I looked back and could see the other group on the other side of the gorge. We were going to be ok, I thought, because the nearest other bridge was at least four or five minutes away and we'd be well away by then. Alice was still in shock, and I turned to her and said, 'We need to go. The land dips down here from the bridge, so they won't be able to shoot at us with their rifles once we get going. The land itself will cover us.'

"She just looked at me, uncomprehendingly. I needed to get through to her, so I said 'We've got to get out of here.' Alice blinked and opened her mouth. She closed it again, and just nodded.

"I gunned the bike and turned it down the road away from the now defunct bridge. Now, to understand what happened next, you need to understand the lay of the land. The gorge itself was very old and meandered a lot. It wasn't straight, and in fact the gorge doubled back on itself, weaving back and coming very close to the road as we drove. Fissures from the gorge itself drove back into the land, making the land to the side of the road very treacherous. If you stay on the road, it's no problem, but if you come off the road, then there's a good chance you might go down one of these fissures.

"So, as I said, I gunned the bike, and took off down the road, trying to go down the incline and get out of the line of sight from the people with the rifles, and just as we were starting down the road, a shot rang out and I was hit. The bullet hit my shoulder, missing Alice, who was already below the crest of the ridge due to her sitting in the side car. The problem was, since it hit my left shoulder, it drove my arm right, turned the handle bars of the bike and we went off the road.

"We bounced and then the worst happened. We hit a fissure. Despite the pain, I managed to turn the bike handlebars back to the left and we only hit the outcropping of the fissure – the very edge of it – but it was enough. The bike turned over and wedged itself between both edges of the fissure, with the sidecar facing down. I was thrown from the bike seconds before, and had to drag myself over to where it was wedged, bleeding from my shoulder, fearing the worst for Alice.

"I got there seconds later and found Alice hanging from the sidecar. She was literally hanging over a massive drop into jagged rocks, holding on with one hand. I pulled myself over the bike – it was securely wedged and wasn't going anywhere and could bear my weight and looked down at Alice.

"She looked up into my eyes and I saw everything. Fear, pain, anguish, uncertainty, everything.

"I had to hold onto the bike with my good hand and pushed the arm down that had the bullet wound in the shoulder and yelled,' Hold on Alice. Grab my hand. I'll pull you up.' I couldn't get a grasp on her since she was too low and my hand wasn't working properly due to the bullet damage, but she could grab onto my arm. The pain was excruciating as she transferred her weight to my arm, but I gritted my teeth and didn't let on, or so I thought.

"So there we were, me holding onto the bike for dear life, my arm hanging down and Alice hanging from it. I looked down, into her eye, and she looked up at me. Our eyes met with the kind of gaze that could cross time. And then I saw... something in her face. She shook her head, gave me a tiny smiled, and mouthed 'I love you. I'm so sorry. Look after April.'

"And then she let go."

Marcus suddenly stopped. He was breathing hard, both from the ongoing narrative he'd delivered and also due to the emotions present.

He looked over at Sam, who was looking back at him, eyes filled with compassion and horror.

Marcus looked down again, took another sip of water and finished his tale.

"I'll never know why. I don't know if it was the shock of watching Johnny die. If it was that I wasn't enough for her. If she felt guilty about what she and Johnny had done to me. I don't know. All I know is she could have saved herself and she chose not to. She would rather have ended her life there and then than carry on. Even as a mother."

He stopped again, still breathing hard, to get his breathing under control.

"I had to hide after that. The pursing gang came over the hill about 5 minutes later, having found another bridge to use. They found the bike and found blood spots and assumed we'd both gone over the cliff. I was hiding behind a rock the whole time. Once they'd gone, I walked to the nearest village and went to the local militia. They knew exactly who the group who'd shot at us was, and they took me back to where Johnny's body lay and then to the bike crash site. They found Alice's body 3 days later. It wasn't pretty – the local animals had already started in on her.

"I took the bodies back to New York, where they are buried and I made it my business to ensure that April grew up in good homes. I never lost sight of her and have made sure that she's always been covered. I've tried to be a part of her life, but I think she's past needing me now."

Marcus stopped again, for a second, his eyes shining with unshed tears

"And then I took the presenting job with the ABC show because obviously Johnny couldn't. I did ok, we lasted four years and then I just faded into obscurity. I've never married, I just am not interested in anyone else. I'm empty inside, Sam. Something broke in me that day. Something ended. I'm broken."

He looked over at Sam, who, astonishingly, was trying to reach a hand out to him. There was silence for minutes, as Marcus patted her hand, again, lost in the past and seeing people and times long gone.

Marcus smiled at her and then said, "But don't be too sympathetic for me Sam. I don't deserve it. You see, I carry a secret. I carry something that makes me tell my story to one person a year, on the anniversary of Alice's death. Something I have to tell or I will go insane.

"There was a reason why that gang of guardians was at the church that night, waiting for us. They knew we were coming. They knew because I told them. I had set it up – they were to catch us in the act, Alice was to be let go, I was to be roughed up and Johnny, well, Johnny would pay the price. Obviously the agreement was not something they decided to honor but that was a risk I had to take. This would be my last chance to get him out of the picture. If he decided to take the TV presenting job, I would never have this kind of opportunity again.

"Johnny had already taken from me that which I wanted most and I was damn well going to take it back. As insurance, I had also loosened the bolts holding the front part of his bike together. You never know just how things were going to go with Johnny. He was resourceful and I needed to handle it. So, as a precaution, I fixed his bike.

"Johnny died that night because I made it happen. I was taking back what was mine. And that didn't happen either," he said, bitterly.

"I was made to pay for my sins instantly. I should have known. Nothing comes in my life but with a price."

Sam was retracting her hand now, only horror in her wide eyes.

"Like I said, Sam. I'm broken. Broken inside," Marcus said.

April Burrows sat back as the recording finished playing back. It had been running for the past two hours, and it was now past 9pm and getting dark. To begin with, she'd had it on and was doing other things – preparing a meal in her apartment and other chores, but as the tale wound on, she had sat down and just listened. It was that compelling.

She had hidden the voice-activated recorder in the room of the only person that Uncle Marcus could have been talking to, if the pattern held true. Always that specific day, always someone who couldn't talk back or reveal the conversation.

Since she'd discovered that Uncle Marcus was not her Uncle Marcus but was in fact, her father, she'd been consumed with curiosity about him, his past and what he'd been telling those old farts every year. Since the DNA testing course she'd done – where the students were encouraged to take samples from both relatives and strangers, so they could see what similar and disparate results looked like – had proven that Uncle Marcus was actually her father, she had not known what to do.

She didn't know if Uncle Marcus knew or not – she figured he probably didn't or his involvement in her life would have been greater than it was, and there was no real reason for him to hide being her dad. She didn't know if she should reveal this fact to him, how it would change things, what he'd do about it.

She needed more data before she knew what she should do, and she'd decided to get it by finding out about the conversation he had every year. She knew it was relevant; she could feel it in her bones.

And it had been. In spades.

Uncle Marcus had set up her imagined dad to be murdered, to get back what was his. He had not taken what was done to him and accepted it, he had fought back, the only way he could. And in the process, her mother had removed herself from the equation. April had no idea why her mother had let go either – she couldn't possibly have known what Uncle Marcus...Dad, had done.

April found it interesting that she didn't blame Uncle Marcus – shit, she was never going to get used to calling him 'Dad' – for her mother's death at all. She understood his mindset and why he did what he did. She knew her mother's demise had been her own decision, under duress probably, but still hers.

Uncle Marcus was right. He was broken. And she wished she could have done something about it.

But now it was too late. Her Uncle Marcus – no, herfather– had been found dead in his home five days prior. He'd had his yearly talk, as usual, then gone home. Two days later he was supposed to be on a retrospective TV show, to talk about his years in the field, and when the car had arrived to take him to the airport, they couldn't get an answer. The driver had looked in a window and seen Marcus Carlisle, sitting in a chair, unmoving. He'd called the police and emergency services, and when they had broken in, they'd found him stiff and cold, dead at least twenty-four hours.

They'd called April and she'd arrived to do the identification. She'd arranged his funeral and to her surprise, it had made a splash. ABC had even done a retrospective on him and his accomplishments. After organizing his sendoff, she finally had the time to listen to his story, the night before the retrospective was on.

She'd sat and watched it, watching newsreels of her mother and faux father, with Marcus in the background. She'd started crying and not stopped, and by the time it was over, she'd made major decisions.

She clicked off the light at her desk and sat in darkness.

The next day, April Burrows canceled her application to the FBI. Instead, she enrolled in a postgraduate program in Therapeutic Psychology. She applied to get her name changed to April Carlisle and devoted herself to her new studies, politely turning down opportunities for dates and a deep social life.

Eighteen months later, on graduation day, she sat with her classmates in an Applebee's, having a glass of wine and a final bit of socialization – she felt a little guilty that she barely knew most of her classmates, beyond their names, her head had been so down on the course work. Almost everyone had a practice to go to for full time employment, and April was considering several offers, none of which excited her.

As the evening wound down, she got up to leave and in the doorway of the restaurant, a woman stopped her. The woman was average height, average weight, and had blond hair from a dye – her eyebrows gave that way. Her tailored suit and subtle makeup spoke of money and power.

"April Burrows? No, sorry, its April Carlisle now, isn't it?" said the woman. "Do you have a moment to talk?"

"What can I do for you, Miss...?" April asked, puzzled.

"It will only take a moment, April," said the woman, side stepping the question. "But I think it will be to your benefit."

She gestured to a booth by the door and April shrugged and sat. "What's this about?" she asked once they were both seated.

The woman smiled at her. "April, I am here to make you an offer. I know what you've been through. I know why you changed your major and your name and withdrew your application to the FBI. I know why you are upset and why you have taken the psychology classes. I wonder if you do?"

April stared, wondering what was going on here. "And you know this... how?" she said, a trifle annoyed.

The women chuckled. "Don't be upset April. We need to do extensive background on all potential applicants. You came through with flying colors. We know you have a desire to help. We know – even if you don't – that all of this is preparation for a life trying to help people, like you couldn't help your father. Yes, we know about that too."

April raised her eyebrow. She'd never told anyone, even though she'd changed her name to her father's name. These people certainly had done their homework, and she couldn't help wondering what for.

"I'm here to offer you the best of both worlds. To combine your investigative abilities and your desire to help people on a mental level. I have an...opportunity, shall we say, that you won't find anywhere else. If you seriously want to help, we can put you in that position. Here's my card."

The woman produced a small black piece of metal with curved edges. It was light, and buff. April looked at it and couldn't see anything written on it. Then she saw something, tilted it and let the light catch on it. Embossed in slightly different black paint was the words 'Jessica Ingrams', and a telephone number.

She looked back at the woman who nodded and got up to leave. "Don't leave it too long, dear. There are people who need what you have to offer," she said. "I look forward to your call. See you again."

And with that, Jessica Ingram left the restaurant. April twirled the card around in her hands, wondering what had just happened.

Would she call her? Probably not. On the other hand, maybe there was something to look into here... It couldn't hurt, could it?