A/N- Okay, so this is my first Witchblade fanfic…though not my first fanfic. It's based solely off the TV show, as I have never read the comics. This is in response to the Guild of the Fantastic Quill's (link to the Guild's blog found under my homepage link at the top of my profile) Jeopardy Challenge. I'll talk more about in my end notes. I hope you all enjoy!
Disclamer-I don't own Witchblade. The comics belong to Top Cow and the TV series belongs to TNT.
Detective Sara Pezzini said, "This is it," as she tapped the back of the cab driver's seat and the yellow vehicle came to a halt outside the huge mansion home of Kenneth Irons.
"Wait here," she ordered more than asked, throwing open the door and pulling herself out.
She walked quickly to the door, throwing her right wrist—the Witchblade bearing wrist—up. The scanner there read the jewel of the blade, and the mansion's door opened immediately. Sara tucked her hands inside her jacket pocket, aware that the cabbie might have seen the odd entrance, and moved quickly inside. Once she had moved a few more paces, she withdrew her hands and let them hang at her sides. A last puff of air as the door closed moved her brown hair in front of her face. She moved it back in place and lost no time in finding her way into the main room of the mansion…the sitting room where she always met with Irons. And he would be there. Because he always knew when she was coming.
To no one's surprise, Irons was descending his spiral staircase just as she pushed herself into the room.
"Sara, how lovely for you to come and visit," he said in his odd, smooth way.
He arrived on the ground floor with his arms spread in a small gesture of welcome. She shook her head.
"Can it, Irons. Why'd you do it?" she bit off.
He stopped a few feet from her, blinking in confusion. He made her sick, feigning innocence and ignorance. She was not sure exactly how much he did know, but she knew it was a hell of a lot more than he let on.
"Whatever are you talking about, Detective?" he asked, moving to stand in front one of his large, wing-backed chairs.
"Melissa Barton. I know you had connections with her. Why did you kill her, Irons? Or why did you send Nottingham to do your dirty work? Whatever the hell you did."
Irons fell into his chair, placing a hand to his lips. Sara had to fight snarling at him. He looked up at her, his cool eyes wide in shock.
"Melissa…is dead?" he asked.
"As if I needed to tell you, Kenny. I'm starting to recognize your handiwork in things. Why? Why her?"
He blinked in confusion at her again, and this time she did snarl. She took a few quick steps forward.
"She was nineteen, Irons," she spat.
"Are you accusing me? Why would I possibly want her dead?" he asked, leaning forward. "My dearest Melissa…I would never want such a thing."
Sara shook her head. "Witnesses put her as leaving here in an 'angry huff,' I think was the description. I know she had some sort of connection to you prior to that incident…but I'm not sure what. I figure she said something you didn't like, left, and then you sent Nottingham to tie up your loose ends."
Irons rose to his feet, anger coloring his face. "She was my goddaughter, Detective Pezzini! Why would I kill my own goddaughter? Do you have any evidence that isn't circumstantial?"
Sara opened her mouth, but found she had nothing else to say. She sighed.
"One of these days, Irons…I'll find the right reason to get you. I'll show myself out," she said, whirling and striding out of the room.
Ian entered the sitting room as quite as a shadow, his head bowed respectfully. In the distance, he heard the manor's door shut behind Sara as she left. It was immediately followed by his master's—father's—scoff.
"She is quite tenacious, isn't she, Ian?" Irons asked over his shoulder.
"She asks the right questions," Nottingham replied quietly.
Irons turned at the waist to arch a brow at Ian.
"Son, is that your way of asking me why I sent you to kill Melissa?"
Ian made no reply but to make eye contact with his father-master for a mere moment. Irons huffed out a laugh as he turned fully and approached his servant. He placed a hand on his shoulder for a moment before removing it and making his way over to pour himself a glass of bourbon.
"She knew about my latest international arms deal…the deal that will inevitably wipe out a nearly nameless Third World country. She was going to go to the police with the information she had—which was, dear Ian, quite incriminating—if I did not break it. I refused, and she left with her threat intact. I suppose you can follow my train of thought from there," he explained as he swallowed his drink in one, soundless gulp.
"You own the police. Why would you care?" Ian asked, raising his head to speak directly.
Irons' nose wrinkled in disgust, and he slammed his glass down so hard that it shattered from the bottom up. He made two strides to Ian and shoved his head down.
"Do you think I could give a damn about the New York Police Department? No. You are right when you say that I own them. I also own the mayoral office, and the governor's office. I even have connections in the White House. No man-made figurehead can touch me! However…"
He turned, approaching and staring into the fireplace, his face illuminated by the flames.
"However," he continued, "people, en masse, are quite powerful indeed…and there is no way to have a single hold of power over them. Their weapon? The media, which is exactly what Melissa would have done next when she found that the Police could, and would, do nothing. The power of the people is mighty when wielded through the medium of the Six O'clock News. So, if you were wondering why I killed her…it was because I could not afford the bad press."
At this, he turned and approached the staircase, beginning to ascend it once more. Ian turned, shaking his head so slightly that it was barely noticeable.
"You know, Father, that that was not why you killed her," Ian called.
Irons stopped midway up the staircase. "Enlighten me," he said, without turning.
"You killed Melissa Barton…or rather, had me kill her, because you are evil. Purely, and simply, evil."
Ian's eyes were looking up, even if his head was not turned the same way. He had no way of knowing how Irons would react to such a blatant statement. However, Irons merely smiled his cold, half smile over his shoulder.
"That's exactly right, Ian. I am evil," he agreed, ascending the staircase without another word.
End Notes: Okay, so the Guild had been doing a lot of challenges where you had to choose a character and answer a question. This challenge we flipped it on its head and were given an answer we had to apply to a character. "Because I'm evil," was my chosen answer. Well, I hope everyone enjoyed!