You're the father, now.

"Of course we'll bring Lazarus." Your words break her down as she cries happily, her fears melted away by this small mercy you've given her... only, if you're being honest, it's just another way to torment the broken man on the floor. "I'm his father now." She looks up to you, wide-eyed. Daniel, too, finally looks up from his near-catatonic state. "The man who **** that child into you... I'm saving you both from him. He'll never see his boy again," you assure her, "and if he tries, I'll break his body again and throw him to the police. He must know what they'd do with a pedophile who tried to enslave a child into a wife and mother, right?" You kiss her forehead lovingly as you finish spitting your venom, and with a gleeful glance to your flank you watch as Daniel lowers his head to the ground... and puts his hands, aching as they are, together in fervent prayer. You swagger over, grinning ear-to-ear, and plant your foot on the back of his head, crushing it ever so gently into the carpet.

"That's right, you maggot... pray. Pray to the God that rules you." You lean down, bringing yourself as close to him as your flexibility allows without letting your foot rise. He wails under the pressure. "But never forget He is the one that gave me this tasty meat... and let me take everything from you." You lift your foot, to which his head automatically rises... just to stomp down with all the power your muscles afford. His head cracks against the floor, and his body slumps. You withdraw your foot, wide-eyed... and then sigh in relief when you see that he's still breathing. "Come on, Ophelia... let's get what we need for little Lazarus and take it upstairs." She stands, and you can't resist but lift one of her massive teats to your mouth and take a long, painful suck of mother's milk into your mouth. Gods, you could swear it even tastes better now. "Yeah... you two will fit right in." With that, you leave Daniel Cross, the devout madman, to regain consciousness in whatever reality he chooses to believe.

~the next day, in an alley next to your apartment building~

The morning brought an end to the rain, but it didn't mean much to the beat cop stuck watching, and smelling, the awful clean-up the crime scene investigators had to perform. It was pretty routine, given that New York had no shortage of these sorts of tragedies, but the rain and the splatter from impact meant that the morning sun would soon bake the ugly sod until he smells unbearable. It was fortune, or misfortune, then, that let Alex Jones notice the smell of blood in the rain that ran down the sidewalk from the alleyway. He's the officer on duty now, looking around to keep every rubbernecking nobody on the right side of the police tape, at least until he spots two coats crossing under said tape. They don't need to flash their badges. "Detective Sanchez, Detective Forbes," the patrolman greets.

"'Morning, Beans," yawns the younger, Hispanic detective. He doesn't bother covering the mouth on that good-looking, chiseled face, but he shrivels visibly under the withering gaze of his partner.

"Found a jumper before your morning coffee?" Forbes was a cut above, a detective in her middle years and with more experience than both of the men present. The inside joke wasn't lost on Jones: she put hours in as a firearms instructor when he went to Academy, and his caffeine excuses for poor aim earned him the nickname "Beans". He thought it was funny before he knew she'd have the whole **** calling him that before he even graduated.

"I'm afraid so, Detective." He doesn't dare return her nickname; he hadn't earned the right, yet. Instead, he gets right to the point. "Big man who lives on the fourth floor, moved in just over a year ago, I.D.'ed by a neighbor, along with some other suspect claims."

Sanchez shrugs. "Like what?"

"Like saying he has a wife and newborn, talked about how much of a tragedy it was... except he doesn't have a wife. CSI already ran the records... I figured that just meant some baby momma's about to get bad news, but then it gets weirder than that."

"Trying to take my job, Beans?" Forbes narrows her eyes, but playfully so.

"No ma'am," he chuckles. "Just... well, you'll see the file..."

"Since when does a jumper need a file?" Sanchez cranes his neck as he talks, catching a glimpse of a massive male arm sticking out from behind a dumpster.

Jones clears his throat, and whispers to them as they near the mouth of the alley. "Since the alleged wife he had a kid with matches the description of a missing teenager from Buffalo... one he reported missing just before moving here." Both detectives stare back at him, stunned. It took plenty for the older to give Jones a look like that, but he can hardly blame them. He then jams a thumb in the air towards the two other detectives working the scene. "... also, because Paul and Yulie tell me he crawled into the elevator to jump off the roof. Seems someone likely paid him a visit before he got to thinking he'd end it all."