Original of the Species
Part 2A The Mayor and the Saiyan: the Goa'uld
Multiple Crossover (mostly DBZ and
SG-1, some minor Eddingsverse) The ongoing adventures of our depressive Saiyan drunk, the Scoobs as the SGC comes to town. Part 2A in the Original of the Species series. Recommended that you read part 1 first for first time readers (obviously).
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the material written in here. They all belong to their rightful creators. Probably not even to them any more but to their corporate overlords. I hereby pledge allegiance to our corporate overlords and promise to buy their DMCR infested products like a good little slave.
So here we are again. Finally part 2A of Original of the Species. Oh how my muse suddenly deserted me when I began writing it in earnest. Chapter one had been written during a Part 1 writersblock. The Wish chapter in part 2B also wrote itself.
Once I finished and published Part 1 it become slim pickings. Lack of time, new computer games did the rest. Once I got bored of playing W40K Dawn of War my Saiyan muse finally grabbed me by the neck and demanded I started writing again. It also helped that I had lots of homework to do for my studies. Nothing sparks the creative juices as avoiding doing homework. Which by now has cost me in failed exams. So you lot better like it!
This is part 2A, not the promised complete part 2. Because what started out as a nice one chapter idea for a little SG-1 crossover turned into a magnum opus of its own. I swear it was only meant to be a single chapter. Then another muse took over and this Goa'uld muse demanded more. One chapter became two. Two became three, etc.... Don't get me even started on the final chapter. In a way it worked out for the best. It gave me a story arc to use, over which I could use the choice bits of the boring first episodes of season 3.
I would like to thank ... for inspiring me with his final review of part 1 as it inspired me to take a different look at certain events from part 1 and have those echo in this part.
For all of you SG-1 lovers who liked that angle in part 1, the SGC returns back with a vengeance. For those of you who like long chapters, I piss on those short paragraphs some dare to post as chapters. ;) For those who you who hate it when a story does not get finished, this part is! For those of you who liked this story, period, here's the next installment.
Cue sappy music because I'm both pretentious and sappy.Lucky
, words and music by RadioheadI'm on a roll
I'm on a roll
I feel my luck could change
Kill me Sarah
Kill me again
It's gonna be a glorious day
Pull me out of the aircrash
Pull me out of the wreck
Cause I'm your superhero
Leave you standing on the edge....
The head of state
Has called for me
But I don't have time for him
It's going to be
A glorious days
I feel my luck could change
Pull me out of the aircrash
Pull me out of the wreck
Cause I'm your superhero
Leave you standing on the edge.... Prologue
AN: This was not my original prologue. I had a different one at first. But as I'm fleshing out future parts I realized it was better suited to a different part. So here's a new one. The very last piece I did for this part.
Detective Kate Lockley, LAPD, was on the way home when she received word that crime didn't sleep and she and her partner had been assigned another case. Having to come from across LA she was late in arriving on the crime scene. Luckily her partner was already present when she arrived. She parked her car next to the van of the LAPD's CIS. A uniform stood guard next to the cars, as this was one of LA's more unsavory neighborhoods. A run down ghetto where gangs ruled and the police only dared to enter in sufficient numbers.
There were plenty of onlookers at this late hour. Prostitutes, mostly crack addicts, but also gang members. A more then average number of uniforms was present, working crowd control. But it struck Kate as odd that this time the onlookers, especially the gang members, were more nervous then the uniforms keeping an eye on them. Whatever had happened, it had rattled the predators. Waving to the officer Kate made for her partner Miles Peabody, who was already present. She found him hunched next to another uniformed officer. The uniform sat on the pavement in front of the building with the crime scene, staring ahead blankly, a large pool of vomit next to him in the gutter.
“Cheer up, son” Peabody said as he patted the officer on the shoulder. The man nodded but didn't move as he sighed and resumed his blank stare. From behind them, out of the crime scene building, came one of the LA CSI members. The woman in question held her hand for her mouth until she cleared the building, then she started retching violently. In a way you had to admire that dedication, Kate thought as she saw the woman hurling up her dinner. She didn't think she could have gotten that far if she had to drive the porcelain bus.
“That bad, huh,” Kate said to her partner, still looking at the hurling CSI girl.
“That bad,” Peabody replied to his partner as he patted the officer again on the shoulder before getting up, “poor guy was the first man on the scene.” He leaned over to Kate. “He also just transferred in from division.”
“I came as soon as I heard,” she said, “is it....”
“It has all the hallmarks of our boy,” he said.
“I don't get it,” she said, “for months nothing and now all of a sudden two times last month and third time this month already.”
“He comes as he pleases,” Peabody shrugged, always taking things in stride, “if you ask me he's working on some issues or something. He's getting particular....creative.”
Kate looked around. This was one of the worst parts of LA, with drugs and prostitution rampant. With lots of crack addicted girls working the streets. Exactly the kind of area this particular serial killer liked to work. And exactly the kind of neighborhood where he'd go unnoticed.
“Any witnesses,” she asked. Peabody snorted towards the onlookers.
“Nearly the whole neighborhood heard our boy scream but of course nobody saw anything, except those two,” he said and pointed to a pair of girls, being taken care of by a team of paramedics. One, a platinum blonde having seen better days, was sitting in the door of their ambulance, rocking back and forth mumbling. She looked high as a kite. And judging from her dilapidated looks she probably was. The other, a dark blonde, was doing her best to comfort the other, even though the paramedics had their hands full patching her up. It looked like she had gone several rounds with Mike Tyson and then some.
“What did they say,” she asked. Peabody shook his head.
“Couldn't interrogate them,” he said, “one's in the stratosphere, the other, let's just say, if you think she looks bad now, you should have seen her before. Besides, I thought maybe this requires a more feminine touch.”
“You're just passing the buck on to me,” Kate said, whereupon Peabody grinned.
The two detectives walked over to the two prostitutes. The platinum blonde had wrapped herself into a fetal position with her head in the lap of the other girl who gently caressed her hair. A paramedic was busy stitching a particular nasty cut on her face. Her left eye was terribly swollen shut. She had bruises and angry welts all over her face and upper body.
“How is she,” Peabody asked the paramedic.
“All things considering she's very lucky,” the paramedic replied, not taking his eyes of the stitching he was doing, “she'll have some scars and she'll miss some teeth.”
Peabody nodded, it sucked to be the girl, but all things considered she was very lucky to be still alive. In this neighborhood assaults on prostitutes were frequent and the average lifespan measured in single years.
“Can we ask her some question,” Peabody asked and the paramedic nodded. Kate knelt before the dark blond.
“Hi,” she said, “my name is Kate, that lump over there is Miles. What is your name?”
“Angela,” the girl said with some difficulty. As she opened her mouth Kate and Peabody could see that she was missing one of her front teeth.
“Can you tell us what happened,” Kate asked. The girl didn't answer immediately and glanced at the girl in her lap first. The she started talking.
(An hour earlier)
Angela's feet hurt after walking all evening in 6” heels. And she still had most of the night to go. Granted they had a 2” platform so the effective height was only 4”. And she had gotten quite used to them after all these months, But they were a size to small and Carlos wasn't into buying new ones. Nor into hearing any complaints for that matter. So she soldiered on, night after night.
Like almost every girl working the streets she was a drop-out. She had run away from home age 16 after growing troubles at home. Well, which runaway didn't? And like most runaways she fell into the wrong crowd upon arrival in the big city. In her case, Carlos.
Like most pimps Carlos made it a habit to regularly check the bus and train terminals looking for runaways. He had feigned interest in her, given her money and a place to stay. He had taken her in until she was so much under his influence that he showed his real colors. And now formerly Daddy's little girl worked the streets at night, in clothes that revealed more then it covered.
But she had long stopped worrying about what Daddy would think. Only Carlos mattered. Meaning, staying on his good side. She had become quite the expert on that. In the year that she had worked the streets for him she had also done and used nearly everything that would give her father an heart attack just knowing. Still, she counted herself lucky still in one respect. She had managed to avoid the fate of most of Carlos' girls, crack cocaine. Carlos used its addictive power of crack as a main means of keeping control amongst his girls. But some he allowed to stay 'clean.' Girls got old real fast on using crack. So those girls that proved submissive and had good looks could stay clean, as it earned them more money. Clean being defined as addicted to less damaging substances of course.
A car slowed down and its window lowered. So Angela smiled at the potential customer. He wasn't good looking, but she had also learned to ignore that.
“Looking for a good time,” she smiled. The man in the car looked at her as if she was a piece of meat.
“How much,” he asked.
“$35 for a blowjob, $75 for a fuck,” Angela smiled as the man considered the prices.
“That seems a bit high,” he said slightly disappointed, ”I thought $50 was the rate for a fuck?”
“You get what you pay for, honey,” Angela said and smacked her ass, to illustrate what she had to offer. She always had a body that kept the boys drooling after her in high school. Working long hours and still being 17 kept it still in shape. She had one of the best series of T&A in this neighborhood and she knew it. One of Carlos' choice pieces of ass.
”So how about it?”
Before the man could reply they were interrupted as another man intervened and pushed Angela aside.
“Take a hike,” the newcomer hissed angrily to the man in the car. Who got the hint and rolled up the window and drove off. The newcomer turned to her. It was Carlos, her pimp.
“Carlos,” Angela tried to say, but then she saw the angry look on her pimp's face and shut up. Not fast enough as he smacked her hard in the face.
“Come,” Carlos hissed and grabbed her by her hair and dragged her along, she hobbling along as hast as her heels allowed her. He took her inside one of the derelict buildings he used for his businesses and dragged her upstairs,
“Carlos, I don't understand,” she yelled being dragged along.
“Shut up, whore,” Carlos said, without looking at her, “I have enough of your cheating!”
“But I....,” Angela tried to say but Carlos just yanked her hair some more, causing her to scream in pain. On the top of the stairs he opened a door to a room. It was the room she shared with another girl. As Carlos stormed inside he threw her on the ground and she hit the floor. Then he kicked her viciously in her stomach, causing her to retch. As she clutched her stomach she saw that on one of the two mattresses in the room her friend Doris was sitting.
Unlike her Doris was addicted to crack. And for a long time now. She looked like she was in bad shape, rocking back and forth. Then one of Carlos' hands connected with her face again.
“You lying bitch,” Carlos yelled and slapped her some more. She tried to protect herself by raising her arms. But that only seemed to infuriate him more.
“You damn whorin' bitch,” Carlos said as he spat on her, “you bitches are all the same!”
“Carlos, please,” Angela pleaded, “what did I do wrong?”
Carlos reached into his pocket and took out a bundle of money. He then started to take off notes and dropped them over her.
“And... what... do.... you... call this... bitch...,” he yelled. Suddenly Angela understood. She had been trying to save some money, to get away from here, from Carlos and this life. But how did he know? The only one who knew.... She looked at her friend Doris. Who looked down in shame.
“I'm sorry Ange,” Doris said sobbing, “I'm sorry.”
Carlos knelt in front of Angela.
“She sold you out for some rocks,” he said grinning evilly, “I'm afraid Doris isn't raking in the kind of money she used to.”
That was a kind of understatement. Crack had laid waste to Doris' former good looks to a point she practically had to work for free to score some customers. Carlos turned to Doris.
“A few doses of crack, that's the worth of friendship these days,” he said and threw a small bag to Doris which she grabbed eagerly.
“Unlike you, Doris knew her place,” Carlos said, “she was loyal to me. And so I reward loyalty with kindness. Disloyalty however with vengeance.”
Carlos took off his coat and put it on the ground, then he took off his thick leather belt and folded it double.
“If you needed the money you should have come to me, Angela,” he said pulling the folded belt tight between his hands, “but I'm guessing you didn't keep this money from me because you needed to buy some dope. You wanted to leave didn't you?”
“No, I didn't, Carlos, plea....,” Angela tried to say but the little Latino started swinging his belt and hit her all over her body at full force. For several minutes he let her have it while Doris started to smoke her crack to get away from the grizzly scene. Once Carlos had beaten her until he had enough and she lay cowering and crying in a fetal position he stepped back panting and started to straighten his greasy hair.
“Look what you made me do,” he said as he felt it had gotten somewhat disheveled. So he took out a small comb and mirror. His hair was Carlos' biggest vanity, and he was always constantly fussing over it. Behind his back the girls liked to call it his 'coupe de Columbian drug dealer'. Because of the excess usage hair oil and the mullet. Of course, nobody made fun of it now, with Doris getting high and Angela sobbing in pain.
Once he was finished Carlos turned to Angela again and hunched beside her..
“Angel, Angela, Angela,” Carlos said dejected as he pulled her head up by her hair, “what were you thinking girl? Don't you know? Nobody cares for you but me. Your tricks think you're only a piece of meat. You can't go back home. Cause even your parents think you're a worthless piece of shit whore. Don't I look out for you? Haven't I been good for you?”
“Yes,” Angela said reluctantly through teeth gritted with pain. Carlos then smacked her head violently on the floor, face first. The pain was excruciating, especially from her mouth.
“Then why are you cheating on me, cunt,” he yelled as he rose and kicked her against her breasts, “you know you're supposed to give me all your money. That way I can look out for you. I'm hurt Angela.”
Not so much as her right now as he kicked her some more. After he had taken out more of his anger on her he stopped and stepped back. This gave Angela the time to put a finger in her mouth. One of her front teeth came loose, from another a piece was chipped. This was bad. Carlos had never beaten her so badly that it could ruin her looks. She earned him to much for that.
Carlos meanwhile shook his head dispirited and reached inside his coat and took out another small bag which he held in front of her face. She recognized it instantly.
“No,” she moaned in despair.
“Yes,” he said, “time for you to join the rest of my girls, Angela. I've allowed you to stay clean because you brought in the money but now you leave me no choice.”
It was crack-cocaine. Angela had seen what it did to the other girls. Like Doris. Who slowly stopped caring. And became perfectly docile, just like Carlos liked it. Of course it also meant they started to look more and more like shit. Which meant that they had to go the extra mile to bring in the money. Do the more disgusting things and fetishes that some of the customers wanted. Until you looked so much like shit not even those tricks wanted you anymore. And Carlos threw you out or worse.
Angela wasn't stupid. You work the streets at night you quickly learned that in the city of demons things did went bump in the night. All the more reasons a prostitute needed a pimp in this city to survive. Carlos paid off some powerful underworld demon and in turn the underlife left his girls alone. But some of the girls rumored that once you did outlive your usefulness to Carlos he would sell you to the underlife. And no girl ever came back from that gig. And prolonged use of crack undermined your usefulness to Carlos..
“Time to go to happy land, Angela,” Carlos said and took Doris' crack pipe, which she no longer needed being in her happy place.
“Please, Carlos,” Angela moaned, “not crack, please, anything but that!”
“I can't trust you anymore,” the pimp said, “once you keep money from me you are no use to me. At least this way I know I can trust you again, Ange.”
Carlos held out the crack pipe towards her.
“Smoke it Ange,” he said, “smoke it, or so be it, I'll make you disappear this very evening. 'They' love a girl like you. You'll fetch me a good price. Your choice, Angela.”
It was tempting for Angela to say no. Her life, short as it had been, hadn't been a happy one. And knowing Carlos, becoming a crack addicted whore was ultimately just a stay of execution. But in the end, like she had done always, she chickened out and reached for the pipe. She didn't have the guts to run away, she didn't have the guts to die quickly either.
“A wise choice,” Carlos grinned as she reached for the crack pipe, “good girl, its not so bad, look at how happy your friend is.”
Angela took the crack pipe to Carlos' delight and hesitantly brought it to her aching face.
“You know what to do,” Carlos said encouragingly as she put the pipe to her mouth, then he reached out to lit the pipe for her.
The door opened, came free from its hinges and broke into pieces that crashed into the room. Angela and Carlos looked up as a glowing man, large muscled arms heavily tattooed with hideous designs, blond hair that stood straight up and a pair of the coldest looking green blue eyes, stepped into the room like he owned the place.
“What do you want,” Carlos said angry at the interruption.
The newcomer scowled angrily as he saw the pimp and the two girls. He then pointed two fingers at Carlos and he flew back with so much force against the wall that the air was knocked out of him. He also was stuck against the wall, trapped like a fly on a fly trap. The blonde newcomer walked up to Angela and hunched down beside her. His angry scowl softened as he examined her injured body.
“Are you alright,” he asked worried as he gently took the crack pipe from her shaking hands, then crushed it, “I am sorry I could not make it earlier. I lost track of him, young lady.”
Nobody in her entire life had ever called Angela a lady. Not Carlos, not her customers and certainly not her piece of shit parents. It felt weird, no it felt beyond weird to hear this strange, outer worldly being say that.
“I've had worse,” she said looking up, “do you have a mirror?”
“Females are strange and mysterious creatures indeed, as my father used to say ,” Blondie said as he handed her a mirror out of nowhere, “for they can resort to acts of vanity in the strangest of circumstances.”
“I look terrible,” she said as she looked into the mirror. There was blood everywhere, multiple cuts, bruises, a front teeth gone, a rapidly growing blackened eye
“Not as bad as he is going to look,” Blondie said as he eyed up Carlos, still clinging to the wall, his angry scowl returning.
“You can't do this,” Carlos hissed, powerless to move, “you don't know who you're messing with!”
Blondie rose up and walked towards Carlos, folding his arms across his chest.
“Color me unimpressed, trash,” he said coldly. It was like the room temperature dropped 10 degrees.
“I'm connected,” Carlos yelled oblivious, “connected! I'm part of Dag'Ra's gang! Do you even know who that is? He's a fuckin' demon and he'll eat you up before breakfast! Are those whores worth that to you?”
Blondie unfolded an arm and pointed a finger at Carlos, his head snapping back violently hitting the wall again.
“Auw,” Carlos yelled. Blondie walked up to Carlos until he was close by.
“Firstly, I eat demons for breakfast,” Blondie said in that same cold tone, “secondly, who says you will be still alive to see it happen?”
That shut Carlos up. He knew Dag'Ra, the great vampire crime lord of LA. Well, maybe he knew one of Dag'Ra's lieutenants to be precise. But for the first time he realized that this man might not only be unimpressed with Dag'Ra, he was probably also far more powerful.
“Oh my god,” he finally said, fear creeping into his voice, “you're him aren't you.”
Blondie started to smirk.
“Oh shit,” Carlos stammered. There were rumors on the streets of somebody or something, who was killing people like Carlos. Maybe killing was putting it mildly. Gutting was a more accurate word. So far Carlos had ignored those rumors, thinking himself safe under the protection of a vampire crime lord who gave even the LAPD pause. And they didn't even know he was a vampire.
“If you let me go you can have the whores,” Carlos whimpered, his arrogance gone like snow in a desert sun, “please, I won't tell!”
Blondie raised an eyebrow and reached out for the small silver cross hanging around Carlos' neck.
“Interesting that you bring up a deity,” he said as he examined the cross.
“It's my late mother's,” Carlos stammered, “I keep it for good luck!”
Blondie let go of the cross and his smirk intensified. Out of nowhere a series of long and painful looking spikes appeared in the man's hands.
“Since you still adhere to your old traditions, why not use them,” Blondie smirked. With his right hand he moved Carlos' left arm until it was stretched out horizontally. Then he put most nails between his teeth, except for one which he placed just before Carlos' left wrist with his left hand, careful not to hit an artery. Then he balled his other fist and with one strike he hammered the nail through Carlos' flesh into the wall. Carlos bloodcurdling scream even awoke Doris out of her drug induced slumber. As the man nailed Carlos' other arm to the wall Doris stared speechless, her eyes big as saucers. Then she started mumbling.
“This is not happening, this is not happening, this is not happening, this is not happening, this is not happening, this is not happening, this is not happening......”
Carlos was probably wishing for the same, but the searing pain as Blondie nailed his feet to the wall was more then he could ignore. Once he was finished the man stepped back to admire his handiwork. Then he looked at Angela. The girl had seen to much this last year to be shaken by anything any more and she seemed to take it all in stride.
“What do you think,” he asked her, his smirk gone. By now she found it hard to look through her left eye as it had swollen painfully. The man who had been the center of her existence, a lover at first, a terrible nightmare after that, now hung crucified in terrible pain against the wall. And to her surprise Angela didn't feel anything for him anymore.
“I thought Jesus was crucified through the hands,” Angela responded offhand.
“That is a common mistake, young lady,” Blondie said and pointed to one of Carlos' hands, “the hand's flesh cannot sustain the weight if you nail it through the hands. It would tear in no time. Most artists do not know that, as none have seen it happen. But you must nail before the wrist That way it goes in between two bones and the weight can be sustained indefinitely.”
Angela nodded, or at least, she tried to, it being too painful.
“And now,” she asked.
“Now he dies,” the man shrugged, “slowly.”
“How slowly,” she asked. The man smiled cruelly at Carlos.
“A day, probably two, since he's inside.”
“The police will come and take him off before,” she said. Even in a place like this Carlos' screams wouldn't go unnoticed.
“Yes, that would be kind of unacceptable,” the man agreed, “I guess I would have to settle for killing him more quickly and painfully.”
“Can I watch,” Angela asked, and even surprising herself, “I wanna see this bastard squirm and scream for what he did to me.”
Blondie looked at her and raised an eyebrow. His cold green blue stare felt like they pierced her flesh, but a year living on the streets gave her the strength to ignore it.
“I think you should take your friend and go.” Blondie said as he leaned over and picked up Carlos' jacket, which housed his cellphone which he gave to her. Then he started to pick up the money Carlos had taken from her. Smirking he then reached inside Carlos' trousers and took out a thick wad of cash and gave it all to Angela.
“Go outside with your friend and call 911,” he said, trying to smile warmly, “take the money and go home.”
“I can't go home,” she said as without thinking she accepted the money and the cell phone, “I ran away from home more then a year ago.”
“Of course you did, young lady,” the man smiled at her, his face softening, “but I find it hard to imagine that whatever drove you away from home was as bad as the life you have been living here.”
“I can't go home like this,” Angela protested. Blondie smiled at her and dropped on one knee, taking her hands into his.
“Then go to this place,” he said and put a small address card in her hand, “it's a shelter, run by good people. They will help you. Regardless.”
Then he gestured her to go.
“Go,“ he said, “your friend and I have unfinished business. You do not want to see what I am going to do to him.”
“Maybe I do want to see,” she protested, “this man ruined my life!”
“No you will not,” Blondie replied with such resolution that Angela believed hims. And for the first time she felt sorry for Carlos.
“Tell me at least why,” she asked, “why are you doing this? Nobody does anything for people like me.”
“Is that what he told you,” Blondie asked looking at Carlos, then at her again, “they lie. His type always does. I have seen it everywhere. No matter the time, the place, the planet. From the brothels of Tol Honeth to the slave pits of Nibbia. I do this because I can, young lady, because I was around in the neighborhood, because I must do penance for my evil and because.....”
Blondie looked away, as if he was looking to a different part of this giant metropolis.
“....because she refuses to see me,” he finished, then he stared at Carlos again and gestured her to go, “leave, before you see things that will haunt you for the rest of your life.”
Angela nodded, she turned towards Doris to take her away. Then she changed her mind and faced Blondie again and leaned over and gave him a bloody kiss on the cheek.
“Thank you,” she said, “for whatever reason.”
Blondie seemed surprised as he touched his cheek, some of her blood on his fingers. Then she turned to Doris again.
“Come,” she said as she took Doris by the arm, “let's go, sweetie.”
“But Carlos....,” Doris protested as she let herself be taken away by Angela.
“Nothing we can do for him,” Angela said shaking her head.
They were walking down the stairwell, with Angela finding it hard as she had to support herself on the railing, while guiding Doris along and while still wearing those damned 6” heeled boots. Then the screaming started. A deep guttural screaming. It was loud enough to wake the whole neighborhood. And she realized Blondie was right. She didn't want to see what he was doing to Carlos.
“So you're sure you don't remember anything after your pimp started beating you,” Kate asked Angela. She and Peabody had hoped for more information, but the girl claimed to remember little of what happened. It was clear however that it was the pimp who had beaten her up this bad. Not a big surprise there. It's what pimps do and it wasn't in their boy's method of operation, White Knight Hannibal as he was dubbed, always gutting some of the worst examples of human scum in this city.
“Yes,” Angela said, “next thing I remember me and Doris were outside and we heard Carlos scream.”
“Do you remember calling 911,” Peabody asked but Angela shook no.
“Maybe she's had a concussion,” the paramedic said worried, “I think it's better if we take them to the hospital.”
The two detectives nodded. They weren't getting much useful information at the moment anyway. Maybe she would remember more after having received more and better medical care.
As the two detectives started talking amongst themselves and the paramedic went to talk to the driver, Angela's right hand went into the pocket of her jacket and fingered her most prized possession right now, the card Blondie had given her. As she did she inadvertently awoke Doris from her doze.
“A Golden Angel came for Carlos,” Doris said wistfully, “the Golden Angel came and nailed him on the cross.”
Both detectives turned their heads and looked at the girl as in shock.
“It is him,” Kate gasped.