A short fictional work based on the tv series 'Without a Trace'
Rating: PG-17 (Language, violence)
Disclaimer: I don't own any part of the show or characters. This story is for entertainment purposes only, without profit or gain of any kind.
Note: First, thanks to all of you who've read both of my earlier Without a Trace pieces, Nothing Gold Can Stay from last year and more recently, In Extremis: Epilogue. I truly appreciate your kind and generous support, it really does make a difference hearing from you, it helps me write better.
A big huge Debt of gratitude to my friend and advise giver and most excellent editor, Christy. Thanks Pard, without you, this story wouldn't be here.
Warning, this story might be long, (those of you who've read my Magnificent Seven Fic's know how hard it is for me to write short stories. Stop laughing Laramee, I can hear you!)
Without Further interruption, let the tale begin.
Pete parked his car across the street and exhaled in annoyance. He watched from across the expanse of green lawn in front of the church. It was just past seven p.m. and he was sitting in his Dodge Charger listening to Styx on his 8 track player. He tapped his fingers impatientely on the steering wheel watching the doors.
"Come on sweet cheeks..." he muttered. How long could a bunch of prayers take?
He sat back and enjoyed the last of the joint he'd brought with him. He thought back on the first several dates they had. Careful not to strike to quickly, he was slowly luring the unsuspecting female into his lair. The first date was just to dazzle. Over pizza and later a walk through town, he'd charmed her. Date two was a bike ride and lunch by the lake. He'd kissed her on the lips once and just massaged her lower back gently. Their third outing was a concert in a coffee house in town. That ended with more serious kissing and his fingers caressing that pliable ass over the wool skirt she wore. Tonight he was planning on moving forward and by next weekend, he'd part those thighs and add another notch to his belt.
"Finally." He finished the joint and the ginger ale. He tossed two life savers in his mouth and got out of the car.
"Hi Pete!" Theresa greeted the handsome football star as she left the church.
As she walked towards the car, she felt as if her feet weren't on the ground. That this handsome, charming, intelligent football star even looked at her was unreal. That they were dating seemed to be a miracle. She waved as he walked around the car to her side.
"Hey. Come here..." he whispered huskily, pulling her close.
"Ummm..."
She moaned and parted her lips, allowing his tongue to explore. Her back was pressed against the car door and as he leaned in, his muscled thighs pressed hard against her soft skirted ones. She gasped as his right hand slipped passed the unbuttoned coat and captured her breast.
"No..." She turned away, flushing in confusion. It was wrong. It had to be, even if it felt good. She heard him hiss and saw a fist clench. "I'm sorry..."
"Don't blow it"
He listened to his inner voice and regained control. He tipped her chin up and kissed her forehead.
"No, I'm sorry," he oozed, burning blue sincerity into those trusting brown eyes. "How about pasta at Leonardo's? The movie house is just around the corner. The flick's at nine."
"Okay." She backed up and let him open the door.
He paused crossing around the trunk, still feeling that lush body pressed to his own.
"Soon, sweet cheeks..."
Theresa blinked and swayed, trying to find her way in the dark theater. She felt dizzy and warm and wondered if drinking the punch that Pete brought into the theater was a good idea. It was strawberry and very sweet. Maybe she should have eaten more dinner. She'd been too nervous to eat a whole plate of pasta in front of him so she nibbled a lot and ate mostly salad and some garlic bread.
She saw the back of his head and held onto the chair at the end of the row, slightly tipsy. She should have gotten water at the fountain. The garlic bread made her thirsty and he'd gotten popcorn once they arrived. That added to her thirst so she took some of the fruit drink he said he got from the farmer's market.
"Here, princess," he whispered, easing his arm around her as she sat down. He held the straw to her lips. "Drink. Good huh?"
"Yesh..." she sighed, resting her head on his shoulder. She was tired and it felt good snuggle.
"That's my girl," he put the strawberry wine contained in an emptied fruit jug at his feet. Twice he looked over and saw the halfmast eyes fighting. The lips parted slightly and he moved in. As his talented tongue went to work, he right hand slid under the sweater and up towards those glorious mounds of flesh.
""No..." she whispered sluggishly.
"Shhhh..." he soothed, kissing her again and moving his hand over that firm cup and beneath the cotton. He groaned and let his fingers work on her pink tip as she struggled weakly, moaning a little. Then he moved his hand out and down south. Across the knees and with slight pressure they gave way. The snake slithered quickly into the valley past the scant bit of cotton.
"Ohh... oh... P...P...eeee...te..." She groaned, trying to push him off.
"Easy baby, I won't hurt you," he whispered in her ear, biting the silky skin under the earlobe by her neck. His fingers continued to stroke and inch further inside. She fought weakly but began to pant, her hormones taking over. "That's my princess, that feels good, doesn't it? Just relax."
"...'kay..." She blinked hard, fighting the demon inside. This was wrong. She knew it was wrong but it felt good. She told her herself to close her legs but her body did the opposite. The electrical shocks below her waist caused her thighs to part even further. What was wrong? Why was she so tired? She wanted to sit up and push him away but couldn't and began to panic.
He felt the change in her and pulled back. He let the lolling head on his shoulder and kept his right hand on his own lap. The left hand snuck below her shoulder and lightly danced in even rhythm over and around the sweatered breast. He eyed the sleepy brunette and kissed her again, then began to suck on that tempting neck.
He crossed the fifty yard line and the end zone was in sight.
"Malone"
Jack paused, eyes lifting off the massive amount of paperwork in front of him. His eyes narrowed and he cocked his head, straining against the phone. Light strands of music played a tune that he couldn't quite grasp. It was a children's song of some kind and sounded vaguely familiar.
"Is anybody there?" He snarled, annoyed at the chime-like music. "Stupid kid's prank." He hung the phone up and went back to his work.
"Dr. Gibson, you're nine o'clock is here."
"Thank you, Carmen, I'll be right out."
He waited until the woman hung up from the intercom and pulled the drawer open again. He lifted the lid and enjoyed the last stanza of 'Little Boy Blue'. Jack Malone's gruff voice was still echoing in his ear. Thinking on the devious plans ahead, he smiled and then chuckled. He stood up, walked to the wall and pressed the record button. The camera was hidden and trained on the individual on the other side. He reviewed his notes, nodding at the gradual progress gained over the last two weeks, since the first session. With every new one, his excitement grew as he thought on the week ahead. There was a lot to do but he was ready. Finally, the time had come to make Martin Fitzgerald and Jack Malone pay for their sins.
He paused at the doorway, casting his eyes on the photo there. Here in the inner sanctum where no one entered, he allowed himself to grieve. His fingers went over the glass, still haunted by the face beneath, forever preserved in color.
"Justice will be served," he vowed, already smelling the blood that would flow.
Martin stood up when the doctor stepped into the room.
"Good Morning."
"Good Morning, Martin." He paused to shake the young man's hand. His eyes raked over the handsome agent's face. He noted what he saw there, relaxed features, trusting eyes and confident grip and posture.
It was working.
Over the last two weeks, through a half dozen sessions, he'd gradually eased his way into the young man's pysche. Martin spoke of his childhood, his current problem and how they related. The incident in the cave was brought up. Today he was going to further explore that and add some changes of his own. His fingers were itching to ply that brain and plant the seeds of doubt. From those seedlings, the vine would grow, gripping the unsuspecting soul's mind until their was nothing left.
"You look well."
"Thanks," Martin nodded, "and I mean that. Since I've been coming here, I noticed a change. Before...I mean...after the thing in the cave with Danny. I felt like I couldn't breathe. I wasn't sleeping too good."
"Not to mention those nightmares you spoke of." The doctor kept his face stoic, his mind replying the wonderful sight of the thrashing sweaty body in the bed lost in the grips of terror.
"Yeah." Martin sat down on the couch. "But I haven't had one in over a week. I think I'm ready to go back to work."
"Hey, whose the doctor?" Gibson teased and watched those blue eyes crinkle up from the smile that Fitzgerald held.
"Sorry... I'm just so anxious."
"You've made excellent progress, but there are more issues to address. " He paused, eyeing the small refrigerator. "Would you like some water before we begin?"
"Yeah, I don't know why I get so thirsty in here." Martin took the small bottle of mineral water and twisted the top off, taking a good swig.
"On Friday, if you recall, I discussed hypnotherapy."
"Yeah, uh... two kinds... suggestive and regressive." Martin paused, more that a little fearful. "You're not gonna make me bark like a dog or anything?"
"You watch too much late night television" Gibson shook his head. "Both are vital tools of my trade. However in your case, I believe regressive hypnosis will be a key factor in your recovery. Something you buried many years ago in that cave, needs to be drawn out."
"I guess you're right," Martin drained the water, unaware he'd already consumed the 'elixir' that would begin his journey. "But I've been replaying that day. My dad took me back to the cave. I'd been having nightmares and he felt we needed to bit the head of the snake so to speak."
"And how did you feel?"
Martin shifted in the seat, his brows furrowed. How did he feel? What was buried down inside? Anger? Maybe a little. He remembered being upset that his father didn't listen to his objections. Scared? Hell yeah, hadn't he been lost in that cave just a week before. Nearly unconscious in a tiny hole, the walls scraping his face and arms. His small body covered in urine, sweat and mud. The images swirled in his mind and brought back too many painful memories. He didn't realized he'd conjured them up into one word, until it was airborne.
"Small."
"Really? Expand on that."
"Helpless, like a mouse in a trap. That's what I felt like. I couldn't move... I couldn't breathe..."
"And after, when you went home?" He observed the Adam's apple bobbing and the blue eyes darting. Coupled with the single fist curled into a know, it spelled anxiety. "Is that when the bad dreams started?"
"Yeah... I'd end up on the floor, throwing up... choking..." Martin sighed hard, raking a hand through his brown hair. "Scared my mom half to death. By Friday my dad had enough, decided to 'fix this nonsense once and for all'"
"But you didn't want to go, did you?" He noted that now both fists were clenched and there was a knot forming between the handsome agent's eyes.
"No... He wouldn't listen. He... said... he... said..."
"He said what?" He goaded.
"...that I was acting like a girl. Making a fuss and crying," Martin spat out in a contemptive sneer.
"Go on... what happened when you got into that cave?"
"I... uh... I..." Martin fought hard, seeing the movie reply. Grainy images of a little boy with wide saucer-like eyes following a bobbing yellow light. The walls began to shift, moving inward. The air grew short and he began to sweat. "I don't know..." he choked, swiping the wet drops.
"But you need to remember, or you'll be choked by that fear. Shall be proceed?"
"Okay," Martin paused, trying to reassure himself. "So I guess this is the part where you pull out a pendulum or swinging crystal?"
"There's that late night television again," Gibson moved to the doorway, hand on the light switch. "I want you to take your shoes off and stretch out on the couch." He paused, waiting for the patient to comply.
He turned the lights off and walked back over, taking a chair next to the sofa. He pushed the recorder and the sounds of rain falling filled the room.
"Close your eyes, Martin and breathe in and out, taking good long breaths. Relax. You're safe here. Let your limbs go. With every breath, let yourself relax deeper. That's it... good." He heard the breathing change and the exhalations were steady and sure. "As you listen to the rain falling, let your body go with it. See that beautiful forest with tall green trees. Follow the path, Martin, melt into the landscape."
It was easy. With every breath he took the room faded away. He could feel the rain around him, it seemed to enter his skin and fill his soul. The air was sweet and rich. He couldn't get enough of it. The doctor's voice faded away as he sank deeper into the wonderful stand of trees.
"Martin?"
Gibson lifted the young man's hand up and let it fall down again. The fine features were totally slack and the body limp and relaxed. He rose and turned the lights up. It had been easier than he planned, but then the tainted water helped. Drugs were a wonderful thing, especially those that haven't been approved by the FDA yet.
"Martin can you hear me?"
"Yes."
"Good." He nodded in approval at the toneless voice. "I want you to leave the forest now. You're in the car, going with your father on a trip. It's the Saturday after your unfortunate accident in the cave with your scout troop."
He smiled as the change began. Twin fists curled up and the light brown brows furrowed. The anxious eyes darted under the lids and sweat broke out on the chisled features.
"Where are you Martin?"
"...dark... dark... wet..." He twitched frantically. "...please..."
"You're in the cave again, Martin. Are you alone?"
"No, Daddy... he's here... Daddy...I wanna go home. I'm cold. I don't like it here."
He observed the breathing becoming extremely labored and the face twisting up as a small boy's fears exploded.
Martin looked around the cave, eyes darting to every wall. His small legs couldn't keep up and the yellow light, cast from his father's flashlight, disappeared.
He was all alone in the cold cavern. The walls began to close in and the air began to thin out. He hurried his pace, stumbling and falling, scrapping his face and hands. He was slipping and falling... and it was so very dark.
"DADDY!"
"Calm down Martin, you're fine." Gibson coached, waiting for the anxiety to leave. "That's better. Take a good breath, in through your nose and out hrough your mouth." He waited for the calm to return. "Good. Keep walking, what do you see."
The voice caused his head to turn. Someone was calling him, he wasn't alone.
"I'm not alone! He's here... he didn't leave. I'm... not... I'm not lost. Daddy..."
He stumbled and fell, the walls were too tight. He couldn't breathe. Why wasn't his father coming faster? He could hear his voice. He began to shake and his teeth chattered. It was too cold. He was holding on to a ledge and his fingers were slipping. As he fell, someone caught him. He caught a flash of his father's worried face, felt himself lifted and then nothing.
"Please... Daddy... I don't feel good."
Gibson noted that Martin's body sagged in relief. The breathing eased up and the sweating stopped. The eyes resumed their normal pattern, not frantically searching under the lids.
"Martin?"
"Yeah..."
"Are you alright?"
"Daddy, I want to go home, okay?"
"Is your father there?"
"Yeah, I'm dizzy... he's holding me... holding me... walking... walking."
"Good, that's good Martin. Where are you now?"
Martin licked his lips and blinked, eyeing the trees above his head. He heard a voice and turned to see his father. He was kneeling next to him, his face shocked and pale. He felt his father draw him up and hug him, holding him close. He felt that hand on his back and heard the words.
"It's okay, Dad..."
"What's okay, Martin. Tell me what you see."
"We're outside. I'm okay now. My dad's got me. He said he's sorry. He sure looks scared. We're gonna go home."
"Good, that's good. You rest now."
The doctor moved across the room, lifting the thermal mug of coffee he brought with him earlier. He ate a danish and watched the blue-eye fly peacefully sleeping. He reached into his bag and got out the tape he'd created from snippets of words from prior visits. He mixed in the dialogue from tonight's session and played it back. Satisfied at the forged effort, he slipped it out of the machine. Then he put the original tape back inside. Now the seeds would be watered and the doubts and fears would grow. He wiped his mouth, tossed the napkin away and resumed his mission.
"Martin?"
"Yeah?"
"You're back in the cave now."
"No..."
Martin tossed his head as the peaceful afternoon went dark. He was back on that ledge, cold and shivering. This time, there was no light. There was no strong hands to guide him to safety. He was all alone. His heart began to pump wildly and he began to choke.
"Look around you, it's dark and damp. The ceiling has dipped down, you need to crawl. The walls are so close they scrape your shoulders."
"No... no... please... can't... bre...athe..." he gasped, shuddering as the rocks scraped his body.
Martin struggled, frantically trying to escape. For every foot he got ahead it seemed the cave was shrinking. Panting and coughing, his fingers clawed at the dirt and rocks, needing to get out. There was no air or light... he was trapped!
"You're all alone Martin."
"No... my father's here. He'll f..f...find me." He managed, his voice small and unsure. His eyes blinked in the utter and final wall of blackness. He sought out that beam of yellow light. "Daddy?"
"He's gone Martin. He was ashamed of you remember? In the car he told you you were a coward. He's left you there."
"No... no..."
He smiled then, the tremble in the voice told him that first seeds were sprouting up. He leaned over, watching the damp features twist in geniune fear. It sent a thrill through his body.
"He can't hear you, Martin. He's gone. You failed him. You failed him, Martin, you're not good enough. You let him down. He was counting on you. You're weak Martin, full of doubt. You're not as good as the others. They're stronger and smarter. You're not good enough. You're afraid. You're so very afraid. You're full of shame and self-doubt."
Gibson watched the young man's spine seemingly melt into the couch. His whole body seemed to sag in defeat. The last of the seedlings was now in firm soil. All that was left was for the vines to grow and choke the life from him. He held his hand over the exposed throat and put pressure there. He watched the mouth gaping, sucking for air. So helpless, it filled him with a power surge. He retracted the hand and took his handkerchief out, wiping the unaware victim's features.
"Martin, I want you to remember a word for me. The word is Scorpion. Whenever you hear that word, you'll return to this moment. You'll feel insecure and worthless. You'll tremble with fear and be so full of fright you'll choke and sputter. You'll cower like a yellow dog. You'll have no control over this and your skill and ability as a federal agent will dissolve. You'll be a disgrace to your badge, full of guilt and remorse.You'll be drowning in your own lack of self-esteem. This will last five minutes, then it will disappear. Do you understand?" He waited for the head to bob. "Good. Now I'm going to count to five, Martin. When I get to five, you'll feel healthy and extremely full of energy. You'll be ready to take on all comers. You won't remember this discussion. One, two, three, four," he paused, standing and returning to his desk. "Five."
Martin sighed and opened his eyes. He blinked a few moments and sat up, turning his head slowly. Wearing a shy and almost sheepish mask, he eyed the doctor, who was writing notes. He felt great. He couldn't remember the last time he felt so good. He chuckled to himself, letting out some remnants of nervous energy. He gathered his thoughts as he slipped his shoes back on.
"So how did I do?"
"You barked quite well," Gibson teased, "How do you feel?"
"Great." Martin admitted, feeling his damp shirt. "Must have been a helluva workout."
"It was. You did exceptionally well." He put the tape into the machine. "We'll listen now and go over the session. Feel free to stop me at any time to ask questions."
"Okay," Martin rasped, rubbing his throat. "You got a coke in that box?"
"I think so," Gibson rose and pulled the small door to the refrigerator open. He took out a soda and handed it to thirsty patient.
"Thanks. Man am I dry. I must have spilled my guts good."
Martin sat enrapt watching the tiny wheels in the cassette recorder play. He couldn't believe the words that came from his mouth. But as he heard them, the pictures came back. He recalled the terror in the cave and the safe harbor afterwords. Why it remained buried all this time eluded him, but maybe that would come out later. Or maybe not. As the tape concluded, he eyed the doctor.
"Why did this happen to me?" He tossed the empty can away. "I mean, why did I bury that? It wasn't that bad."
"Perhaps the key lies in revisiting the scene of the last attack. Maybe there is something still buried inside, something even this therapy hasn't uncovered." He patted the young man's back. " Next week will be an extended session, a field trip as it were."
"Field trip?" Martin stood up and eyed the clock. "Ten-thirty? Jesus, I lost an hour and a half."
"No, you earned that sweat. It was a hard trip, but you clawed and fought back. That's why you feel so much better."
"Yeah, I guess," He reasoned, he did feel lighter, as if a weight was lifted. "What about this trip?"
"The last piece of the puzzle. You face your fear and conquer it once and for all. If there are any other beasts lurking inside, we'll slay them then. We'll be going back to that tunnel that you had our panic attack in with your partner."
Martin froze at the door, licked his dry lips and rubbed the back of his neck. He waited for the storm to descend again. Every time he thought about that day, he felt guilty. What if the kidnapper who took that nun through the tunnel had been in there? What if because of his flashbaack, Danny had been killed. But there was no choking fear or guilt. Instead, he felt a need to conquer, to squelch that force under his boot and destroy it.
"Okay, let's do it!" Martin thrust his hand out and shook the doctor's "Thanks, Doc. If someone had clued me in on this headshrinking business sooner..."
"I'll see you Monday morning. Your home is closer to the interstate. How about if we meet there?"
"Okay, 9 a.m.?"
"Fine, enjoy the rest of your day."
"More doctors." Martin nodded to Carmen in the outer office. "I'm getting wound therapy for my ankle and then I have to get bloodwork and see my doctor."
"Don't forget to eat!" Carmen scolded the handsome young man. "You and Danny... so wrapped up in your work..."
"Speaking of that weasel, he owes me lunch. I got my eye on a steak and beer." He called back from the door. "See you Monday, Doc."
"Oh it will be my pleasure," Gibson oozed, his blue eyes twinkling in devilish delight. His victim had no idea that Monday would bring the first blow in his fall from grace.
"Carmen, see if you can reschedule my eleven o'clock, I forgot an appointment I had."
"Okay," she pulled up the patient index. He had no afternoon appointments. "I've got some typing to catch up on. I'll lock up."
"Thank you, Carmen."
As he strode to his car, he pulled out his notebook and reviewed the list. He had a few finishing touches to get to and he wanted to double check everything. He pulled out of the parking lot, easing his Mercedes onto the road. Everything had to be perfect for Monday... the first day in the bloody war for vengeance.
"Did you understand what I said, Miss Smith?"
"Are you sure? I mean... maybe it was... there was a mistake?" Theresa stammered, her mind reeling .
"No, there is no mistake. You are almost eight weeks pregnant. Do your parents know?"
"Huh?" She choked, feeling the heat rising to her face.
"Your parents," the harried doctor inquired. "What about the father?"
The father?
The overworked, unsympathetic doctor at the clinic seem to fade away as the face of Pete Gibbons appeared. How could she have been so stupid? How could this happen? She couldn't even remember being intimate with him. You can't get pregnant from kissing and groping.
"Miss Smith?"
"Huh?" She blinked, sending the laughing face of the handsome quarterback away. "I'll uh... have to find him... I mean, he doesn't know I'm here... I uh... I... thanks..." She mumbled, stumbling from the examination table. "I'm fine... really..."
"Alright," he nodded, seeing the truth in her large brown eyes. Another girl who listened to some smooth talking Romeo who left her high and dry. "I'll leave you some vitamins and pamphlets about how to keep yourself healthy."
"Yeah, fine..." she cut him off, backing up to the cold chair near her clothes.
She dressed hurridly and fled the clinic. She picked a clinic across town in a seedy neighborhood where nobody knew her. She'd been as regular as clockwork getting her cycle since she was ten years old. When she missed the first one, she panicked but then told herself it was stress due to graduation. But the inner voice nagged her and then last week she missed the second one.
Gasping for breath, she finally stopped in a park. Across the expanse of green, she spotted a bright blue and yellow vendor's cart. Beyond it were some trees. She bought a soda from the vendor and held the cold can against her face. She caught a reflection of herself in the chrome trim on his card.
"Stupid cow," she whispered, turning away.
How could she have been such a fool? The 'stomach virus' that made her sick in the morning wasn't a flu bug. Those missed cycles weren't stress and deep down she'd known that. But how? She sat under a tree and sipped the cola, pondering on that question. Eight weeks. Eight weeks. Her mind went back in time. Her dark eyes darted back and forth, remembering another park and another tree.
"You bastard," she wept, "I believed you."
And she had.
The picnics in the park, that had to be it. Two weekends in a row, they had picnics in the park. They hiked for a bit through the dense woods and found a private spot by the river. He bought a whole picnic basket full of Italian gourmet meats, cheeses and bread. They had the same sweet homemade fruit cider that he brought to the movies. They kissed and she let him take her bra off and fondle her, it felt good. When he used his teeth and tongue it send electric shocks through her. But when his hand crept up between her legs and his fingers went inside her, she'd told him no. He pulled back and apologized.
"...ever the gentlemen.." she spat out in contempt.
How? How? She leaned against the tree and closed her eyes, trying to remember every minute of those two weekends. After they made out for awhile, he pulled out brownies. He claimed they were homemade, from a friend who was studying to be a chef. They were good, very rich and sweet. The next memory was of watching the sun set on the river. She'd taken a nap, or so he said. Then his ten week tenure for his course was up and he left for Syracuse. He promised he'd write and he was sure they'd stay 'good friends'.
She never got that letter, nor a reply to the ones she'd sent to him.
"How could you?" She vented, pounding the grass. She was such a idiot, believing his lies. He must have drugged her somehow. She didn't have to be back in class until Tuesday for graduation practice. Syrcause wasn't that far and he owed her an explanation. She rose, tossed the can away and headed for the bus depot.
The 'good' doctor paused and adjusted his designer sunglasses. It was a beautiful morning, the air was crisp and the golden sun seemed to shine only for him. The sky was a brilliant blue, just a shade deeper than the eyes of the unsuspecting fly. His smile broadened then, thinking of how the plan was unfolding perfectly. So many times he'd thought about this moment, but he'd not been prepared for the exhilaration racing through his bloodstream. It was better than being high. That brought out a snorted chuckle.
"I miss something?" Martin asked, eyeing the psychologist. The older man seemed almost giddy.
"No, just recalling a joke I heard on the radio this morning. Are you ready?"
"Yeah, sure," Martin spoke too quickly. "Why wouldn't I be?"
"No need to get defensive," Gibson sent back, just as Fitzgerald's cell phone rang. "I'll be down the path by the entrance. Take your time."
"Thanks," the recovering agent nodded. He blew out a long breath and hopefully some of his unsteady nerves. He'd been up half the night retracing the path he took both fateful trips. Although separated by a span of nearly twenty years, each gnawed at him equally. He had to crush that demon inside once and for all. He'd wanted this so bad he could taste it. The persistant phone drew him back.
"Hello?"
"T-minus sixty seconds and counting." Danny Taylor eyed the red digital numbers on the radio in his car as they turned to eight fifty-nine a.m..
"Something like that." Martin's breathing calmed down hearing his friend's voice. "What are you up to?"
"I'm comin' your way, partner," the dark-eyed agent countered of his trip to Our Lady of Grace "I'm meeting with security to go over the tapes and some old employee records. I can't figure out this sky though."
"Sky?" Martin glanced upwards.
"Yeah, it's clear as far as I can see," the upbeat voice returned.
"What are you looking for?" Martin quizzed.
"Butterflies!" Danny chirped. "I thought for sure I'd see hundreds of them with little H's on their wings."
"H's?" Martin puzzled. He knew Danny was going somewhere but couldn't figure out where.
"Harvards. A rare breed." Danny grinned as he turned off the interstate. "I heard there would be a herd of them escaping from somebody's stomach."
"A herd?" Martin wrinkled his nose and chuckled.
"Okay, so bugs aren't my speciality." Taylor shrugged. "Speaking of which, how's the leg?"
"Not bad, the doc says it'll be a week or so until it's fully healed."
"You'll do fine" Taylor heard the silence that followed very loudly. "You're gonna ace it!"
"From your lips to God's ear."
"Look, you took the first step, " Danny noted with a rise of pride. "That was the big one. You saw the mistake and fixed it. The rest is cake."
"I wish I was that sure." Martin saw the doctor pointing to his watch. "Guess it's liftoff."
"Then buckle up, spaceman." Taylor heard the long shaky breath in the phone. "...and ride!"
He wished it was that easy. That the confidence Danny was pumping through the phone would be enough fuel to take him there.
Danny was ready to hang up when he heard the soft call of his name. He put the phone back up to his ear.
"Yeah?"
"Thanks man..."
"You'll get my bill!" Danny chimed, flipping the phone off. He fingered the tiny gold cross that he wore under his shirt and eyed the sky through the windshield. "If you're not too busy... he needs this."
"Dammit!"
Vivian laughed as her partner jumped up and grabbed napkins from the discarded bag between them. The glazed doughnuts were long gone and the coffee was warm. They got a tip two days before that Frankie Machelli was back in town. A creature of habit, he usually had a bagful of doughnuts on his way to Sal's. They'd been in Atantic City all weekend, staking out the boardwalk spots that the youth often frequented.
"It's not funny, Viv!" Sam fired, brown eyes flashing.
"It is from here." The older agent smiled, "Isn't that supposed to be good luck?"
"For you maybe, you're not the one wearing seagull shit."
"You better get it all out," Johnson supplied, "It's a bitch to get out once it dries."
"Yuck it up!" Spade pulled out a water bottle from the bag and used what was left to douse the napkin, then the 'deposit' on her head. She quickly completed the task and tossed the bag away. She put her sunglasses on and craned her neck. "Hey, looks like our boy is getting his sugar fix."
"Let's rock and roll." Vivian got up and followed her blonde partner across the wooden boards, down the steps and onto the street.
Frankie slipped inside Mitzie's Sunshine Cafe and bopped up to the counter. He was trying to go clean but it was hard. He wouldn' be able to get his fix until later, so for now he'd settle for some sugar-coated gems right from Mitzie's oven.
"Hey Mac, gimme two glazed, two chocolate iced and two jellies to go," he issued impatiently, "Gimme a large coke too, extra ice on the side." He tossed a few bills down and took his breakfast items.
"You know that junk will rot your teeth."
"Huh?" Frankie turned around to see a very serious dark-skinned woman behind him. "Who are you the friggin' tooth fairy?"
"No," Vivian replied, pulling out her badge. "I'm the frigging FBI."
"Yeah," the dissheveled youth scoffed. "Good for you. Whatever turns you on, sister."
"How about me, Frankie?" Sam stood on the other side of the shifting young man.
"I know you?" Machelli eyed the attractive blond, lingering on her breasts. "No, I would have remembered you. Nice jugs."
"Sorry I can't say the same." Sam pushed the dropped jaw back up. "I'm sure once we're done with you, we'll be good friends." She moved her jacket to reveal a badge.
"Shit... I ain't done nuthin'" He twisted but found his path blocked.
"Good, then you won't mind talking to us about Jimmy Ray Hollis."
"Not much to tell... he's dead.." he shrugged, eyeing the door behind the persistant agents.
"Sit!" Vivian ordered, pointing to a vacant table.
"I look like a dog to you?" He snarled, taking a chair.
"You look like a junkie," Vivian eyed the nervous leg jumping under the table and the large amount of sugar disappearing into the coke.
"I'm clean..."
"Squeaky," Sam tossed out, "So tell us about Jimmy."
"What's to tell? He's stiff." He shruggged and picked up a cake.
"When did you last see him?" Vivian asked.
"Mmmph..." Frankie stuffed a half of the chocolate doughnut into his mouth. He took a large gulp, wiped his mouth and burped.
"Charming too," Sam said, "What more can a girl ask for?"
"Sunday," He nodded, recalling the day, "Yeah, him and his old lady were tossin' some back some Mickey D specials. I was down the boards. Time I caught up to him he was a little jumpy."
"Jumpy how? Did he say why?" Vivian demanded.
"Something about some old ghost comin' back to haunt him." He scarfed down another cake and took a swig of the overloaded drink.
"Who?" Sam asked.
"Dunno his name." Frank scrunched his face up and thought. "Some dude he used to work for years ago. A legal eagle, a real high-roller, always had a wad on him. Tipped great. Me and Jimmy always had real good party when he was working that dude."
"Is this the man?" Vivian showed the photo they had of David Hughes.
"Yeah... that's him. He was thinner then, no beard. But it's him. On paper, he was on the payroll of some of the casinos, keepin' them out of trouble. But he made his real money in New York on the blackmarket buyin' and sellin' kids."
"Kids?" Sam asked. "Blackmarket babies?"
"Yeah... It was a good setup. Jimmy knew the streets. He was a real sweet-talker." Frankie shoved another doughnut into his mouth and paused to chew it, before taking a large drink. "He'd have them knocked up chicks eatin' out of his hand. He'd get a list from the dude of what he needed and he'd go huntin'. He'd get his cut and they'd get taken care of. The dude had a big house, he said, with nurses and all kinds of shit. He'd feed 'em, keep' em healthy until they dropped the little bastard out."
"Do you know where the house was?" The blonde agent pressed.
"No... Jimmy only told me about it once. In North Jersey I think... I dunno."
"This man left a message on his voicemail about a meeting at the corral. Do you know where that is?" Vivian asked.
"Was." Frankie wiped his hands. "It burned down a couple years back. A dive off the turnpike. One of them country western bars. It was in the middle of nowhere. Nothing left now but an empty lot."
"Is there anything else you can tell us about this man?"
"Well... might be nuthin'." Frankie took a drink and frowned. "Jimmy was shook up so bad that day because he thought he'd never see that dude again. A ghost, you know. The dude was gone for a few years and the bang, he's in his ear again."
"Did Jimmy have something that belonged to him? Maybe information or ... pictures ..." Sam tried to push his memory. "Something that would bring the guy all the way back here to seek him out?"
"Jimmy knew a lot of shit... he could have buried that guy." Frankie drained his soda. "He seen things... didn't talk about it much. Some of them girls changed their minds. Nobody ever heard from them again."
"Okay." Vivian slipped her card over the table. She stood and leaned over the nervous young man. "You listen to me, Frankie. This man we're after, Hughes, is a very bad 'dude'. If he killed Jimmy and he knows about you..."
"I can take care of myself," Frankie spouted.
"You call us... if you see him, hear from him or remember anything. There's a little girl's life at stake." Johnson kept her intense stare on him until he nodded.
"Yeah... yeah ...okay..." Machelli took the card and watched the two women leave.
"So where's that leave us?" Sam slipped into the passenger side of the car while Vivian dialed Jack. "He wouldn't come back after three years just to silence Hollis. He wouldn't bring the little girl."
"Jimmy wasn't blackmailing him." Vivian listened for Jack to pick up. "From all accounts he was too shook up when he heard his voice on that message."
"Unless somebody else was... maybe somebody else contacted Hughes. Maybe one of the relatives of one of those girls that didn't make it out of the delivery room," Spade theorized.
"That's a long list." Vivian shook her head as Malone's voicemail came on. "Jack, it's Vivian. We're headed back to Manhattan. We found Frankie and got some new information. I'll update you later."
"We're missing something," Sam pondered as they turned towards the highway. "Why would Hughes seek Hollis? Why would he bring Abby with him?"
"Well," Vivian said, "Frankie said Jimmy knew the streets. Maybe you're right, maybe somebody was gunning for Hughes and he wanted to hire Hollis to find out who."
"I think we need to push the DMV to find out where Mister Harrison moved." Sam pulled the sunvisor down. "He's got to be considered. Abby's disappearance broke up his marriage. He lost his family, got despondant. Maybe he had a private eye looking all this time. That could be what drove Hughes out of hiding in London."
"Maybe." Vivian thought back. "But I don't think so. He didn't seem the type."
"There is no 'type'," Spade disagreed. "Not when it comes to a grieving parent's loss."
Martin felt like a kid on his first trip to Disney World. Every stinking crevice and damp corner of the cave looked like the Magic Kingdom to him. His strides were firm and true. His heart was normal, his breathing was fine and he felt great. There were no drums in his ears or a jackhammer in his chest. There was no river of cold sweat pouring from every pore on his body. There was no heart attack-like pain or quivering limbs.
It mattered not when the walls closed in and they had to turn sideways to get through. He pushed onward without missing a step. Even when they had to duck and crawl through the tinest of spaces, he felt like he was a mole. He pushed right through and never looked back. Not even when the walls of the cave pressed his back and chest did he as much as flinch.
Gone
Vanished
Destroyed.
"Damn..." He whispered, feeling his chest expand in glee. "It worked. It really worked."
He sailed into the sunshine. A cocky grin was born as he strode with confidence past the concrete bench by the bushes where he threw up and almost passed out the last time. He formed a fist and crossed it in front of him.
"YES!" he triumphed, then fingered the badge clipped to his belt. It never shone brighter or felt better. Without proving his meddle, beating the beast that had unwittingly lurked inside for all these years, he might not have had a future in the Bureau.
Gibson watched the younger man's excitement, he was practically glowing. He knew that the stricken agent would pass without fail. He'd planned it that way. A smile tugged his lips when he thought of the return trip through the cave. He'd planned that path as well.
"Martin?"
"Yeah?" He turned back and approached the tall, sturdy man. He held his hand out and nearly winced at the grip. "Thanks, I really owe you. If anyone had every told me... If I'd have known sooner..."
"It's done, no need for that," Gibson dismissed, clapping the blue-eye fly's back. "If you're ready, we'll return the way we came. I have several appointments back at the office."
"Let's do it!" Martin reentered the cave then boasted with a confident grin. "Piece of cake."
"To be sure," the doctor agreed, wearing an evil smile
They were nearly through the return trip when villian paused. He waited until his prized lab rat was turned sideaways, just inching through a narrow gap. Once the young man passed through, he pulled his cell phone out and dialed the agent.
"Hello?" Martin answered.
"Scorpion." Gibson said and watched as Act I finished in all it's finery.
He stood over the young man who dropped the phone and went to his knees. Terrified blue eyes roamed wildly, like a rat caught in a trap. The breathing was labored, sweat began to form and the slim body trembled in fear.
"No... no... please..." Martin managed, so choked by terror unknown that he couldn't breathe.
Words echoed in his head, the mantra causing his already quivering heart to nearly shatter.
You're worthless. You're nothing. You're a coward. You're afraid. They'll hurt you. They'll make you bleed. You're a worm. They'll step on you. Cower and shake spineless cretin. You're nothing... nothing... nothing..."
"Surpurb!" the evil doctor beamed, watching his prey come entirely unglued.
The blue-eyed fly was turtled up, covering his head and mumbling 'go way' and begging. He gazed at his watch and true to the plan at precisely five minutes, it was over. He felt like he'd swallowed the canary when Fitzgerald stood up, shook his head and blinked, then continued on as if nothing happened.
"Outstanding!" he exuded, stooping to pickup the cellphone. "Martin?"
"Yeah Doc?" he turned back and saw the other man holding his phone.
"You dropped this." Gibson handed it over. "You wouldn't want to lose it."
"No... hey thanks." Martin nodded and resumed his trip. "I'm starving. I need to eat, I'm getting shakey."
"You didn't eat breakfast?" the doctor suggested, although he knew the spiked water the young man drank was responsible.
"No, I was too nervous." Martin ducked outside and lifted his face to the waiting sun. "I feel like Adam on day one, you know?"
"I do," Gibson patted the young man's back. "You sure you'll be okay? I hate to leave if you're unsure or unsteady."
"Hell yeah, I'm meeting Danny here. I haven't felt this good since...well I don't know..." the 'cured' agent grinned ."Like I could take on Ali and Frasier."
"Good. I'll see you on Wednesday morning. I'll need some information to finish up your report."
"You're gonna okay it, right?" Martin fretted of the final leg of the report that would complete his treatment.
"What do you think?" Gibson grinned.
"I think Wednesday gonna be a great day!"
"Oh if you only knew just how big." Gibson thought as his grin widened. "Until then."
"Sure thing Doc, thanks!" Martin watched the other man drive off and he dialed his phone.
"Taylor."
"I made it," Martin gushed, "I'm on the moon, man!"
"I never doubted it." Danny grinned, pushed the chair back and listened to the euphoria sail through the phone.
"You should have been here. It was unbelievable. We crawled, we climbed, the fuckin' wall was kissin' me... I never felt better. I felt like Superman."
"I don't know about that," Danny chuckled "Your legs are way too skinny for blue tights."
"So how soon can you get here?" The anxious agent inquired. "I want you to see... if it wasn't for you..."
"Hey, my name isn't Thomas," Taylor noted of the apostle that needed to touch. "I believe you... and I'm proud of you, man."
Martin didn't reply right away. He sat down on a chair outside the front door of the old barracks. He drank in the words spoken and stowed them away carefully. The word unspoken was the one he held onto, turning it over and basking in the glow it gave off. When Danny said 'I believe you' what he heard was 'I believe in you'. That one skinny preposition made all the difference. He felt it's power coursing through him and it stole his breath.
"Hey, you okay Clark?" Danny teased. "What happened? Them tight-assed red pants givin' you a wedgie?"
"Pants?" Martin recovered, swallowing hard and shifting the phone. "I fly commando."
"There's a pretty picture," Taylor laughed.
"I'm starving."
"What else is new?" Danny shook his head " You eat more shit than any five people I know. How you keep a thirty-one inch waist is beyond me."
"Under cover work at night... burns a ton of calories." Martin shot back.
"Superman huh?" Taylor sat up. "So that's why Lois Lane was always late for work. All that work under the covers."
"Hey, can you get away? Isn't there a roadhouse near here with loaded burgers?"
"Is that sound I hear your wallet opening?" Danny stood up. "You head back this way, I'll meet you out front in ten minutes."
Lunch went down easy. Loaded burgers, poppers, cheesefries and a pitcher of iced tea were soon consumed. Danny just sat back and listened to Martin run his mouth. He knew the rookie was burning off nervous energy. He knew how scared Martin had been of failing this test. He'd not only passed, he'd aced it. Finally the dark secret that had been pushed too far into hiding by the elder Fitzgerald had been purged.
"Now that's what I call lunch." Martin choked on his drink.
Danny sat up and cast his eyes on a very shapely brunette that entered the eatery. Close to six feet tall and wearing a body made on Mount Olympus, the blackjacket parted to reveal a plunging neckline in a tight red sweater.
"You drank a lot of tea." Taylor stood and moved in front of where Fitzgerald was sitting. "You better hit the bathroom."
"I look that blind to you?" Martin moved to his feet and shoved the owl-eyed agent aside. He too couldn't help stare at the beauty walking their way. "Besides, she's giving me the eye."
"Then you are blind," Danny countered. "Fair haired boys tend to be weak. The real treat is with the darker meat, for it is the most sweet."
"Thought of that all by yourself Taylor?" Martin grimaced. "Somewhere Hallmark executives are jumping off bridges."
"You had your chance, my man," the dark-eyed poet oozed, flexing his chest and putting on his best grin. "Now you're gonna get shot down in flames."
His smiled faded when the statuesque beauty waltzed by him without a second glance. His irritation increased when the blue-eyed devil next to him began laughing so hard he nearly choked. He turned back long enough to cuff the now choking man on the side of the head.
"Well there goes your 'dark meat' theory," Martin wheezed, wiping his eyes. "Could be I need some seasoning, but that guy goes way beyond where white ends."
"He's got to be eighty." Danny astounded, then made a sour face. "Aw shit, here comes my lunch up."
"She's gonna suck the tongue right out of him," Martin spoke of the passionate kiss the lovely lady bestowed on her elderly date. "Nothing wrong with the old guy's hand."
"You had to mention that?" Danny turned away as the woman sat down and the gnarled old hand snaked up her inner thigh.
"You never had a chance, buddy," Martin draped a brotherly arm on the dejected man's shoulder. "He's got more zeros in his bank account than either of us will ever see. Besides, she's too tall for you"
"Not from where I'm standing." Danny shook his head. "Smothered between them two soft pillows..." he sighed. "I can't thinnk of a better way to die."
Unaware that they were being observed, the two young man continued to enjoy their lunch. They laughed, joked and celebrated. Outside on the patio, far from their unsuspecting gaze sat the hungry hunter.
Gibson watched and found his own smile, his euphoria nearly spilling over. He lifted a glass of red wine and kept his eyes trained on Martin Fitzgerald.
"Enjoy your moment in the sun, Mister Fitzgerald," he toasted. "You have forty-eight hours until your apocalypse begins." He moved the glass then, watching Danny Taylor's handsome face through the ruby juice of the grape. "Blood red..." he prophesied.
Prelude | Page 1 | Page 2 | Page 3 | Page 4 | Page 5 | Page 6 | Page 7 | Page 8 | Page 9 | Page 10 | Page 11 | Page 12 | Page 13 | Page 14 | Page 15 | Page 16 | Page 17 | Page 18 | Page 19 | Page 20 | Page 21 | Page 22 | Page 23 | Page 24 | Page 25 | Page 26 | Page 27 | Page 28 | Page 29 | Page 30 | Page 31
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