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.
"So you wait here for the lab crew." Danny turned to nod to the deputy who'd been waiting when he arrived. "Quinn, you're with me. Sheriff Yates is sending some men to the river?"
"Yeah, they're meeting the coast guard up river near the base," the young deputy returned.
"Okay, Taylor, if you're sure you don't need me," the security guard stated.
"No, I know the way. We're good." Danny turned to a very pensive Martin Fitzgerald. The young agent had said little to nothing during the last half of the trip and their short walk to security. The dark-eyed agent had a nagging feeling something wasn't quite right. His partner's pensive expression dictated that clearly. "You okay?"
"Yeah," Martin rasped, trying to convince himself as well.
He needed to do this. Despite all his mental lists why he should turn around and drive back now, his gut told him different. All the logical explanations and rationale didn't outweigh that need inside; the want that now gnawed at him to prove to Danny Taylor he was cured. And he wasn't a fragile, sweating, convulsing pile of nerves inside tight quarters. He was dependable and he could watch his partner's back. He had to do it; he had to show his partner his mettle was made of the same stuff. He blinked and looked up and found the other agent gone. He trotted to the security door and followed the same path he took that fateful night. He walked towards the trail to the woods and realized he'd have to pick up his pace. Danny and the other lawman were walking much faster than he could. His leg wasn't 100% yet and he felt the pressure from pushing too hard already. The injured area beginning began to throb and he heard the doctor's warning about the slow-healing tissue damage echoing again.
He stopped for a moment, leaning against a tree while breathing heavily. As he allowed his leg and lungs to recover, he thought on of all the logical reasons he would give Danny when he did catch up. Taylor would be pissed, but he'd handle that. It was more important to do this; to finally prove to himself with his partner by his side that he wasn't that broken man they'd last encountered. After gathering his breath, he was able to continue. By the time he got to the prison, he was still alone. He took a deep breath and entered.
He felt good, no nerves jumping around and no jitters.
Confidence reigned supreme and he continued his trek. He reached the rusty iron ring that with one pull opened the door to the secret cavern. The musty air kissed his face hungrily and he pushed onward. He heard echoes of movement ahead and quickened his pace. The walls narrowed and he had to duck under some low areas, the darkness enveloped him totally and the walls hugged his shoulders.
He felt good.
He crawled through a low entry point and saw legs ahead. Finally, he'd caught up.
"Danny!"
Taylor turned and squinted and wished he hadn't. He flashed his light and saw Fitzgerald approaching and he chuffed out a breath of annoyance. His hands snaked to his slim hips and his dark eyes were full of anger. The look on the other man's face had him puzzled. Martin looked like the rookie running back who wanted to replace the starter in the fourth quarter with time running out and the game on the line. Martin stopped a few feet away, by now limping badly. The blue eyes shifted to the deputy, clearly not wanting the other man there for whatever had to be said. The dark-eyed agent shook his head and turned back.
"It's okay, it's my partner Martin Fitzgerald," Danny dismissed the concern. "You go ahead to meet those fishermen. I'll be right behind you."
"Okay, Agent Taylor," Quinn nodded and left quickly, taking a narrow exit between two cave walls.
"I outta bust you good for this!" Danny's fury rose with every word and fisted hand. "What the hell are you doing here? You should be on the Interstate, heading back. You're on duty, remember?"
"Not until I turn the papers over," Martin hedged, but his gaze was strong and true. He felt good, damn good and he knew he was right. He couldn't deny the strong force inside him compelling him to do this. "I'm going with you," he said and put a hand up before Danny's irate face could launch a protest. "I have to do this, Danny. A part of me ..." he tapped his lean gut, "in here... it's like a rat is chewing its way out. It's always going to be there unless I show you... I need you to know I got your back."
"Look, you don't owe me a thing. You did this with that doctor, you're all healed now." Taylor knew better. He knew as soon as he made the mistake of looking right into Martin's tell-tale eyes he'd already lost the battle. He could stand here and argue until he was blue in the face, but it wouldn't change anything; he knew the determined terrier would follow anyhow. "Okay, it's your dime.".
Martin exhaled slowly, letting his tension escape. Then he limped onward, seeking out his partner. He kept close, guarding the other man's back. He knew Danny was pissed off at him but he'd get over it. By the time they got through the tunnel, Danny would be headed for the crime scene. His anger would dissolve. He was too good at his job to let it get in the way of an investigation. They were entering the crucial part of the cave. It was very near the place where he'd had his collapse. The walls were at their narrowest and they had to turn sideways to get through. He saw the taller man pause briefly and cast a semi-worried profile back at him.
"I'm fine," Martin said in a very upbeat voice. "No jackhammer in my chest, no trembles... not even any sweat."
Danny didn't reply. He was too angry. He did believe Martin the other day when the doctor had taken him through this place as the final key in the lock. Once that key fit and turned, it opened the door and let those long festering demons out. He saw the change in the other man's face, step and voice. But he didn't need a relapse, not today when there was key evidence waiting for him to examine. The sound of a phone ringing jarred him slightly, causing him to pause. They had just come through a narrow area into a space about fifteen to twenty feet square. Two tunnels channelled into different directions. One was covered with debris and unfamiliar to him. The other was the one that led to the river, which he had used before. He turned slightly to see Martin putting his phone to his ear.
"Fitzgerald," Martin said and then one whispered word slide into his ear. It caused his spine to dissolve, his will to evaporate and his faith to escape as a horrid cold fear consumed him.
"Scorpion"
"Who..." Danny's sentence was broken when something stung the back of his neck.
It all happened at once. Taylor felt his senses slowing to a snail's pace and he dropped to his knees. He saw Martin's face go blank for a second before the cell phone left his hand fell to the ground. Then the other man dropped like a rock. His dark eyes narrowed in a combination of surprise, fear and trepidation. Martin was curled up in fetal position, his hands over his head. He seemed to be moaning. The words 'I told you so' formed in his mind but the chastising phrase never made it to his lips. He couldn't speak. His tongue seemed to too big for his mouth. He wondered briefly about what kind of bug had bitten him. He couldn't recall ever having an allergic reaction like this. A blunt force of pressure to the center of his back caused him to fall onto his face. He was turned halfway over and a hand took his gun from his shoulder holster. He blinked slowly, his heart seemed to slow down and his breathing was labored. Then a dark shadow appeared on the wall where his now discarded flashlight had cast an eerie glow.
"...the hell... are..." Danny slurred, unable to move to protect his fallen partner.
With Herculean effort, Taylor rolled onto his side and forced his numbing body to his knees. His mind urged him to stand but he just couldn't. He had no motor coordination. He blinked slowly, clinging desperately to consciousness. The images were becoming distorted, like garish slow moving photos from a Twilight Zone episode. He saw a gloved hand drop what appeared to be a tranquilizer gun into a large bag. The leering face seemed to be on a body ten feet tall. The clean shaven head on the giant and the icy eyes only made him seem more ominus.
"I'm the gatekeeper, Mister Taylor," Gibson approached the drugged agent and tapped the slack jaw. He pulled the dart out and grinned. "Welcome to Hell."
A thin line of drool was already decorating his chin. The drug would work quickly, but not too fast for Taylor to realize what had been done. Gibson saw the dark eyes shifting to Martin Fitzgerald and left the prisoner long enough to kneel by the gasping blue-eyed lab rat.
"...shhh...ooo... t...emmmm... Mur...tt...t...n...." Danny slurred, his angry eyes watching the stranger caressing Martin's now wet face.
"He can't hear you, Mister Taylor," Gibson oozed, enjoying the trembling mass of flesh beneath his touch. "He's an excellent student, my prize specimen I"ve been working on him for weeks now."
"...no... no... please..." Martin choked. "...don't... hurt... me... no... no..."
"...f...f....f...a....c....k....." Danny cursed, realizing his partner had been the unwilling victim of a madman's plot.
"Ah, I see there is a bit of light still working in your quickly numbing brain. I'm sure you recall your earlier trip through this very area." He paused to pet Fitzgerald's damp head, getting the whimper and terrified eyes that he needed. He picked up the discarded cell phone and tucked it back into Fitzgerald's pocket. "The terrified blue-eyed rat's collapse... it was my doing. He'll be the star of the show. When the final act is completed, justice will have been served. The guilty party will be dead and poor Mister Fitzgerald not soon after. By his own hand, of course, " he predicted, enjoying the look of burning hatred that Taylor was emoting. "Guilt is such a terrible thing, it does horrid things to a man's soul. Survivor's guilt can be very painful, even fatal. He will be the lone survivor and the blood of his beloved team will be a stain he can remove by only one course of action."
"...k...k...k...i...lll... y..y...y...o...u...." Danny predicted, his thick tongue protesting.
"Such fire, I do admire that," Gibson said, turning back to the shivering lab rat.
While Danny's body was quickly turning to jelly, his mind was full of fire. He didn't know who the stranger was or what caused him to act upon this cold hearted murder plot. It didn't matter. If the madman wanted him dead, he'd have used a gun or knife by now. So whatever he had planned involved him remaining alive. That meant he had a chance for escape. He would wipe that smirk from the evil man's face. He'd pay for what he'd done to Martin Fitzgerald. Danny Taylor vowed that and with the little strength he had left, launched his body at the other man.
"I am afraid I underestimated you," Gibson said, rubbing the side of his face where it hit the rough wall.
Taylor was on his knees, drool running from his now rubbery lips. The eyes were glazed and heavy; the breathing was labored. He was swaying badly but his gaze was on his fallen partner. Gibson watched fascinated as the dark-eyed man's cloudy eyes went to Fitzgerald's chest.
"Ah, the gun," The evil doctor chuckled and let the prisoner make his weak attempt. He stepped behind him as twice Taylor lurched and flopped, finally landing near Fitzgerald. The arm was useless, flopping badly and hitting Fitzgerald's hip.
"You have more heart than I anticipated," Gibson noted, eyeing the quivering Fitzgerald. "Martin, Danny needs you. He's hurt and it's your fault. You failed him in his time of need. You remember that! You failed him! He called to you to defend him and you cowered like a yellow dog. He's lying out there full of bullet holes... because of you!"
"No... Danny..." Martin choked, sitting up.
"...huh... huh... herrrre...." Danny tried, unnerved by the blank face and especially the unblinking blue eyes. Whoever this guy was he was good. Martin was unaware of anything but his voice.
"Go to him... hurry... before he dies. It's your fault, you remember that. Danny's not here and it's all your fault. So consumed by terror and shame, you cannot speak. Seek him out silently. He's out in those woods."
"...n...nooo...oooooo..." Danny cried out, as Martin staggered past him to a part of the tunnel they hadn't explored before. He didn't even know where it went.
"I'm sorry but I'm afraid I'm pressed for time and you're not complying." Gibson hauled the drugged younger man up by the back of the collar and slammed his face into the cave wall. "Sweet dreams..."
Danny wasn't aware of his body being put into a large duffel bag. He didn't feel the huge man haul him over his shoulder and follow that the same path that Martin Fitzgerald had taken. He didn't hear the cocky man whistling as they strode through a dense part of the woods. He was not aware when that path met it's its end to a dirt road. He didn't feel his body being tossed into the trunk. He was lost in a dark black void, floating in a numbing sea while he was being driven down a path into a nightmare world.
Jack was on his cell phone with Vivian getting an update on the Harrison case when the static filled line on Helen Bacon's desk finally cleared.
"Hold on Viv." He paused, cocking his head and watching the silver-haired woman bend over the speaker on the phone.
"Mister Colon, can you hear me?"
"Si... yes... Ma'am..."
"Vivian I gotta go, I'll check back with you."
Jack closed his phone and wheeled the chair back across the room. He pulled up next to the desk and picked up his pen.
"Good." She sighed, "Mister Colon, my name is Helen Bacon. I work for the State Department in New York City. I'm here with Jack Malone of the F.B.I. We have some questions about Father Paulo and Sister Michael."
"Yes... I know them..."
"Mister Colon, do you know if Father Paulo will be released? Have you heard any rumors?" Jack pressed.
"I have heard..." There was a burst of static before the voice came back. "...government... exchange. He is well... for now."
"Good, that's good," Helen said. "About Sister Michael, can you tell us about her?"
Jack winced as another burst of static broke up most of the sentence. He wrote down the words that did come over the line.
"...lovely woman... truly... God's... angel... miss... her..."
"When is the last time you saw her?" Jack hollered into the phone.
"...many... months... summer... brother visited... upset... her... sad... cry..."
"What?" Jack in frustration smacked the static-filled machine. "A brother? What's his name? What did he look like? Colon? Can you hear me?"
"I'm sorry, Jack, we lost it again. He's in a very remote area. They're forwarding it through his sister's home."
"Yeah... yeah..." Jack kicked the desk leg in frustration. "Dammit! That could have been our first real lead."
"The brother?" Helen frowned.
"She doesn't have a brother, she had no family." Malone's dark eyes were glaring. "This guy is tied to her disappearance, I can feel it," he predicted, not knowing just how true those words were.
"Sheriff Yates?"
"Yeah." The county official jumped off the coast guard boat onto the bank. He approached the two fishermen, nodding to the older one who addressed him. He noted his deputy was taking photos and notes where the white garment was still lying in the water.
"Where's Taylor?" the sheriff asked his deputy. "Right behind me," he turned and eyed the empty path that led to the exit of the cave. "We got about half way through and his partner came charging in. Some guy named Fitzgerald, he seemed upset about something. Taylor told me to head down here."
"Partner?" Yates whipped out his cellphone and the card with Taylor's number. He dialed and got no reply. "I don't like it, he's not answering. Quinn, you got the number for security?"
"Yeah," the deputy tucked his camera away and pulled out his cellphone. "Kennedy? This is Deputy Quinn from the county. Did Taylor or his partner come back there?" He shook his head at his boss. "No? Can you check the monitor? I left Taylor about halfway through and he never arrived. Yeah... I'll hold."
Yates was examining the scene when the F.B.I.'s forensic team arrived via an NYPD boat. Four technicians got off the boat, each toting a bag of equipment. A woman in the front gave some orders and clearly was the agent in charge.
"Sheriff Yates," he offered along with his hand.
"Sue Lennon, where's Taylor?"
"We don't know. He and my deputy," he nodded to the young man on the phone, "left Security together and made their way over there through the shortcut in the prison. Halfway through the underground tunnel, his partner showed up. Taylor told Quinn to head over here. That was about a half-hour ago."
"They didn't come back the way we came," Quinn ambled over closing his cell phone. "Security tape has us entering and Fitzgerald following a little later. But nobody as of now has exited that way. I'm gonna head back through the tunnel. Something happened to them."
"Yeah, okay, you let me know!" Yates ordered, scrubbing a hand over his face. "I don't like this..."
"I wouldn't want to be in your shoes if they don't turn up," Lennon added as she turned back.
"How's that?" Yates asked.
"You're the lucky soul who gets to call Jack Malone."
"Shit!" The sheriff kicked the rocks by his foot. He pulled out his phone to call the supervisor of the missing men then decided to wait until his deputy phoned. He didn't have long to wait before his radio came on.
"No sign of them," Quinn reported from the prison. "I have two security guards with me. What's the call?"
"You looked good? Any signs of an accident? Anything at all?"
"Nothing..." Quinn relayed.
"Okay, you and those two guards start searching. If they didn't come out either way, there has to be another tunnel you missed. I'll send a couple men into the woods from this end. Check in!"
"Will do!" Quinn agreed, "Let's go. Where do we start?"
While his deputy and the two guards studied an old map and began to outline a plan, the unlucky sheriff pulled out Taylor's card and scanned the numbers listed. Taking a deep breath, he dialed Jack Malone.
"Dammit!" Jack hissed impatiently when yet another attempt to contact the man in Costa Rica ended in static. "I got a meeting with the D.A's office in a half-hour for a trial this week. I gotta go. If you get through, ask him about that man. If whatever he told her caused her to get that emotional..."
"She led a rather sheltered life. If it's not a family member, who could it be?" Bacon wondered. "An old flame? By Colon's words the man was American."
"Why would she lie?" Jack asked, rising and putting his jacket on. "Tell them he was her brother? What was she hiding?"
"...or who was she hiding from? Perhaps she felt threatened by this man?"
Before Jack could reply, his phone rang.
"Malone."
"This is Sheriff John Yates with the county. I was supposed to meet your Agent Taylor down here by an offshoot of the Hudson River near Our Lady of Grace..."
"Yeah, he left here about twelve-thirty or so, why?" Jack interrupted.
"Well there's a problem..."
"What kind of problem?" His interior radar kicked up and the word 'trouble' began to blink in red letters. "Is Danny okay?"
"When was the last time you spoke with him?" Yates delayed.
"Not since he left..." Jack frowned. "Quit fuckin' around, Yates. What's going on?"
"I'm afraid your agents seem to be missing. We're doing everything to find them. I've got men combing the woods and I'll call the State Troopers and get some additional help. My deputy and the security team are going back through the tunnel to see if they somehow got lost."
"Hold it!" Jack roared, backtracking. "What do you mean 'agents'? Danny was alone."
"He was when they left. He and my man were halfway through the tunnel when Taylor's partner caught up to them."
"Partner?" he managed through clenched teeth already seeing a familiar face. The very image of Fitzgerald brought on a headache.
"Yeah... a Fitzgerald..." He paused when he heard a very odd sound resound in his ear "Quinn, my deputy, said that this other guy was upset. Taylor sent him ahead and that's the last we saw him."
"I'll kill him!" Jack vented, punching the wall. "Stupid... stubborn... Dammit Fitzgerald!"
"Security tapes have them entering but not exiting. They didn't come this way. They could be just down an old tunnel or maybe they got lost and ended up in the forest on the other side."
"You try his phone?" Malone asked.
"No answer."
"Okay," Jack eyed his watch. "You get more men in that cave. I want every rock turned over. If we can't find them inside, I'll get a chopper authorized; we'll need one with all those trees."
"Listen, I'm sorry about this," Yates apologized.
"Not your doing," Malone dismissed, "Gimme your number..." He jotted it down and then flipped the phone off.
"What's wrong?" Helen asked.
"Danny and Martin are missing... something about that damn cave. They went inside and never came out. Do you have Mannion's phone number?"
"Dennis?" She flipped through a roledex. "Yes. I guess you won't be meeting with the D.A today."
"No," he said, taking the phone from her. After the short conversation ended, he punched Danny's phone number. He was about to hang up, when the ringing stopped. He was by the elevator and paused, closing off one ear to cut down on the outside noise. "Hello? Danny? Danny!"
Martin jerked and almost dropped the phone. He was covered in sweat and his face stung. He opened his mouth to speak but no words came out. He was lying in the dirt in the middle of a forest. He forced his body up into a sitting position and fell back against a tree. He blinked hard and stared at the terrain, but had no idea where he was or how he got here. His mind began to spin at an increasing speed, making him dizzy and sick. Sweat poured down his face and his chest hurt. His heart was beating wildly and he couldn't catch his breath. His eyes darted back and forth like balls spinning in a pinball machine. Questions exploded in brilliant colors within his state of panic.
Where was he? What happened? Why couldn't he remember?
He heard a disembodied voice and stared dumbfounded at the phone in his palm. He put it to his ear and flinched when his partner's name was screamed at him.
"Danny! It's Jack. Can you hear me?" Malone waited but could only hear the odd breathing
Jack
That brought an angry face to his mind's eye. Jack was mad at him. Jack was going to skin him alive. He'd done something very wrong. His eyes darted and he tried to remember. He shut them, blocking out the voice on the phone. He fought hard to bring up any memory at all. He saw Danny beside him in a car on the highway. He pushed harder trying to see what had happened next but the screen went black. The voice was hollering again.
Talk to him. Tell him you need help. Tell him what you did to Danny.
He cocked his head, puzzled at the last statement. What about Danny? Where was Danny? His frantic eyes swept over the dense landscape. Trees, grass, rocks, dirt and vines were all around him. But his partner was not here. He tried to call out, but no voice emerged. Not even as much as a croak. It was hard to breathe and he was cold. He was so cold he was shivering and his teeth were chattering.
Another voice interrupted; a dark, menacing voice echoing of Lucifer.
Remember it's your fault. He needed you. He was bleeding. Dying. Reaching out for your help. You deserted him. You failed. Failed... failed...
Then the picture exploded in his head. An image so ghoulish it caused him to drop the phone as bile rose. He gagged and coughed but no vomit came up. Just the image of Danny's body riddled with bullets, one hand reaching out.
"N...n...n...o...o..." he whispered. "God no."
Jack froze and furrowed his brows. That wasn't Danny. That was Martin's voice. It was barely audible but definitely Fitzgerald. He heard distant sounds of what appeared to be moaning or sobbing. But the voice wasn't close to him. Martin must not be holding the phone anymore.
"Martin? Pick up the phone... Martin! Shit!" Malone aired his frustration, then a thought occurred to him.
He swung his head around and saw a businessman approaching. He eyed the small black leather pouch on the man's waist, pulled out his badge and held it up in front of the man.
"Yo! Hold it. F.B.I. I need that phone."
"Excuse me?"
"Give me your damn phone!" Jack hollered, shoving his hand into the man's chest.
The startled man complied and dialed Martin's number. Sure enough on the third note, the ringing stopped. He listened hard and the same frantic breathing came into his ear.
"Martin? Martin! Is that you?"
"J...j....j..." He pushed, sucking up air. "...a...c...k..."
"Yeah, it's me, Martin. Are you hurt? Is Danny with you? Where are you?"
"Danny?" Martin gasped, seeing the dead body again. "Oh God... Jesus... Danny... I'm sorry... it's my fault"
"Christ!" Jack vented, raking his free hand through his hair. "Fitzgerald snap out of it!" he roared. "You and Danny were in the cave by the nursing home. You never came out. Where the Hell is Taylor?"
"I don't know! Stop screaming at me! Just stop!" Martin blurted, clenching his eyes shut and rocking back and forth, trying to quell the pain in his gut. "... failure... failure... he needed... me... yellow..."
Malone didn't try to make any sense out of the young agent's prattle. He sighed in frustration and tried in vain to get the shocked man to speak with some clarity.
"Martin, stop babbling!" he thundered. "Listen to me. Where are you? There are cops there. They'll find you. Understand? Are you inside or out?
"Trees..." Martin rasped, "...woods..."
"Okay, good, that's good," Jack encouraged. "Is Danny with you?"
"Danny?" Martin's throat closed and he nearly choked as if invisible hands were strangling him. "N...o... gone... I don't know... I can't... I don't..."
"Okay," Jack sighed hard. "Do you have your gun?
"Yeah..." He patted his shoulder.
Jack kept Martin on his right ear and dialed Yates with the other. A worried voice picked up on the first ring.
"Yates."
"It's Malone. I got Fitzgerald. He's not making any sense. I don't know if he's got a head injury or he's sick. Could even be shock. He's in the woods somewhere and he's alone. I'm going to have him fire two shots in the air. You track 'im, okay?"
"Yeah. Gimme a minute to update my men. Then have him shoot."
"Martin? You still with me?" Malone asked.
"Here."
"Okay," Jack kept his eyes on his watch. "I want you to take your gun out and fire two shots in the air. Can you do that?"
"Yeah..." Martin whispered. He put the phone down and took his weapon out.
The echo of the shots lingered in his head. The picture came back. It was a grisly image in black and white; Danny's unseeing eyes in a bullet ridden suit. The dark stains on his chest began to turn into color; rich red... blood red. He curled up and rocked as the voice came back telling him what a worthless worm he was, that his partner had died calling out for his help.
And he had done nothing . He heard his name being called in the distance. The voices gradually got louder, but not loud enough to drown out the other one. He took the gun out and raised it high, firing another shot. Then the dark voice got so loud it drowned out his screams finally sending him into darkness.
The waterfront was crowded. The tourists and locals shared the tables in the colorful cafes along the ocean. The scent of fresh seafood rode on the breeze, mixing freely with the salted spray. Gulls called overhead and laughter from the tables tickled the ears of all who were dining. Colorful drinks in oversized glasses, pale wine and amber beer were flowing freely. But the real attraction was the prized catch - lobster.
"I think I died and went to heaven!" Sam complimented, dipping a healthy piece of lobster into drawn butter. It went down easy, like velvet. "God this is good."
Before Vivian could reply, her phone rang. She swallowed, took a sip of ice tea and wiped her mouth before answering the phone.
"Hello." She frowned at the tone on the other end. Then her face grew ashen. That caused her partner to stop eating and lean forward.
"What?" Sam whispered.
"When?" Vivian's heart sank. "Nothing? No leads? Jack, how's Martin?" She pulled the phone away as the voice grew in anger and got colorful. "That's not going to help anything. I'm sure nobody feels worse than he does. Alright Jack.." she tried to placate. "Just calm down. We'll leave now..."
"Vivian, what's wrong?" Sam demanded when her partner hung the phone up . When those dark eyes met hers, there were shadows there that she didn't like at all. "Oh God..." She did a quick assessment. Before she could voice her fear, Vivian did.
"Danny's missing."
He felt like Caeser the night of the first victory. His blood was coursing through his veins at record speed and his adrenalin was in high gear. He was nearly drunk with power. He sat within the control room of the newly named ÔTower'. The name had come to him as he had deposited his first prisoner within its walls. After all, the Tower of London was the most famous prison in history. And he was about to crush his enemies not unlike those monarchs who ordered the heads of their enemies to roll.
Peter Gibson punched up the numbers on the panel and sat back. Three of the ten screens sprang to life. Three different angles of the final resting place of Special Agent Daniel Taylor. His blue eyes moved far left, where the long shot of the room was before him. Clothed in the typical orange jumpsuit that prisoners wore, the newcomer was lying on his back on the twin-sized bunk. He had yet to rouse but that was due to the strong sedative that had been in the dart. His handsome face was bruised but the blood had been washed away. Head wounds do tend to bleed a lot. He wasn't confined, there was no need; the cell had no visible door. Only by punching in a sequential series of numbers did a wall panel slide open, providing entry.
He took his gaze to the second screen, an overhead shot that was a close-up of the prisoner's face. No stress in the features, his drugged sleep was without trauma. But that would change. His confinement coupled with the guilt that would come once the fact was introduced to him that he had been the key that sent Martin Fitzgerald onto the psychologist's couch would add to his frustration. Then there would be the videos provided that would show Taylor the early footage of the blue eyed fly landing in the web.
Yes, it should be an interesting week, until the second guest arrived. He opened the leather journal and began to write.
Audentes fortuna juvat -Fortune favors the bold.
Welcome, Agent Taylor. As my chapter states, I do believe that 'Fortune favors the bold'. That is why I will be victorious and the corrupt doer will fall. But not before he suffers the pangs of Hell. He'll feel Lucifer's fangs sinking in his gut every waking minute. By the time I've finished with his sorry soul, death will be a welcome relief.
Already it is beginning, though he is barely aware of it. But with each passing day when he frantically searches for the lost lamb, I will rejoice. Until the soil beneath this place is soaked red with his blood, I will not rest.
Justice will be mine.
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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