Setting: ATF Universe
Page 11
J.D. groaned as the water he'd consumed now needed to be expelled. Every movement sent waves of pain through his battered body. His swollen, bruised face ached, along with his back and head. The ribs were another story, every breath brought a hot pain and he tried not to move. But now he had no choice. He hissed and winced as he inched into the bathroom, the reflection in the glass over the sink started him. One eye swollen shut, his face was streaked with blue and purple bruises. His lip mangled and puffy.
"You look like shit, Kid... " he groaned to the man in the glass, thinking of Buck. After he finished, he walked around the cell, trying to force some life in his fatigued body. He kept wondering about the shots he'd heard. It seemed like hours... it may have been hours, he had no sense of time. It wouldn't have been Chris, the bitch mentioned she needed both of them.
"Vin?" His voice was laced with fear. Didn't she hint that Vin was expendable. "Vin ain't dead..." he corrected himself. She wouldn't have poisoned him if she were going to shoot him. "Unless," he theorized, still pacing. What if Vin got loose somehow... what if Tony shot him? His frustration began to build and he pounded the door, screaming in vain.
It was late when Jamie returned, she entered the compound and immediately sensed a change. She hurried to the lab and into the small room adjacent. The bed was empty.
"Tony!"
"I can explain..." He started, immediately putting his hands up defensively.
"Where's Tanner?"
"He got loose, hid in the back of that Iranian guy's car. I went after them and almost caught them, but a cop got there first."
"A cop... My God..." She shrieking, breaking several empty petri dishes against the wall. "How could you let this happen? How did he get loose?"
"I guess you fucked up there... He clubbed me and when I came to, he'd given the keys to Larabee. "
"Larabee's missing!" Her eyes flashed and Tony paled, watching the killer rise.
"No... he's in there," he jerked his head toward the lab. "Tanner got away while we were fighting."
"What about the police?" She calmed down, realizing that since no squad cars were outside, they cover was intact.
"I took 'im out... left him on the beach," he noted, "They think Tanner did it... A bunch of tourists getting off the buses behind Donnelly's got there just as Pretty Boy decided to wake up... holding the bloody knife over the dead cop. They'll be busy looking for him..."
"I deal with you later," she said coldly.
"Look, you told me this morning that the heat was coming on too strong. That the Feds were beefing up the roadblocks... this takes the pressure off."
"Dunne?"
"He's okay..."
She brushed past him and flipped the light on, smiling as she saw the blond bound to the table. His skin was pale beneath the colorful bruises on his face and she saw the small pool of blood under his right thigh. She danced her fingers along his chest and past the waistline of the shorts. She caressed him and leaned over, just inches from his lips. Although he remained asleep, he was stirring under her deft fingers and several small moans escaped.
Chris never got tired of staring at Sarah. He watched her swaying her hips and smiling boldy at him from across the room. The castle was over five hundred years old and nestled in the heart of the Highlands in Scotland. The fire in the hearth gave the room a warm glow, casting an ethereal
light on her delicate features. Her curly dark hair hung loose, softly folding around her chest. The translucent violet nightgown enhanced the body he craved and he felt himself stirring for her touch.
The three week trip to the British Isles had been a dream of hers and a way to celebrate their first anniversary. They roamed the land of her ancestors by day and romanced with wine and candles by night; celebrating the special love they shared. She was the most wonderful creature God ever made and he ached to hold her. He sat up, letting the sheet drop away and opened his arms. She danced away, raising an eyebrow and settling on a rug by the fire. He growled, lunged and covered her body, grinning wolfishly as she smacked his bare skin, rolled him over and straddled him. She nipped his neck and then kissed him deeply, shuddering as his hands caressed her lower back.
"A dilis rún!" she cried out as he filled her with love.
He kissed her back, absorbing the Gaelic expression for 'Oh true love" which Sarah learned from her Grandmother. They explored each other and rested, sleeping wrapped in Cupid's cloak. As Dawn broke, she caressed his fine face, her heart full every time she drank in his features. A soft kiss found her palm as two green eyes opened.
"You're late..." she whispered, letting her soft hair rain over his face.
"Late?" he sighed, shifted so he could hold her. He nuzzled the fine skin between her neck and shoulder and felt his head drawn up.
"Aye, Darlin'..." She teased with a mock accent. "It's time to make a miracle." She laughed and ran her fingers through his hair when his eyes widened in amazement. A baby... a child born of this wonderful creature. He reached up and cupped her face, drawing her near.
"God I love you Sarah..."
Jamie smiled and pulled back from the lost man's kiss. She strapped his hands down again before he realized the erotic adventure was a dream. She bent over, tracing the outline of his lips and watched the eyes peel open.
"What... what..." Chris croaked, blinking at the bright lights above his head. He jerked his head, feeling a tight noose-like sensation near his neck. His arms and legs were also bound. "What the fuck?" he mumbled. "Ahhhhh..." he growled, testing the leather as reality set in.
"That bitch must have been some piece of ass..." she gloated, watching his face turn into a mask of revulsion.
He struggled in vain against the tight bindings and then hissed in frustration when he realized his predicament. A hot shot of pain lanced his right thigh and he bit his lip. He continued to pull and test the restraints, until the pain in his leg stilled him. Sweat rolled down his face and stung his eyes. He kept his hands clenched into fists and watched her move closer.
"Now that you're awake, we can take care of that." She nodded to the wound, then let her fingers roam over his still semi-erect form under the pants. "...I can take care of that too..."
"I'd sooner fuck a snake..." he grunted, trying to move away from the prying fingers. The fact that his couldn't control his body make him angrier. "...course not much difference is there?"
"Lift your body up so I can get your pants off." She ordered bruskly, then frowned impatiently as he refused to comply. "If you make me cut them off, not only will I turn the temperature down and let your precious balls freeze, but I'll be forced to visit young Mr. Dunne and teach him a few things."
"You give a whole new meaning to the word whore..." he shot back, lifting his rump so she could get his pants down. He couldn't swallow the cry of agony, when she ripped the fabric that had dried over his wound, sending a wall of white-hot pain through him.
"Tony..." she called out and waited for the door to open. "Roll him over and hold him down..." she ordered, holding the dart gun against him. Once he was turned sideways, his hands and feet bound on one side, she examined the wound. It wasn't serious, but it bled a bit and needed to be cleaned out and stitched. She disappeared for a moment, to get some soap and water.
Tony kept the gun trained on Larabee from a few feet away and saw the blond's green eyes darting and the puzzle on the prisoner's face. He grinned, knowing Larabee was thinking about Tanner.
"Your ass ain't nice and tight like Pretty Boy's," he teased and saw the fire spark in the green eyes. "He sure felt good, all covered with warm, soapy water."
"Good thing you like that tub," Chris gritted, trying to force the image of Vin helpless against the brute from his troubled brain. "...cause after I beat you within an inch of your life, I'm gonna fuckin' fry your ass in it..." he said of an electricution.
"Big talk from a walking corpse," Tony goaded, watching Jamie return. "You'll never see the light of day again." He saw the eyes darting again and grinned. "Oh... uh... I forgot to tell you... Pretty Boy made a real impression on the law here in town. He's now enemy number one... they think he slit a pig's throat."
"They'll never... catch... fuck..." Chris hissed as the rough hands grabbed his buttocks and scrubbed the dirt and debris from the wound. "...catch him."
"You better hope he dies first, cause if they do, they'll make him suffer. This ain't Mayberry."
Chris furrowed his brow and thought on Vin's plight. Vin must have found a cop, but Tony killed him. Did Vin tell the cop where they were. Not likely, or they'd be moving out. Where was Vin? Did he call home? He frowned and thought of how confused Vin was. The idea of his sick friend wandered around a strange town with a target on his back, started a molten fire inside. How much time had passed? He drew his eyes from the wall when she passed by, his stomach churned when he saw the sneer on her face.
"Acid..." he mumbled, thinking of watching her skin dissolve and every twisted feature melt away.
"Much as I enjoyed our trip the other day..." she misconstrued of his meaning, "I have a rather busy day tomorrow and I don't have time to play with you right now. It won't be long justice is done and his death is avenged."
"You're daddy's little girl alright," Chris snorted, "...you're a lunatic too."
She grabbed a bottle from the table and walked behind him. The fury on her face and the sound of the bottle smacking the table made him flinch. She grabbed the back of his leg with her left hand and poured peroxide over the open wound.
"Jesus fuckin' Christ," Chris hissed, his tortured body buckling against the leather bindings. "Shit..." he bit his lip, blocking the scream that was pressing against his teeth. The burning sensation took his breath away and a red wall of pain descended, blurring his vision. He collasped and gasped for breath, trying to find relief from the pain.
"You gonna stitch that?" Tony asked, watching the gleam in her eye.
"No..." she said in an almost trancelike voice, "turn on the burner on that lab table and heat up a knife."
Chris paled and tried to swivel his head. A knife... cauterize... she was gonna burn him. "Sick... fuckin'... bitch... I'm gonna nail... you for... this. Enjoy it too..."
She saw his head turning, tranfixed by the reflection of the flame in the glass window. "Not to worry, Chris," she brushed a hand across his damp forehead and smiled when his face wrinkled in disgust. "that wound has to be sealed... later. Right now, it's time for you to be punished for your crime."
"Crime?" Chris panted, the burning in his leg not subsiding at all.
"...for maligning my father's name..."
"He didn't need my help... ate his gun all by himself," Chris gasped as her hand connected with his face with a resounding crack. She marched out of the room and Chris's eyebrows furrowed.
"Fuckin' stupid Fed," Tony gloated from across the room. "You're gonna hurt now... she's a wicked bitch..."
The door slammed and Chris tried to move his head backwards, hearing the determined footsteps approaching. He flinched at a harsh sound of something cutting the air near his head. Before he could react, a motor sounded and the metal table he was strapped to, moved. It halted when he was in a near upright position.
"When I visited the Orient, I witnessed a criminal being punished by the authorities. Caning is an acceptable means of discipline in many countries. Ten strokes is the normal sentence," she decreed, "...but an infraction such as yours isn't normal." She held the cane at arm's length, pivoted and delivered the first blow.
Chris hissed as the razor-sharp instrument cut the flesh on his lower back. The strikes rained down on his lower back, by the fourth or fifth, the skin split open. He was covered in sweat and had already bitten through his lip. He felt the blood running down his back and covering his buttocks. He pressed his face against the metal surface and clenched his eyes shut. The sweat on his body mingled with the blood and the burning, stinging sensation was pulling him under. He felt the razor like pain ebbing away and the room grew smaller and smaller.
By the tenth strike, his body jerked as soon as the switch cut the air, creating a whirling hiss. She began to play with him, striking the air several times, just to see him jump. Then he stopped jerking and she pouted. She dropped the bloody cane and eyed the gaping wound on his leg. "Give me that knife..." she demanded. As Tony made his way over, she eyed the bottle of peroxide and smiled. The crisscross line on his lower back were bleeding, creating a rather interesting pattern as the red streaks ran down his body. She poured the solution into a quart-sized container and poured it over the marks on his back. The liquid hit the bloody areas and foamed up, the burning sensation roused him immediately.
Chris didn't stop the muted cry from pushing through his lips when his back caught fire. His body jerked and strained and he pulled against his restraints, his eyes bulging. He bit off the rest of the agony, determined not to give her what she wanted. His stance was short lived. Once the red hot metal of the blade hit his leg wound, his screamed, buckled once and lost consciousness.
"Put him in with Dunne. Leave some linens, food and water. It's late and we have a long day ahead."
Vin looked around the dense jungle and sighed wearily. The humidity was suffocating him, his cotton garments clung to him, sealed to his skin by the sweat that poured from his spent body. His long hair hung limply; a tangled mass of rattail-like tendrils that clung to his face and neck. He cast a long gaze upwards, seeing the unending mass of overgrowth and brush. It was eerily quiet and he couldn't move. The thick muddy water of the riverbank seeped closer, running in his nose and mouth...choking him. He sputtered and gasped, spitting it out and blanched, horrified when a large centipede rode out on the bile.
"Noooo!"
Vin sat upright and blinked in the darkness. The dream was over but the terror was real. He was covered in sweat, gasping for breath and every inch of his body was crying in pain. His head was the worst and his hand groped in the dark, seeking a wound to explain the horrid, searing pain there.
It took several minutes for him to collect his breath. Finally, it slowed down enough for him to regain a little of his strength and crawl to the window. He lifted the bottom on his soaking wet teeshirt and wiped his eyes. He heard the call of the ocean and his head tilted, his keen nose scenting the air. Salt in the breeze... he was close to the shore. Ocean? He frowned. They don't have oceans in Denver.
"What the fuck?" he rasped, eyeing the strange, dark outlines of buildings below. He hitched his aching body up and out of the upper half out the window. He sucked in great gulps of air and welcomed the slight breeze that caressed his burning skin. A wave of dizziness caused him to slide back inside and down against the wall. Closing his eyes, he rubbed his temples with both hands, grimacing as his head threatened to explode. Trying to collect his scattered thoughts, images began to form. J.D. and Chris in a boxing ring, J.D.'s body, Chris's tortured eyes, a white lab coat, a rough male's hands on his body, a large, red insect crawling over his face.
"Shit!" he jerked his eyes open as the reality hit him hard. He had to get help... help... call the police. He crawled to the doorway and an invisible hand hit his chest. More images ravaged his burning brain. A bed... he was tied to it... pain and humiliation... Chris telling him to go... a shot... a loud bang... Chris and J.D.'s limbs strewn about a warehouse floor... J.D's face on fire.
"Oh, God... " he choked, eyes filling, "What did I do?" Somewhere inside a message flashed that his actions caused the horrid incident. He escaped from... from where? The brute chased him... fired his gun... Chris and J.D. were killed. He crawled to the steps, his fevered brain trying to escape the vision of his dead friends. He pulled himself upright and managed to stagger down the steps, hitting every wall. As the salt air greeted him, more messages startled him. Deadly... plagues... fatal disease... the centipede... the lab coat... the mocking laugh. He was dying... dying. He trudged up the wooden ramp and onto the deserted boardwalk, a small bait shop was at the end. Vin peered in the window and saw the flickering image of a television. He was about to knock on the door, when his face appeared on the screen.
"...Tanner. He is pictured here from the photo taken last evening by a tourist. The knife used in the fatal attack on Officer Sanford is shown in his hand. The F.B.I has confirmed that they are seeking Tanner and he is considered dangerous. The murder suspect is still in the area and police say they will take no chances in apprehending him." The local reporter paused as the anchor man asked her about the rumor of the wanted man carrying a deadly disease. "That's the rumor we heard and the F.B.I is calling a press conference at six a.m."
Vin saw a body moving in the room and silently backed away, fearing for the other as well as himself. He held his breath and flattened his body against the wooden walls and waited. The blue light went out and he peeked again. He grabbed some change from the tip cup outside the door and crept away. He staggered down the darkened boardwalk, the words echoing in his head and an image of a dead cop with a slit throat appeared. He saw the bloody knife in his own hand. What the hell happened? He needed help... he couldn't go to the police... or a hospital. Chris was dead. He felt no pain inside, rather a disconcerting numbness. The loss was just to great to bear and he pushed it away, denying it. It seemed like forever as he skulked along in the shadows. Finally, he spotted a payphone. He opened the door and smashed the light, before dropping a quarter in the slot.
It was a wonderful hot summer day, the kind that is endless for a ten-year-old boy. A wonderful group of hours that stretched magically through baseball games, fishing trips and other boyhood adventures. He was with Pete, Jimmy and Todd, his three best friends. They were headed for the arcade to play pinball. They gathered around the hottest machine, which was brand new-all slick and shiny. The bells rang crazily, sending his blue eyes spinning with the silver ball. The bells rang and rang...
He jerked his eyes open and winced at the large red digital numbers on the bedside clock. He blinked at the strange walls, before staring again at the numbers. Three-eighteen a.m. The bells from the pinball machine were long ago silenced. He sighed and sat up, swinging his lean legs from the bed. He picked up the ringing phone and rubbed the sleep from his eyes.
"Yeah..."
"We have a collect call from," he raised his head as a beep sounded and a soft drawl filled his ear, "...it's Vin..."
"Shit!" He jumped up and flipped the light on, pressing the phone to his ear. "Yeah, go ahead." He covered the phone, eyed the doorway and hollered. "Era... Ezra..." He heard the click of the charge as the disheveled host appeared in the room. "It's Vin... get on the horn..."
Ezra wasted no time moving to the kitchen and picking up the cordless phone. He returned to the guest room and pulled a notepad and pen from the top drawer of the chest. He eyed Buck's concerned face as they both listened intently, waiting for the raspy breathing to turn into a voice.
"...there... anybody..."
"Where the hell are you? Do you know the F.B.I is looking for you? You're at the top of the fuckin' most wanted list." Buck's fear turned into anger, the molten variety was spurned by the horrendous days past. Endless days of worrying and long nights filled with dark terrors. He saw Ezra glowering at him and read the anger on the Southerner's face.
"Contain yourself or we'll lose him. What's the matter with you?" Ezra whispered, covering the mouthpiece. But Buck didn't hear him or pretended not to, his face was still contorted in anger.
"I need help... I'm in trouble..." Vin countered, reeling from Buck's onslaught. Buck? He shook his head in confusion. He didn't call Buck... did he? The operator said Buck wasn't home... How did he get Buck? The angry voice broke his puzzlement.
"Trouble?" Buck snorted in contempt, "That's putting it mildly. You hightailed outta your place, didn't call anybody. You let that temper of yours get..."
"Shut up!" Vin broke in, "...ain't got long... can't afford t'be seen." he hollered, wincing as his harsh voice pierced his already throbbing brain. "They... the tv... they... say I killed a cop... they're huntin' me..."
"Who? What cop? Where are you?" Buck demanded, frowning as he finally heard something over the fragmented words. The fragile tone of the voice and the staggered breathing spelled out trouble.
"Hold on..." Vin sighed, eyeing the dark boardwalk in front of him. He kept the phone booth door open and looked around. He saw a menu lying in the trash can by the booth and grabbed it. He eyed the matching sign on the window across the boardwalk. "... menu says... Old Country Pizza ... Mystic Cove, Maryland."
"Maryland? What the hell are you doing there?" Buck thought outloud.
"...don't know... Got took from the parkin' lot the day I let out." Vin rasped, rubbing his head and wiping the wet flow from his face. "It's hard t'remember... I can't... think... m'head hurts..."
"You gotta try, Vin!"
Vin cried out and dropped the phone as Buck's voice sent a knife through his head. He heard voices from the dangling phone, but didn't pick it up. There were two blurry receivers and his hand fumbled, trying to snag the right one.
"Wonderful!" Ezra snapped. "Not only did you not ascertain the whereabouts of Chris and J.D. but you've scared our only lead away. Can't you hear? He's injured... or ill..."
"Alright, Ezra," Buck defended, "I'm sorry... Vin? Vin? Shit... Vin, pick up the phone..."
"...'lo... there... Bucklin?"
Buck opened his mouth to reply but the soft call of 'Bucklin' stole his breath. He wiped his face with his hand and took a deep breath.
"Yeah, Vin... sorry about shoutin' at you."
"... she said ya wasn't there... thought I called Ez..."
"You did, Vin. I'm at Ezra's. He's here too."
"Ez... there?" Vin hoped, needing to here the southerner's voice. Hearing Buck's had given him a little strength. He needed his friends now more than any time in his life. They were his only hope; their trust was his lifeline.
"Yes, Vin. Are you injured?" Ezra asked softly, hearing the awful breathing.
"I'm dyin' Ez..."
"What!" Buck screeched, jumping from the bed. "What do mean 'dying'?"
"...got some plague... they done stuff t'me... bad stuff..." Vin rambled, his delirious mind bringing up the images again. "...tied down... couldn't move... big bug was crawlin' on m'face... hundreds o'legs... stung me..."
"A centipede?" Ezra guessed from the clues. "That's not fatal, Vin..."
"...they was fucked with... put the ten plagues in 'em... I got one... I'm dyin'... can't let anybody near... cops are huntin' me..." the burst of information left Vin breathless and he spent several minutes gasping and coughing painfully.
"Are Chris and J.D. with you?" Buck pressed, watching Ezra writing.
"Oh God..." Vin whispered, wiping the large amount of phelgm from his chin and sliding to the floor of the booth. His legs couldn't hold him up and the vivid images came back. "I'm sorry, Buck... they're dead... I thought... I tried t'get away... Chris said t'go... a 'splosion... legs and arms all layin' all over... he didn't have no face... I done that..."
Ezra watched the color drain from Buck's face and the phone slide from his hand. He saw Buck cover his face with his hands and heard the shuddering breaths. He drew his attention back to the phone. He snapped his fingers and Buck raised his eyes. He covered the mouthpiece and sharply addressed the forlorn figure before him.
"He's very likely housing a high fever and possibly delirious. There is no reason to believe what he thinks is real. He could have easily dreamt it. If you've ever had a high fever, you know the illusions they create are quite real."
Buck took a deep breath and picked the phone up, wincing as he heard Vin sobbing in the distance on the other end. He open his mouth and tried to speak, but couldn't produce a word.
"Vin! Vin!" Ezra's voice was sharp. He felt every bit of the Texan's pain and desolation, but he didn't have time to cushion the blow. "Answer me, this instant!"
"Huh?" Vin choked, hiccuping in the phone.
"Pull yourself together. If we are to come to your aid, you need to help yourself. What about the dead officer? Did that happen after you escaped?"
"...don't recall a lot after they was blowed up... just wakin' up on a beach with a dead cop next t'me. Folks on the boardwalk... took pictures... I had a knife... they started hollerin' I was a murderer... cops were comin'... I ran..."
The explanation took all the strength from the caller and he left out a long burst of air, punctuated by several wet coughs. The two men on the other end of the phone took in the information. One was writing notes, the other was sitting on his bed, quietly absorbing the tale. His mind ran back and his heart began to pound.
"Wait a minute, Vin... Mystic Cove?"
"Yeah..." Vin rasped, desperately trying to stay awake. "...know it?"
"It was a good thing you ran, Vin. That's a town that doesn't like strangers. It's the kind of town that people disappear from. You'd have been fish food by morning. Where you hidin' out?" Buck asked.
"...old buildin' at the end o'the boardwalk." Vin took a gulp of air and fought off passing out. "Factories maybe... I'm hold up in the third one, up top. Shit..." Vin hissed and toppled over as a wave of dizziness passed over him.
"Vin! Vin!" Buck heard the painful voice and the slurred speech that now was silent. "You okay?"
"...here..." Vin coughed and paused to catch his breath, "...feel like fried shit... m'head's poundin' like a jackhammer... throwed up... hell, everythin' hurts."
"I know those buildings, We'll get a flight tomorrow." Buck ordered, "You stay put Vin... I'll find you."
"Yeah," the voice was fading and distant, "I keep seein' 'em Buck..."
"Damn..." Buck swore softly, feeling his stomach drop at the painful voice. He could see the large sky eyes wide and anguished, riddled with unwarranted guilt. "You hang in there, Vin, okay?" He waited and there was another long pause, followed by more ragged breathing and coughing. Then the shattered voice that was barely audible.
"...about all o'this... the fight..." Vin swallowed hard, recalling the harsh words they parted with, "...I'm sorry, Bucklin..."
"You got nothin' to be sorry for, it was all my fault," Buck's voice was deep and sincere, "... and I'm sorry too, Vin, for everything. You keep that shaggy head up, Son, the Calvary's coming."
"Buck... wait!"
"What?" Buck replied anxiously, hearing the tone change drastically.
"Iffen I don't... If I'm dead when ya get here..." Vin paused, licking his dry lips. "Don't let 'em cut me up, Buck."
"Aw, hell." Buck bit his lip and felt his eyes welling up. An autopsy; an image of Vin's pale body gutted like a deer gave him a shiver. He pushed that thought away and took a deep breath, regaining his voice. "Quit talkin' like that! Ezra's right, you gotta keep your head up. Quitter's never win and winners never quit. We'll be there tomorrow."
"...word Buck," Vin pleaded. "...s'important t'me... please... beggin' ya."
That he couldn't refuse, try as he may. The lost voice swirling in the soft call and the very real possibility that Vin might be dying. "Okay, Vin, I'll watch your back."
"Thank... you..."
The dial tone caused his whole body to jerk. He sat numb on the bed and looked up only when Ezra pulled the phone from his hand.
"Come on," Ezra prodded gently, like Buck, haunted by Vin's plea. "We have work to do."
"Work?" Buck blinked.
"Yes, we now have a large clue and we're going to start at the beginning."
"At the airport?" Buck said, putting his shoes on.
"No, at the file storage room. Those lost hours and the person Vin was trying to warn you about. We missed something. Call Josiah and have him meet us there."
"I'm calling the airlines first..." Buck said, dialing information.
J.D. sat up the darkness, his heart pounding frantically. The sudden movement sent a wave of pain through his injured ribs and took his breath away. It was several minutes before he regained his flying oxygen. Something woke him up. A cry of pain, that's what it was. He stood and moved slowly, until his foot hit a body. A body? He knelt and groped over a flat bank of cotton housed muscle, until he felt a pulse under short hair. Short hair...
"Chris!" he cried out, feeling the pulse again and sliding his hand over the nose and mouth, insuring the body was real and alive. "Can't see a fuckin' thing..."
"Might want to turn on a light, Kid..."
"Chris!"
"Don't make me shoot you, J.D." Chris grumbled as the loud voice slashed the throbbed space between his temples.
"Sorry," J.D. apologized, pulling Chris to a sitting position. He heard the cry of pain and felt the hand grip his arm painfully. "What's wrong?"
"Fuckin' bitch whipped me..." Chris complained, sucking air through his clenched teeth. He heard footsteps and then the light came on. He raised a hand up, shielding his eyes, which were still adjusting. He felt J.D. pull him up and try to get him to the bed.
"Fuck... fuck..." Chris swore as the agony rippled through the tender flesh on his back. He gripped the youth's shoulder painfully and cried out again.
"OW!" J.D. slipped up, letting his call of pain go airborne. The strong hand clamped to his shoulder sent him to his knees.
"Sorry..." Chris hissed and eased his body onto the bed.
"...s'okay..."
"Help me with the shirt?"
"Sure." J.D. said, standing in front on the blond, who was bent forward, arms resting on his knees. Chris lifted both arms, barely suppressing a cry of pain. Despite his tender touch, the open wounds clung to the fabric and the effort it took to pry it free, caused real pain. J.D. never wavered, pushing the cries from his head and continuing with his progess. Finally the shirt was free, but the youth wished it wasn't. The fine flesh of Chris's lower back was covered in blood and purplish cross marks. He felt an anger rising in him, for the damage done to this friend, the terror she'd inflicted on his missing friend and the murderous intent for his best friend.
Chris felt air hit his back and sucked in two long breaths. He wiped the flow of sweat pouring down his face and sighed. He heard silence and that was discomforting. He raised his pale eyes painfully and saw the white knuckles clutching his black shirt. He raised his gaze further and saw the pure rage shining from the youngest's hazel eyes. He rested a hand on the tense youth's forearm, just as Dunne spoke.
"I will kill her."
Chris flinched at the words and watched J.D. disappear into the bathroom. The shirt was left on the floor and he heard the water running. It wasn't so much the words spoken, but the quiet determination he'd used. Looking back, the kid held up well and Chris was proud of him. When J.D. turned around, holding a soapy towel, he let that pride shoot right across the room.
J.D. saw the admiration in Chris's face and blushed, before moving forward. He sat next to Chris and gently washed the mess from his back. Twice he made trips in silence to the bathroom, each time taking more of Chris's spilled blood with him. He heard the cries of pain and saw the white knuckles Chris gripped the bed frame with. He used the last clean spot on the wet towel and wiped Chris's perspiration from his pale face. When the last wound was cleaned, J.D. brought Chris a glass of water. He sat next to him and saw the unvented anger radiating off the blond.
"Free shot..." he offered his face, with the drink, seeing the throbbing pain in the green eyes.
Chris looked up at the invite and saw the kid jut his chin out. He chuckled and grabbed the back of the youngest's neck, gripping it hard. "Thanks, J.D...."
J.D. moved and got more water, getting three glasses into Chris, who he suspected was going to get a fever. He watched Chris flinch as his right leg was eased onto the bed. The leader was lying sideways, breathing heavily. "What's wrong with your leg?"
"That bastard cut it... If Vin got away, it was worth it..."
"Vin? He's alive!" J.D. exclaimed, "I heard shots... I thought... what happened?"
"He got loose, somehow," Chris let his eyes slide shut. "He's all mixed up... burnin' up with fever. He got the keys and I got loose, but then the guard appeared. I jumped him and told Vin to go. I was trying to get away, when he stabbed me." Chris ended, then clamped a hand on J.D.'s shoulder. The youth was sitting on the floor next to the cot and moved to look at the leg. "Don't... it's fine..." he peeled an eye open and saw the anger again, rising on the bruised face. He saw J.D. wince and rest a protective hand over his injured ribs. Kid's gotta be hurtin' bad, he thought and let his eyes close.
J.D. was lost in thought, mentally killing the bitch a hundred ways. What if Buck got here and she hurt him? What if Vin died alone out there? What were they gonna do? What did she have planned next?
"I'm proud of you."
The quiet group of words interrupted his train of questions and he turned, swallowing hard. Coming from Chris Larabee, someone he admired second to none, they were so much more than words. He felt his skin flush warm and studied the blond's face, eyes closed but pain twitching under the pale lids.
"Does that mean you won't call me 'Kid' anymore?" J.D. questioned, grinning a little.
"No fuckin' way..." Chris grunted, peeling one eye half open and spotting the flush of pride his words caused. He closed his eyes again and ruffled the tangled dark hair. "...Kid..."
Vin trudged along in the dark, feeling worse with every labored step. Each footfall jarred every aching bone in his body. The sweat was never ending, running down his face and stinging his eyes . The blinding pain in his head caused him to stumble and stagger like a drunk. He concentrated on keeping his balance, watching for the pier and the bait store. That's where he knew to turn off to find the building again. The public restrooms off the beach loomed ahead After he was finished in the bathroom, he managed to find the water fountain on the side. He took a long drink and fumbled until the pill bottle in his pocket opened. He swallowed the penicillin with difficulty, over the swollen glands in his throat. He was almost back to the turnoff, when he saw the flashing red and blue lights by the abandoned buildings and cursed. He staggered to the edge of the boardwalk, down the ramp and underneath. The sand was hard and cold under his barefeet. The water washed over them, giving relief to the burning soles. The gentle sway of the tide was comforting to him. He inhaled the salt air and trudged along.
As he forced himself onward, he thought back in time, to when this whole mess started. All the mistakes he'd made slashed at him hard, critical choices that J.D. and Chris paid the ultimate price for. His heart constricted when he thought of his two lost friends. Gone forever was J.D.'s infectious grin and enthusiasm. He sighed and felt his chest bind, recalling the joyous whoops that accompanied the many sports they shared. The weekends camping, hiking and rock climbing. The ice hockey games, kayaking, raquetball, skiing and so much more. The kid loved sports and he enjoyed their time together. Chris... the very thought brought his stumbling steps to a halt. The pain was too overwhelming and he dropped to his knees. The green eyes that were his safe harbor were closed forever. He felt the water lapping at his waist and let the sound of the tide hitting the pilings, drown out his lone, soulful cry of pain. It was a far worse pain than the physical torment his body was in. He felt as is his soul was wrenched from his body, leaving a bloody, ragged hole in it's wake.
"Get your ass in gear, Tanner!" the sharp voice bellowed, "You're a damn mess... suck it up and get moving..."
"Chris!" Vin gulped, coughed and let his moist blue eyes scan the underside of the pier. The voice was so clear... he could have sworn his best friend was next to him. He pulled his shaky legs up and swayed, blinking at the blurry outline of the pilings. "Chris..." he voice faded, but the message remained and spurned him onward. His legs picked up their pace and he fought the urge to collapse. He reached the end of the pier and kept going. Before long, he was far from the boardwalk and the sun was coming up. The stretch of beach ended and he eyed the rock formation that jutted out ahead of him, extending an arm into the water. He hesistated, eyeing the moss covered, slippery rocks. He dropped to his hands and knees and slowly climbed over them, not feeling the cuts the sharp edges were making in his feet. Exhausted, his energy spent, he collapsed on a flat rock. His churning stomach rebelled, all over the place. He was so weak and disoriented, he didn't see the stranger behind him.
"Josiah's here." Ezra noted as the car pulled up. He eased out of his own car and Buck followed. They waved to the eldest and made their way to the ATF File Room. Ezra swiped his ID badge through the slot and waited for the green light. The small note sounded at the same time, unlocking the door. Buck flipped the lights on, while Ezra waited for Sanchez. He spotted the bag and was relieved that the ex-minister thought to bring coffee.
"You have the news on?" Josiah said, entering the small room off the main area. He sat at the table, watching Buck looking around the empty room.
"No, why?" Buck asked, without turning around.
"Well, it's not good..." Josiah said, lifting three cups of coffee out, along with creamers and sugar packets.
Ezra picked one up, stirred cream in it and took a sip. "What have you heard?"
"Heard it on the radio," he stirred three sugar packets in the coffee and took a sip. "Vin's in Mystic Cove alright, and there's a rumor that the cops found a video. They're claiming Vin's carrying bubonic plague..."
"Wonderful!" Buck exclaimed, slamming his fist on the wall. He kicked a chair, before righting it and settling at the table. He drank his coffee black and welcomed the bitter taste it left, which matched his mood. "He might as well have a target painted on his back."
"They'll never bring him in alive," Josiah agreed, "They'll shoot to kill..."
"Not if we find him first," Ezra noted. "We've secured three seats on a six-forty flight to Baltimore, via Charlotte, we arrive at one-thirty. Buck believes it's about two hours to Mystic Cove from there."
"They're calling a six a.m. press conference. We best get done and get to the airport. We can catch CNN over there." Josiah replied eyeing the room. "Alright, Ezra, it's your show..."
Ezra stood up and tapped Buck on the shoulder. "I need your body..."
"Excuse me?" Buck squinted, while the conman rolled his jade eyes.
"Upright," Ezra clarified, "Go to the phone. Vin was in here when he called you. He was frantic... he'd seen someone. We assumed he saw them in person. What if he saw something in the file or on the computer."
"Jesus, Ezra, give me something easy, why don't you?" Buck charged, "There's hundreds of folders out there..."
"Stay with me, Buck, I know it's a strain," Ezra countered. "He was on the phone and was cut off."
"Somebody was following him," Josiah added."If they cut the line in the hall..."
"I'll go," Buck offered, trotting to the box in the hall. "OKAY!" he yelled, quickly rejoining his friends.
"Yes," Ezra nodded, hanging the phone up. "He had only seconds..."
"So if he found something... a file... or a printout from the computer..." Josiah frowned, "but the room was empty. We searched it..." He looked at the floor and chairs in the barren room.
"Maybe we didn't look in the right place." Ezra's pale eyes went skyward. His gaze went from the phone, to the door and then back to the ceiling.
"Yeah..." Buck agreed, jumping on a chair and then the table. He moved the fiberglass ceiling tiles around and stuck his hand in the empty berth above. "Bingo!" he cried out, jumping down and dropping the folder on the table.
Josiah took the rubberbands off and opened the thick folder. Ezra and Buck came behind him, each scanning Vin's notes.
"FDA... green and white... DEL..." Ezra read. "Tony Kennedy..."
"That can't be... he's in jail. I checked that myself." Buck denied, staring at Vin's familiar scrawl.
"Check again," Josiah said, handing Buck his cellphone. "Get that warden out of bed if you have to."
Buck flipped through the folder until his notes appeared. He dialed the number, leaned over and stared hard at the newsclipping, while he waited.
"Jesus fuckin' Christ," he swore, eyeing the face in the picture. "Why didn't I see it sooner? She looks just like him."
"Who is she?" Josiah asked, reading some of Vin's handwritten notes.
"Jamie Delaney..."
"That woman you were seeing, the scientist?" Ezra asked.
"Yes, uh... this is Agent Flushing of the F.B.I.," Buck lied, shrugging at Josiah's glare. "I need to speak to the warden, it's a matter concerning national security." Buck's face darkened, "Then get him up... now!"
"Jamie Cameron Newlander..." Ezra read of the old clipping. "Her father was the officer who headed the dirty dozen, he commited suicide, rather than face his accusers. Delaney... it states here was her mother's maiden name, she was European."
"I remember that," Josiah nodded, "The press wouldn't leave her alone. They left the country. The daughter was in college..."
"Apparently," Ezra read through Vin's many printouts, "She made quite a name for herself overseas. She's a highly decorated member of the scientific community. Her speciaility is toxicology and biochemical warfare."
"Looks like the boy did his homework," Josiah noted of the well documented notes.
"He's always thorough," Ezra agreed, "He'd make a good detective. I guess when her mother died, she had no reason to stay abroad. It states here, Mrs. Newlander died of cancer last year."
"I'm gonna add that bitch to the family reunion personally," Buck vented, hurt and angry at the way he'd been abused.
"What's this all about?" a gruff voice barked in his ear.
"It's about you fuckin' up and three damn good federal agents who might die because of it. I want to know when Anthony Kennedy was released and why. His parole wasn't up until next year."
"Do you know what time it is?" The irate warden cried.
"It's gonna be time for your funeral if you don't move your fat ass faster!" Buck screamed.
"Always the epitome of charm," Ezra grinned.
"So she's planning on getting revenge on Buck and got Kennedy to help. He's got a score to settle too..." Josiah replaced the documentation and watched Buck's face ready to implode.
"How the fuck did that happen?" he roared, slamming his fist on the table and sending the creamers flying. "When??? Jesus Christ, you fuckin' idiot. Do you know what you've done?" Buck screamed. "Shit, he hung up on me."
"I can't imagine why," Josiah deadpanned, "What'd he say?"
"She got Kennedy released a few months back, as part of a work/study program. Some shit about his rare DNA or blood or something. Dammit, he was here the whole time..."
"Alright, we know the who and the where and the why." Josiah supplied. "Fill in the pieces Buck."
"I think we should update Nathan, he shouldn't hear about Vin on the news," Ezra worried.
"Yeah, that's on the way to the airport," Josiah agreed.
"It was my first case," Buck stated, as they left the room. "Frank was my training officer. They suspected Newlander and about a dozen other cops, politicians and lawyers of a big operation. Kennedy was working for them, in the warehouse." He stopped by Josiah's car and handed him the folder. "They knew we went to the same high school and asked me to go undercover. I was the college golden boy gone wrong. The stud, star quarterback now up to his ass in gambling debt. I lived off the streets, eating out of the trash and hung around the pier. Kennedy found out about me and got me in. I was under for about four months, feeding them information." He sighed, "That bitch used me... Christ, I blamed Vin and I was the one who fed her..."
"Buck, that won't help anybody," Ezra warned, eyeing the guilt-plagued man, "Come on, we're wasting time."
An hour later, the trio stood by Nathan's bed, watching the recovering agent's stricken face. Josiah called Mike Ryan from the hospital room. Their temporary team leader was sympathetic and said not to worry, he'd talk to Orin.
"I'm sorry, Nate, I know it's a shock, but we didn't want you to hear it on the television," Josiah sighed, "We gotta get moving, we'll call you..."
"Josiah," Nate said finally, "You tell Vin... you tell that sorry-assed Texan... you tell him..." he choked, swallowing hard.
"Yeah," the preacher nodded, squeezing the upset patient's shoulder. "I will, Brother."
Nathan watched them leave and his heart sank. If what they said was true, if Vin had been doused with any form of the plague, he was dying. He might be dead already. He rested his head in the pillow and waited for the hour of six o'clock to arrive. CNN came on and the news conference from Mystic Cove was relayed. The F.B.I. spokesperson, a gray-haired agent out of the Baltimore office, confirmed what his friends told him. They showed still pictures of Vin on a table with a large insect on his chest. They confirmed that the biological evidence found later on the tape , supported the theory. Then they showed the picture of Vin with a bloody knife over a cop's body.
"Oh God," Nate moaned, rubbing his forehead, "What did they do to you Vin?" He didn't see the knife or the corpse. All he saw was the lost blue eyes, large with shock and pain.
"Buck... Buck..." Ezra prodded the large body next to him. The blue eyes were transfixed on the screen and the lower jaw quivered a bit. "We have to go... we're boarding..."
"Huh..." Buck blinked and looked at Ezra. "Yeah..."
They clipped their belts on and the plane took off. Buck stared out the window, still not able to get the picture of Vin's stricken face from his mind. What if Chris and J.D. were dead? The thought of losing all three of them was a huge burden to bear. It was his fault and he might be too late to rectify the problem.
"We have the advantage now," Ezra said, reading Buck all too well, "She doesn't know we've discovered her whereabouts."
"We'll catch 'em, Buck," Josiah added. "F.B.I. be damned."
Buck said nothing, his eyes remained fixed on the clouds beneath him. "He's already dead... I've lost them all. Why didn't she just kill me? It wouldn't hurt this bad."
"You've answered your own question," Ezra said quietly. "... and we don't know if Vin is dead."
"He's got the plague... it don't get deader than that!" Buck retorted.
Ezra went to reply, but Josiah clamped a hand on his arm and shook his head. Ezra nodded, understanding the wise blue eyes of the preacher. Nothing they would say would help Buck now. He was lost in a storm and the only light was on the Eastern horizon.
"You alright, Son?"
"Huh?" Vin gasped, wiping acidic residue from his nose and mouth. He squinted back to where the voice came from, several yards back on the beach. His blurry vision saw a single figure in pale colored clothing. He could make out white hair, but that was about all. He shut his eyes, took a deep breath and opened them again. The blurriness abated and he saw it was an elderly man. The old gent took several steps forward, and Vin put both hands up defensively. His inner alarm sounded immediately.
"NO! Don't come any further... I'm bad sick and it's catchin'... ya best stay clear o'me..."
"You don't climb down form that rock, you'll fall and split that fool head open" the old man shouted back, waving his cane.
"I'm fine, just restin'... got dizzy..."
"You're not from around here..."
"No, Sir..." Vin replied, sitting on the rock and taking deep breaths as his stomach whirled. "Ya best keep yer distance," Vin worried, watching the tall man come within ten feet. His eyes skirted the horizon as the sound of a distant motor was heard.
"You got the heat after you?"
"What?" Vin croaked, his throat as dry as a desert. He dissolved into a coughing fit and came dangerously close to falling onto the jagged rocks on the side of his perch.
"Dammit, Son," the old timer warned, waving his cane. "Get your fool self down from there."
"Back up... way back..." Vin warned and waited until the old timer moved. He then made his way carefully to the water's edge, dropping onto the sand and curling up. His head was pounding and his muscles and joints ached, his throat was raw... he wanted to die. He lifted his face and saw that old guy was safely up the beach. He rested his eyes for a moment and dozed off. The icy water tickled his toes and legs and jerked his eyes open. He sat up too fast and the beach flew around like a wicked carousel. "Shit..." he crawled up a few inches and saw a white bag.
"High time you woke up."
Vin craned his neck to see where the voice came from. The old man was a safe distance away, sitting on a bench. His features were still a little fuzzy, but the cane was striking. It looked like a dark wood, cherry or mahogny. It had a large round gold top, like a ball.
"You look like ten miles of bad road, Son." the white-haired figure relayed. "Go on... figured you needed some grub."
"Thanks... I don't have no money." Vin opened the bag and pulled out a cold bottle of coke and grilled cheese sandwich. There was also a pack of crackers.
"Money?" the cane rapped against the bench. "Got more than I'll ever need in the bank. When you get to me my age, money don't mean a damn thing. Health... that's all I worry about and the open hand of a friend."
"Good advice," Vin agreed, eating the sandwich slowly and taking a good gulp of the soda. He doubted whether the finest lobster dinner would taste this good. "Name's Vin..."
"Ben," the old guy nodded. "So you on the lam?"
"Ya don't recognize me?" Vin asked, taking another small bite of his sandwich.
"Why, should I?" Ben squinted, "My eyes ain't what they used to be, Son. You're a white fella with long hair and short on skin. You one of them way out rock stars?"
Vin laughed and took a sip of his coke. "No, Sir... If I had that kinda money... hell..." He had to eat the sandwich slow because his glands were swollen and swallowing was painful. "Just figured ya might have seen me on the tube."
"Television?" Ben scoffed, "Don't own one. You got the law after you?"
Vin relaxed a little, choosing his words carefully. "Yeah... I'm in some trouble, it weren't nothin' I done. I was used... set up..."
"What about your family?"
"Ain't got no blood kin," Vin swallowed the last of the sandwich and his shaking hands fumbled with the cracker wrapper. Frustrated when they wouldn't work, he gave up, putting them in his tee shirt pocket. He sipped the coke again and eyed the horizon. He had to find shelter, somewhere the cops wouldn't look. Somewhere he could hide...
"What about friends? Young fella like you must have plenty."
"Yes, Sir, reckon I'm real rich there... they don't come finer. They're comin'... I just gotta find a place t'hide fer awhile."
"You in the Mob?" Ben quizzed and heard the laughter.
"No!" Vin chuckled, belching a bit of coke, "I'm one of the good guys, I carry a badge."
"Cop?"
"Fed"
"F.B.I.?" Ben wrinked his face in disdain.
"No, Sir... different branch."
"Good." Ben rapped his cane on the ground. "Don't trust 'em. They're a shifty lot. Never liked J. Edgar Hoover... strange bird, that one..."
Vin didn't know what to make of that remark, so he let it slide. He stood and took a deep breath, trying to make the swaying beach stop rolling.
"You need to rest, Vin," Ben saw the signs of illness and fatigue. "What's wrong with you? You won't get better running around in the sun. Another few hours, this beach will be loaded with tourists. Holiday you know..."
"Yeah..." Vin sighed, scratching his ragged head.
"I know a place... Bootlegger's Cove. Nobody's been down that place... hell it must be thirty years. Sure was hoppin' during Prohibition."
"How far?" Vin asked, eyeing the shoreline.
"Two miles or so... keep walking, you can't miss it. You'll be safe enough there." He paused, "Your secret's safe with me, Son. I don't trust them city slickers..."
"Much obliged..." Vin nodded, "I best be movin' along..."
"Good Luck, Vin..."
"Thanks, Ben," Vin trudged along, keeping one foot in front of the other. The sun was beating down on his back and his whole body was throbbing with pain. He stumbled several times, dropping to his knees. Once he fell flat out, resting his face on the hot sand. But a pair of green eyes bore into his subconscious and he shoved his weary body onward. The pounding surf matching the tempo of the pulsating pain between his temples. His eyes were out of focus and his breathing shallow. His legs gave out and he kept up, crawling slowly. Then the sand got flat and hard, cooling to the touch. He raised his sweaty head and saw the cove. He crawled inside and found a high, dry spot. The cool air was a welcomed relief to his hot skin. He curled up and let out a long, raspy breath, letting the echo of the gulls and the song of the sea lull him to sleep.
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