A/N: Hello again! Here we are with another installment to my OC/Ryan story! This takes place no more than a week after the end of "Believe Me." For those who are just now joining, you might want to read "Believe Me" first. I had a feeling not many of you really enjoyed the ending of the last story (lack of reviews was the dead giveaway, no pun intended.) But never fear because not is all as it seems.
ENJOY! READ/REVIEW...please?
Disclaimer: I own none of it, darn it...except for Reagan and all other OCs, =).
The bright, early sun rays of Miami glistened through the sport car's windows as Trisha rapidly made her way down the busy streets towards Dade University. To the right of her lay her books for sociology class and sporadic pages peeking out a notebook. The college student joyfully blared her music.
"No, I won't, oh oh, oh oh. Shout it out, scream it out, let me here you go," she resonated confidently to the song, her head bopping to the beat. "Baby, I like it!" she shouted with her left hand sailing out of the driver's side window. A sudden ring from the student's cellphone trilled, giving Trisha the cue to slightly turn down her music to answer.
"Yo!" An annoyed voice barked on the other side of the call. "Tiffany! I'm on my way, seriously!" She rolled her eyes at her friend's complaint. "Hey, it's not my fault! These people just don't know how to drive! And you know I had to pick up some Starbucks. I bought you a drink!" Trisha chuckled at Tiffany's squeal. "Ha, I knew you'd like that. Anyway, just tell the group to start the session without me."
The group of cars came to a stop at the street light, Trisha's car restlessly waiting behind a white van.
"Ugh, come on! No, not you," Trisha reassured into the phone. "I got behind a van going the speed limit. Yeah, stupid red light."
A bloody hand smacked itself against the back window of the van, the fingers trembling.
"Oh my God!" she screamed. "Uh, Tiffany, I have to let you go!" Trisha instantly dialed 911.
"What's your emergency?"
"Yes, this is Trisha Belford. I'm calling from my car, and... oh my God. This van, uh-a hand, a bloody hand. There's someone injured in the van! " Trisha rambled on.
"Ma-am, you are going to have to calm down and let me know what's going on. Where are you located right now?"
"Can't you trace my coordinates or something? I'm-uh-on my way to the Miami Public Library, just a few streets away from the Dade University campus." Trisha's eyes widened as the van turned off the road, heading for the Glades. "Oh, no. He's leaving the city! I'm gonna follow him while you trace my call."
"Ms. Belford, that wouldn't be a smart choice. Just let me know the license plate number and we will track the van that way."
"By then the person in the back will be dead!" Trisha shouted to the operator. I gotta 'pay it forward', Trisha thought to herself, recalling yesterday's lecture in sociology. "Seriously, lady, just hurry!"
Silence from the other end startled her.
"Hello? Oh, God... Hello?" Trisha looked down at her cell phone, realizing the battery had just died. Quickly reaching for her glove compartment, still keeping her eyes on the van, Trisha pulled out her car charger and plugged in her phone. Soon, the van pulled into a patch of trees and up to a broken down shack. Trisha managed to hide her car far enough away, her heart beating rapidly, her palms in a nervous sweat.
"Ok," she said to herself, "be brave...for the…victim." Taking a deep breath, she grabbed her slightly charged cell phone and quietly made her way towards the van.
Trisha carefully opened her car door, leaving it open as to not make a sound and inched her way towards the van. She looked continuously around for the driver but saw no one and assumed he or she must have entered the shack by now. Leaves crunched beneath her feet causing her to twinge with every step.
Finally, she had reached the back of the van and grabbed for the handle. Oddly, it was unlocked, but Trisha pushed the feeling away, deciding it was more fright than her own conscience. The back door to the van creaked as it swung open and revealed a pale young woman, no older than Trisha herself.
"Miss?" she whispered. Trisha noticed the girl's abdomen smeared with blood, obviously from stab wounds. The girl moaned quietly. "Ma'am? Okay, I'm going to get you outta here, k?" Trisha reached for her phone once more as she searched around for the culprit and dialed 911 again.
"What's your emergency?" asked the operator.
"Hi, this is Trisha Belford again. I don't have a lot of power left to my phone," she whispered. "I'm here with a woman. She's hurt really bad, there's lots of blood. Please, GPS this phone. I don't know how long before—"
"What the hell?" a voice boomed from behind her.
"Ma'am?" voiced the operator. Dead silence.
Walter Simmons analyzed the dead body, careful not to lose his lunch. Of the time he had been with the Miami-Dade Crime Lab, Walter had seen a lot, but nothing compared to this massacre. Next to the tall man was Natalia Boa Vista who instantly noticed his queasy status.
"If you're having a hard time, I can process the scene myself, Walter," Natalia offered, though she contained a hint of giggles. Walter shook his head in defense.
"No, I'm alright. Swear." Walter gulped once more before snapping a few pictures. He sighed in relief once he noticed Dr. Loman approaching. Finally, Walter thought, take the body away so I can do my job.
"Good morning, lady and gentleman!" Loman snapped cheerfully. "Let's see what we got here." The doctor paused before crouching down, his face showing confusion. "Why is there a sheet over the face?"
"The body was like this when we got here," Natalia replied. Slowly, Dr. Loman reached down to remove the sheet from the female's face. The three instantly cringed at the revelation.
"What do we have, Doctor?" asked Horatio Caine as he paced slowly towards the group and gently removed his sunglasses.
"Well, multiple stab wounds to the abdomen are evident. May be the possible COD." Dr. Loman became hesitant to mention the rest. Horatio noticed his uncertainty and stooped down to get a better view of the victim.
"Are those-?" Horatio became slightly speechless as Loman nodded his head and scowled his face.
"Nails—through the eyes. Although," Loman began to point out, "there is no blood around the entries suggesting that it was post-mortem." Horatio shook his head in disgust.
"Do we know if this is the 911 caller?" Horatio asked, now standing up. Natalia began rummaging through the victims clothes to hopefully find an I.D.
"Ah! We're in luck," she proclaimed holding up the girl's drivers license. "Name is Michelle Newbanks."
"H, the caller's name was Trisha Belford," Walter stated.
"Walter, call everyone in. We're going to need as many hands on deck. This just went from a murder to a kidnapping," Horatio announced as he threw his sunglasses back on and flew from the scene.
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