Author's Note: I know that I haven't had much time to update recently due to my current, crazy semester here in college, but after seeing last week's The Bullet in the Brain episode, I couldn't help but be inspired. I'm sure my regular readers will understand why. ;) I don't know how long this will end up being, but it won't be nearly as long as my lengthier projects. Also, there will be slight references to my The Heart of the Family fic, but as always, knowledge of that fic will not be essential to read this one.
And let me add that I haven't forgotten about my other fics, and that I will be updating them as soon as I can. Promise. :)
I do not own Bones or any of its characters.
I want to thank everyone in advance who reads/follows/reviews this. It's always appreciated. :D
The Fray in the Edges
How many people had to wake up in the morning knowing that today was the day that they would have to come face-to-face with evil?
It was this thought that lurked in the back of Doctor Lance Sweets' mind all morning. As he walked toward the prison transport van, he couldn't stop thinking about how he would soon be sitting across from someone who could easily qualify as evil personified. The psychologist had read and analyzed many case studies and had even interacted with some profoundly disturbed individuals through the course of his work.
But all of that experience and training seemed inadequate in the presence of someone like Heather Taffet.
Before he had ever met her, Sweets had spent many hours studying the Gravedigger case. It was the sort of thing that swiftly reached an almost legendary status in the field of forensic psychology: a killer who was not only a true sociopath but one who remained methodical and intelligent along with heartless and amoral. This was the type of criminal who would go on killing for years, consistently evading the efforts of law enforcement, who would have to hope that the killer would make a mistake. That mistake was finally made when the Gravedigger crossed paths with Booth and everyone at the Jeffersonian.
Sweets sat down in the van and tried to clear his mind with a mild form of meditation to calm himself. It was one thing to read about the pathology of the Gravedigger. It was something else to meet Taffet.
The psychologist shuddered when he remembered the first time he met her in person. In an effort to save Booth from being another one of the Gravedigger's fatalities the team, along with Booth's brother Jared, managed to unmask former attorney Heather Taffet as the elusive serial killer. Sweets had observed her while she was held prisoner at the lab, and he hadn't been able to get rid of the nagging sense that she embodied the same kind of evil that his biological father, Andrew had. After all, it wasn't a far leap from whipping a child until he bled to burying one alive in a box.
Sweets knew, however that it wasn't just a fleeting impression. He was convinced that Taffet was more than the sum of her crimes, and he got his proof of that during her trial.
He had met a couple times with her to assess her psychological state of mind in the legal sense and to test her competency to stand trial. Taffet had remained controlled and impassive during these interviews. Looking back on it, Sweets was certain that it was an effort on her part to make it difficult for him to gain any sort of insight into her. Her muted demeanor had little effect in swaying the therapist's assessment of her. Especially when he watched the way she defended herself during the proceedings.
The psychologist hadn't been surprised when Cam dropped by his office during the trial with concerns about everyone on their team. Even though he had not suffered a direct assault from Taffet either through her criminal activities or her psychological tormenting in and out of the courtroom, Sweets could feel the miasma infecting his close friends and co-workers. At the time, he had wished that he could have done more to help them, but it wasn't until Taffet's conviction came through that everyone started to move past those dark feelings.
Sweets fidgeted in his seat as he heard the clank of chains signaling Taffet's approach. When he had heard that she had requested counseling during her transfer to her latest appeal, he had been surprised. But when a judge informed him that Taffet had specifically requested him, the surprise became shock.
'Why does she want to talk to me now?' he wondered. 'She never did before. I know she feels no sense of remorse or guilt for what's she's done, and I doubt that she's suddenly become anxious that she might not be able to dodge the death penalty. So what does she want?'
Sweets considered turning down the request. Despite his "deeper calling" to help others, he had zero desire to administer to her. After thinking it over though, he decided to go through with it.
'This is my job. My purpose,' he told himself. 'To not only help those who need counseling but to probe the minds of some of the most depraved people on this planet. Booth, Brennan and the rest of them had to stand up to her. How can I call myself a member of this team if I'm not willing to do the same? If I allow her to make me cower away in fear?'
Taffet stepped into the van, a smirk etched into her features. It didn't disappear as she settled down in the seat across from him or when the van took off down the road. As the van started up, Sweets reached into his pocket and turned on a miniature recording device. Normally, he didn't record his meetings with patients or prisoners, but he knew that he needed to keep careful records with Taffet since she was known to be equally meticulous.
The first few moments of travel were spent in silence which was fine by Sweets. He still believed this to be a farce and did not want to participate.
"You nervous, Doctor Sweets?"
Sweets shifted his gaze from the window to see Taffet staring at him with what he could have sworn was amusement in her eyes.
"You seem uncomfortable," she added.
"I'm fine," he insisted, turning on his most clinical tone. "I'm merely here to comply with your request for psychological counseling during transport. You comfortable?"
Taffet responded with a slight snort and a motion with her head indicating the shackles binding her wrists and ankles.
"Right," Sweets spat out, looking away. He felt a little stupid for asking that.
"I do appreciate the company," Taffet continued in a pale imitation of a conversational tone. "On death row, one spends so much time alone. It tests the sanity."
'There it is,' Sweets thought to himself. 'This is the true reason she wanted to see me. Not to receive any sort of counseling, but to try and cast some doubt in my mind about her sanity.'
Oh, I assure you, you are sane," the psychologist replied, unable to prevent some sarcasm from bleeding into his voice. "Technically speaking. And you're not going to convince me otherwise, if that's your plan to win your appeal."
"So you know?" Taffet mumbled. Sweets gave a curt nod and for a second she looked vaguely disappointed.
"You remind me of a little boy dressed up in his father's suit," Taffet said. Sweets hardened his expression. He had grown somewhat accustomed to slights about his age and was determined to not let her insult bother him.
"Are you saying that I remind you of one of your victims?" he inquired, hoping to keep their conversation rooted in pathology and psychological analysis.
"You remind me of all of them, Lance," Taffet said, her voice soft but venomous.
Sweets shivered inwardly at her use of his first name. It was as if he could hear Andrew's voice reflected in her tone. It opened a door to an abundance of memories that he longed to forget: years spent at the mercy of a psychotic, abusive father. A frequent victim of his biological father's anger and hatred.
'Is that what she sees in me?' he asked himself. 'Can Taffet actually sense some kind of residue from that part of my life?'
Sweets tried to reason away this notion by reminding himself that it was just as likely that she had done some research on him. She had been given internet and library access so she could work on her appeals, and there were some things from his childhood that were a matter of public record.
His reasoning was not able to stop his painful memories and feelings from stirring toward the surface. He felt exposed…vulnerable.
As they drew closer to the courthouse, the therapist could hear the shouts of protesters lining the streets. Taffet surveyed them with no more interest than if she were watching a tailgating party outside a stadium.
"These people are so unreasonable," she said with some mirth.
"Most of them are here in protest," Sweets responded, eager to deflate her mocking tone. "There's a remote possibility that your conviction could be overturned."
"They're deflecting, Doctor Sweets. You should know that," she said, the smirk returning. The subtle barb couched in a classic psychological concept did not go unnoticed by the therapist. It was yet another reminder of her contempt for him.
"They know I'm not the only one responsible for my crimes," Taffet said.
'Typical criminally deviant behavior,' Sweets observed silently. 'Blame the victim and the victim's families for her actions instead of assuming sole responsibility. More than likely, she rationalized letting her victims suffocate when the ransom wasn't paid by telling herself that they had forced her hand.'
Sweets was jarred out of his reverie when he realized that the van had stopped for an inordinate amount of time.
"What's wrong?" the therapist asked the driver.
"Change of plans," the man responded dully.
Sweets sat back in his seat and watched as the van began to change directions toward the front of the building. The psychologist didn't care for the idea of having to work their way through that mob, but he also noticed that Taffet didn't seem the least bit unnerved by the prospect.
"I'm the lucky one, Lance," she said, her voice unnaturally cheerful. "My appeal falls through, I die. But you're forced to live every day as a repressed, immature, imbecile spouting canned theories to people who don't really care."
Taffet leaned a little closer to him, her eyes glittering with malice.
"Everyone knows who is the weakest link in the chain," she said, letting her disgust swell into her voice. "You testify at my appeal, and I'm going to walk."
Sweets tried to glare at her, but soon looked away. He knew that if he kept his gaze with her for a moment longer he would begin to lose the tight rein he was struggling to maintain on his emotions.
Special Agent Seeley Booth was sure that he had had worse days than this, but right now none of them came to mind.
The agent knew that today would be a circus. The trial and appeals of Heather Taffet had continued to enthrall the public almost as much as it incited them. In the back of his mind, however, Booth had held onto the faint hope that boredom was setting in and that Taffet's latest appeal would not peak as much interest.
That hope was immediately squashed when he saw the mass of people gathering around the barricades in anticipation of the Gravedigger's arrival. Quiet milling around soon turned into shouted chants and jeers as the number of people increased. The signs they held up almost seemed whimsical if not for the macabre messages written on them. Controlling this crowd would be a nightmare.
Still Booth decided to be on the offensive even as he delegated jobs to the local authorities while keeping a close eye on the activities. The situation could turn ugly in an instant, and he was here to make sure that did not happen.
Caroline Julian was standing nearby, occasionally making snarky remarks about the upcoming proceedings. Much of it passed by Booth without much notice as he tried to focus on maintaining order and safety. But then three words did manage to get his attention.
"There she is."
Booth turned to see the transport van pull up and watched its approach. A large part of him was hoping that this appeal would be short and to the point so that he would be one step closer to never having to think about Heather Taffet ever again.
A burst of static on Booth's walkie talkie along with a security guard running over to him made Booth aware of a major derailment in the plans: the gate to the parking garage wasn't opening, and no one knew when it would start working again.
'Unbelievable,' the agent thought to himself. 'Why didn't they check on this before now? I don't need this hassle.'
Booth scowled; one thing that years spent in the Army Rangers and then in the FBI had given him was the ability to work around any sort of pressure.
'A change of plans it is then,' he told himself.
Booth barked out orders to go ahead and let Taffet out at the front of the courthouse instead of in the garage. The agent shared Caroline's incredulous frustration at having to do things this way, but saw no other option, which he pointed out to her.
The agent jogged in-between the van and the police cars as they ambled toward the front of the building, only stopping to occasionally give a firm shove to some wayward protesters to get them out of the way. As he moved, he thought again about Caroline's concern in relation to trying to get Taffet into the courthouse through the front door. He wasn't really that concerned for Taffet's safety, but he also knew that there was the possibility that Sweets could get caught up in a mob of angry citizens trying to get to Taffet since the psychologist was accompanying her.
Booth winced when he thought of Sweets. Caroline had told him that Taffet had requested "psychological counseling" during her trip toward her appeal, and she had protested to it vehemently.
'I'm telling you, cherie, she's up to something. Acting like she suddenly needs some shrinking. She's just trying to get inside his head. I told that judge that, and he wouldn't listen. You need to talk that shrink of yours. He listens to you. You can't let Taffet get to him.'
At the time, Booth had been extremely tempted to follow through with her suggestion. He thought back to Taffet's trial and remembered how deeply she managed to get under Brennan's skin. By the end of it, the agent wasn't sure what had angered him more: that he had also been one of the Gravedigger's victims or that she was driving Brennan toward an existence filled with nightmares and self-doubt.
Booth sighed inwardly as he watched the crowd. He hadn't wanted Sweets to go through anything like that. He knew that the psychologist was a strong person in a lot of ways, but Booth also knew that he struggled with many demons. Some of which mirrored the ones in the agent's soul. Booth did not want Taffet to have a chance to exploit that.
But he also knew that pressuring Sweets to shy away from his duties would plant the seed of doubt in the psychologist's mind. For the past few years, Booth had strived toward making Sweets feel like the valued and trusted member of his team that the agent considered him to be. He did not want to impede the progress that had been made in building the therapist's confidence.
'Look Caroline, it's fine,' Booth had told her. 'Sweets is the best there is. He will do his job no matter what Taffet tries to do. And I'm not going to make him think that I don't trust him to do his job by trying to persuade him that avoiding Taffet is for his own good.'
As he watched the van pull to a stop, Booth reflected on his decision. Given the chance, he knew that he would have done the same thing over again, but that wasn't going to stop him from having some concerns about how this confrontation went. Booth walked over to the door of the van so he could meet Sweets when he was done.
When the door opened and Sweets started to make his way out, Booth was worried that his concerns were coming to life. The psychologist was clearly shaken even as he worked hard to try and hide it.
"You ok?" Booth asked as he guided Sweets out of the van.
"Yeah," Sweets answered in a clipped tone.
"All right, what did she say?" the agent asked, unconvinced that everything was benign as Sweets was trying to let on.
"Nothing worth repeating," the therapist said, carefully avoiding Booth's eyes.
"Nothing worth repeating," Booth parroted. "All right."
The agent continued to guide Sweets along, patting his back once they got close to the police car. Booth was pretty sure Sweets could use the encouraging gesture, judging from the tense, nervous stance the psychologist was currently taking.
'Nothing worth repeating? I doubt that,' Booth thought. He was now convinced that Taffet had gotten to Sweets somehow, and from the look of it, it had been brutal.
The agent went back to overseeing things with security. He figured that he might as well concentrate on getting Taffet into the building before worrying about anything else. Once that was done, he could pull Sweets aside for a few minutes to talk things over, and he made a mental note to do so.
Booth looked back up and scanned the crowd for any possible trouble, and one face at the front of the crowd stood out for him.
'I know him,' Booth mused. 'That…that's Kent. The father of those twin boys Taffet killed.'
Booth knew that he would never forget the case that introduced him to the Gravedigger. Even though he had been able to offer some slight comfort to Kent that his boys acted bravely and that not paying the ransom had not cost their lives, as a father, Booth had an inkling of what the man had went through. He wasn't surprised that Kent had shown up for this, but something seemed off about how he was standing there, filming this whole thing.
The agent put it aside and went back to going over some details with security. He was so caught up in what he was doing, he barely noticed the sickening sound of a bullet impacting violently with flesh.
While gasps and screams erupted from the crowd, Booth's reflexes instantly came into play. He pulled out his gun and whirled toward the sound. The agent was immediately relieved to see that it had been Taffet and not Sweets who had been hit. Booth only contemplated the gruesome sight of Taffet's corpse for a second when he realized that Sweets was still wandering around in the open.
"Whoa, whoa whoa….down, down down!" Booth ordered as he ran over, grabbed the psychologist's arm, and yanked him back toward the car. Sweets silently complied by sliding down against side of the vehicle, while Booth looked around for the possible origin of the shot.
As he looked around, the agent was stunned to see Kent still standing there, filming away after most of the crowd had run.
'He didn't run. Why didn't he run?' Booth asked himself.
Confident that Kent had not been the shooter even if he was acting suspiciously, the agent instead turned his focus back toward Taffet and Sweets. A large stream of blood was oozing past bits of flesh, skull, and brain matter from the body on the ground. Booth swallowed hard as he pushed down the nausea that he felt.
He then looked over at Sweets and noticed the glazed look in the psychologist's eyes as he stared at what was left of Taffet. Booth carefully took Sweets by the arms, minding the gore on the therapist's suit, and turned him to face him.
"Sweets…Lance…are you ok?" Booth asked in a low, controlled voice. It took almost a minute for the question to register, but the psychologist finally nodded his head a little. Booth gently led him back toward the car and opened the back door.
"Here, I need you to sit down," the agent told him while pushing Sweets downward to sit on the backseat, still facing out toward the street. Once he was settled, Booth crouched down in front of him. The agent noticed that Sweets had become very pale and that he was starting to shiver.
'Probably going into shock,' Booth thought. He couldn't blame Sweets for that, but he was also aware of the need to keep the psychologist still while he tended to the scene.
"Hey Sweets…Sweets?" Booth said, trying to communicate with him. He saw that Sweets was continuing to stare at the body on the ground instead of responding to what Booth was saying.
"Sweets," the agent said with more force. "Hey, don't look at that, look at me." Booth was relieved when Sweets did as asked.
"Ok, now just listen to me," Booth continued. "An ambulance is going to be called, and it will be here soon. Once it gets here, we will have you checked out. And…I know that you probably don't want to hear this, but we're going to need the stuff you're wearing for evidence. So I need you to just sit here, relax and wait for me. Then once the forensic techs get what they need and you've been looked over, I'll take you home so you can get cleaned up and change. All right?"
Sweets still wouldn't speak, but he did give another nod in response. Booth stood back up and started to leave when the psychologist grabbed at his sleeve. The sudden movement startled the agent, and he couldn't help but notice the fear in Sweets' eyes.
"It's ok, Sweets. It's over," Booth said, gingerly moving the therapist's hand away. "Look, I'm going to be over there checking things out and giving a statement. So I'm not going very far, I promise."
The psychologist nodded again, his eyes returning to a more haunted, vacant stare. Booth watched him for a moment more before going over to check on the other people still there. A few minutes later the ambulance arrived and the agent went back over to get Sweets.
"Come on," Booth said, helping him to his feet. "Let's get this over with."
"Ok," Sweets said in a tiny voice. Booth was grateful that Sweets was becoming more responsive even though his movements were still slow and robotic.
But Booth also knew that this would not be the end of it for him or for Sweets, and that was what he was dreading right now.