TIME FRAME: Season Five, right after the episode, "Everett Poe."
RATING: M ( for some strong language and sexual references )
DISCLAIMER: All characters and the Nip/Tuck universe belong solely to their creator, Ryan Murphy and the FX Networks. This story is intended only for entertainment purposes and for my own little creative endeavors.
"Glad you decided to come out with me tonight, buddy," Christian remarked, raising his second half-empty glass of scotch and nodding his head in regard to his best friend and business partner, Sean, who, sat beside him at the broad mahogany bar in the dimly lit and plush nightclub, located in downtown Hollywood, along Sunset Strip.
Numerous young men and women gravitated and grinded against one another on the cherry wood dance floor to the fast-paced and rhythmical beat of the electronica music, which pulsated and pounded throughout the spacious first level of the two-story club. Swirls of multi-colored lights danced off of the grey walls and off the floorboards where the sea of scantily clad club-goers moved, in sync with the beats that continued to pound on and on into the night. For a Monday night, the club was certainly crowded. Mostly likely on account of all the college boys and girls that were still intent on getting some last minute partying in during their supposed "three-day" weekend, before returning to their studies the next morning. In fact, Christian had been one of those college boys way back when, and he would be quick to admit it if the question arose. If he wasn't intent on partying and getting wasted, he was getting laid. Of course, that was way back when. Now, he had responsibilities and far more important things on his mind. His recent intent to be famous being one of them, and the other being, well, Julia, and their recent and some might say "forbidden" sex act, but as of this moment, he decided he'd put it both those things on the back burner, for now at least.
Sean shrugged, "well, with Kate taking some down time to rest up after her surgery, and with Julia..."
He froze, a part of him dreading that he had found out about the affair. "In Dyketopia," Christian quickly finished before he had a chance to get any further with that sentence. "Leaves you with a shitload of time on your hands, doesn't it?" He reached out and set a hand on his shoulder, "can't say I blame you, my friend. If I found out my wife was a dyke, I'd probably go on a Goddamn screwing spree just to prove my dick wasn't out of whack." He raised his glass up to his lips to take a guzzle.
His partner scowled. "Finding someone to screw isn't the problem, Christian."
His brows arched expectantly and then stitched together in thought. "Oh, that's right," he chuckled softly. "Why would you want a random, hot little piece of ass when you've got a huge chunk of ass ready to shit in your bed?"
Sean glared coldly at him. "Yeah, well a huge chunk of ass is better than no ass at all! Besides, you were ready to take out that huge chunk of ass last week, or was that just your way of getting back at me for stealing the spotlight?"
He sighed softly, shrugging his shoulders. "Hey, you want to enjoy your fifteen minutes of fame while you can, go right ahead, don't let me stop you. Fame is fleeting, or whatever the hell it is they say. The Playgirl shoot might not have worked out exactly as I planned, but I can assure you, my day will come, and when it does, everyone will be dying to get a piece of Dr. Christian Troy, and women everywhere will be filled with pleasure." His lips curled into a cocky grin.
"We're not in Miami anymore, Christian. You can't live your life the same way you did then. You're fourty three years old, you've got a son to raise, and need I remind you, your responsibility to the business. Julia might have taken responsibility of the kids for now, but I've got obligations and so do you. You sure don't see me going out and living my life as freely and recklessly as you once did."
Christian exhaled sharply. He'd never get it, would he? No matter how much he tried to explain it to him, he would never be able to understand what it was that he wanted out of life, well, besides getting laid and raising a family. As far as Sean living his life like him, well, it would be a Goddamn miracle if that ever happened. He was the wild one, not Sean, and it seemed to have always been that way over the years. "I never said I was going back to my old ways, and I never implied I was going to live my life the same way I once did. All I'm saying is that I deserve a little fame too, buddy, and I'm going to get it. One way or another. It's only a matter of time. You're going to have to move over and give up that guilded spotlight to someone else eventually, might as well be me." He laughed, flashed him another cocky grin and tossed his head back, finishing off what was left in his glass.
Sean shook his head in disbelief. "You've had your fame already." He leaned in, pointing a finger at his chest, "it might have earned you the biggest dick in Miami, but in some sense of the word, it was still considered fame. It's my turn."
He scoffed with a roll of his eyes and signaled the bartender to bring him another drink. "Miami was different. This is Hollywood! Hollywood, Sean. And in this town, it doesn't matter how big your dick is or who rides it for a night, it's how big you are!"
"At least in this town, there's not so much controversy surrounding McNamara/Troy as there was then. Imagine carrying that burden with you."
"Jesus." He shook his head. "I can't believe how much shit we've dealt with over the last four years. From homicidal drug Lords to a dickless psychopath calling himself the Goddamn Carver, and just recently, two hypocritical rich bitches stealing people's kidney's, serving them up to the same homicidal lunatic that's been screwing us from day one."
Sean chuckled in amusement, raising his glass to his lips and taking a guzzle. "Good thing fame is the only problem we have to deal with."
Christian grabbed the fresh glass of scotch when the bartender set it upon the bar, but before he even had a chance to start on his next drink, his gaze fixated upon a familiar looking figure over Sean's shoulder that had just set foot inside the club. His brows furrowed in consideration as the person--who, with their rugged upper body looked more like a man than a woman from this angle--stepped further into the room. A moment later, the man stepped out of the shadows and into his line of vision. He froze, instantly blinking back his astonishment. "Holy shit."
His partner blinked. "What?"
No. Goddamn it, no, it wasn't. It couldn't be. There was no way in hell. He had to be seeing things. He wasn't actually staring at the face of that same scum bag. Stopping to flirt with a couple attractive, dainty and scantily clad young blondes lingering around the dance floor with martini glasses in hand, was none other than dickless psychopath...Quentin Costa. Otherwise known as "The Carver." The son of a bitch that had attacked he and his partner, raped him, tied up, tortured, and nearly killed them. Sean had been lucky enough to get his pinkie re-attached after the asshole cut it off, and he had nearly escaped cutting his own hand off when Kit, who, turned out to be Quentin's sex-crazed sister, shot him.
Almost immediately, the astonishment vanished from his eyes and an icy cold fury blazed behind them, his blood now boiling with on coming rage. The muscles in his jaw clenched as his grip on the glass he was holding tightened in his hand. "We just got a bigger problem on our hands," he growled, without so much as glancing in Sean's direction. His gaze was fixed upon that smug son of a bitch, as he began contemplating numerous ways of putting his sorry ass out of his misery.
Sean's brows furrowed inquisitively as he slowly turned his head and looked behind him. "Oh my God. How...?"
"The hell is he still alive? Your guess is as good as mine, unless the son of a bitch faked his Goddamn death, which wouldn't surprise me a damn bit. He and that bitch Kit are brother and sister. As I recall, the bitch said she didn't want them to start the autopsy without her being there. Those whacked out pieces of shit have been playing us for Goddamn fools from day one."
"I knew it. I knew there was too many loose ends to this story. It makes sense that this psychotic would fake his own death. We should call the police while we still can, before this asshole tries to disappear again."
Christian raised his glass, tossing his head back and instantly downing the scotch. After slamming the glass down onto the bar with an audible CLINK, he tugged at the collar of his lavender colored dress shirt, and sprang up to his feet.
"What the hell are you doing?" Sean demanded.
"Putting that bastard out of his misery." He muttered as he marched off in Quentin's direction, fire blazing in his steely green eyes. "Once and for all." While they probably should be calling the police and reporting the prick for not only being The Carver, but faking his own death, the LAPD would probably give a shit less about anything that went on outside their jurisdiction, and besides, he wanted his revenge on this worthless sack of shit right now. As he neared closer to the prick, he didn't have to look back to know that Sean was trailing behind him.
Both of his hands clenched into tight fists as he ground his teeth together. A crowded club was the last place to start a scene, but after all the shit this deranged lunatic had put he and Sean through, not to mention his friends, he didn't give a shit. He had been waiting to do this for too damn long. As he approached the scum bag, Quentin quickly turned his head in his direction, but before the asshole could get in one punch at him, let alone have time to speak a word or duck out of the way, Christian pulled his fist back and delivered him a punch to the nose. "That's for Sean!" The punch was hard enough to stun him to the point of stumbling on his feet, but much to his disbelief, not enough to knock him on his ass. Well, he wasn't about to let this prick stay standing. No way in hell! Regardless of the sudden cries of surprise from the two blondes beside him--the same ones that Quentin had been trying to sweet talk a moment ago--he continued his assault. With a furocious growl, Christian gripped Quentin's right shoulder and slammed his fist into his stomach, once, twice, three times, and finally, the bastard fell to his knees, grasping his stomach and coughing. "And that's for me!"
Damn did it feel good to beat this bastard into a pulp! Quentin groaned painfully, quickly lifting his large malicious blue eyes to meet with Christian's, "I don't know what the hell you're doing here, Christian, but you just made a big mistake!" Quentin staggered to his feet and thrust his fist towards his face, but Christian--sensing what was coming even before he spoke--grabbed his wrist tightly in his hand and punched him hard in the eye, finally managing to knock his ass to the floor.
"Christian!" Sean shouted over the shrill music, which, only seemed to be getting louder by the minute, in addition to the number of onlookers the scene was starting to attract. "Christian, stop! This isn't going to do us any good!"
Ignoring Sean's cries, he felt his blood boil hotter as he placed his feet on either sides of Quentin's body, leaned down and grabbed him by the collar of his tight white shirt, yanking him up off the floor. "You're the one who made the Goddamn mistake, you worthless sack of shit! What the hell are you doing here, huh? You're supposed to be dead! At least that's what you conned the two of us into thinking when your bitch sister swooped in and played the hero. Is that how you two got off? Playing cops and robbers, feeding us those bullshit lies, screwing with our lives and the people we love, then go back home and celebrate by screwing each other? Is that what got you off, you Goddamn prick? Oh wait, that's right, you don't even have one!"
Hatred gleamed in Quentin's eyes, clenching his teeth together angrily as he grabbed a hold of Christian's wrist, his gaze shifting in Sean's direction. "The only thing the two of us got off on was watching you and your partner squirm like a couple of helpless little boys, seeing how far we could push you until it drove you insane, pissing you off was just a bonus. I gave you both plenty of chances to stop repairing my work, but all you seemed to want to do was fix what didn't need fixing, not to mention, piss me off in the process. You dug your own graves, and at the end of the day, I can't be held accountable for your stubborness." Tightening his hold on Christian's wrist, he caught him by surprise by delivering a harsh uppercut to his chin with his left fist, enough to send him stumbling backward.
An angry growl rose up in Christian's throat as the pain of Quentin's hit throbbed violently through his jaw, and causing his head to spin for a few seconds from the impact of it. This asshole was seriously begging for some deep pain. "Tell that to the Goddamn cops." He snarled. "There's going to be a shitload of questioning once Sean and I get in touch with and inform them of all the innocent people's lives you've helped destroy, all the people you've raped, murdered, carved. Once they track your sorry ass down and put you behind bars, it's only a matter of time before your deranged and sex-crazed bitch sister gets put away with you."
Quentin staggered up to his feet, immediately taking another swing at Christian, but before he had a chance to touch him, Sean quickly marched forward and shoved his fist into his face, knocking him to floor once more. Christian blinked, his partner's sudden violent outburst catching him somewhat by surprise. Lifting his head up off the floor, a chuckle escaped Quentin's lips, "Sean! Hey buddy, good to see you, how's the pinkie?"
Sean swung his leg towards his stomach, but before the tip of his shoe could even make contact with the man's gut, Quentin's arm snaked out and grabbed a hold of his ankle, preventing him from doing so and quickly kicking him in the shin. With a painful groan, Sean fell to his knees. Christian's eyes darted from his fallen best friend to the scumbag in front of him, his hands clenching into tight fists. The Goddamn nerve of this asshole! Who the hell does he think he is?
"Well, now that was pretty hostile, wasn't it?" Quentin remarked as he pushed himself up to a seated position.
Before he could get any further than that, Christian grabbed him by the collar for the second time, intent on slamming his fist into his face once more, but much to his infuriation, the asshole did it to him, his head snapping back from the impact. He stumbled backward, growled angrily and placed a hand to the fiery pain throbbing through his right eye.
"You know, you two should really be more careful picking fights in clubs like this, there's--"
A sudden rush of air followed by a crack and a painful groan drew his attention. He turned his head back in Quentin's direction just in time to see Sean standing over him, hatred shining in his eyes. He had successfully managed to give that sadistic bastard another punch, which, judging by the Quentin's current viewing of the ceiling, had gotten him good.
With his vexated gaze upon the man, Sean placed both of his hands firmly upon his hips. "I don't know what the hell you think you're doing here, Quentin, but you know what, I don't care. If you're not dead, you should be in jail on death row, and that's exactly where you're going to be, just as soon as Christian and I get in touch with the police. You're not going to destroy our lives or the lives of anymore innocent people! We'll make damn sure of that!"
"And this time, we'll make sure it sticks! No Goddamn loose ends, you're going to fry for good you sadistic bastard," Christian added, righting himself and tugging at the collar of his shirt.
Quentin lifted his head up to glare at he and Sean, his chest rising and falling rapidly with each heavy breath he took, which, could either be on account of how pissed he was or how tired he was getting from fighting. It was probably a little of both, but to be honest, he didn't give a shit. "You might be lucky enough to put Kit behind bars for posing as an officer, but it's going to take far more than just the insane ramblings of two local surgeons to put me away. You can try all you want to lock me up, gentlemen, but unless you have any solid evidence that links me to The Carver case, here, in L.A., it's your word against mine. It's going to be a little hard to convince the LAPD that I'm a threat when the Miami Dade police assume I'm already dead, don't you think?"
"They assumed you were dead when they dragged your body off to the morgue, but whose to say they didn't get a little suspicious when 'Detective McGraw' showed up to conduct the autopsy, and your body suddenly turned up missing." He cocked a challenging brow down at the man. "Your little sister might put on a hell of an act playing 'good-cop-bad-cop,' but she's not too bright at covering up her tracks. That's where you screwed up."
Pushing himself up to his feet, Quentin quickly dusted himself off with a gentle nod of his head. "Understandable, but when you take into consideration the span of time that's passed since The Carver case has been in effect, I find it a little hard to believe the LAPD will want to waste time on a threat that's outside their jurisdiction. Even if they did, they'd only be wasting their time because it's quite possible the Miami Dade police have already closed the book on this case. It's been over a year, Christian. What makes you think they'd be so willing to re-open the case? Certainly not because of a hunch made by two unknown and mentally unstable surgeons."
The son of a bitch might be standing again, but there wasn't a chance in hell that Christian was about to drop his guard, and noticing Sean tense out of the corner of his eye, he had a feeling that he wasn't either. If this asshole came at his partner or him again, he would be ready. Although he wasn't about to chance taking a quick glance around, he could still feel the curious gazes of the people around them, though he got the impression that there weren't as many onlookers as before. All it took was another punch, another violent outburst and he knew damn well they would attract a new audience of onlookers. That was generally how shit seemed to go down in clubs like this. He might not or even want to admit it to the prick, but in a way, he did have a point, and that alone only succeeded in pissing him off more.
"If you start attacking innocent people, they'll have all the evidence they need to put you in jail!" Sean cried. "They'll track your recent attacks back to those you commited back in Miami, and when they do, there won't be a damn thing that you or your sister can do to stop it."
"You can keep running, like the dickless pussy that you are, find some other Goddamn town to wreak havoc on, but it won't be long before the cops find you and your fairy loving sister." He added, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he continued, "I think you'll like it in prison. Once your cell buddies realize that you don't have a dick, well, you'll learn first hand what its like to be someone's real bitch."
Quentin's brows stitched together in consideration, taking a step closer to the two of them. "Speaking of running, what are you two doing here? Did the late great McNamara/Troy finally hit rock bottom?"
"Not that it's any business of yours, but McNamara/Troy is doing just fine, great in fact. Far better than you can possibly imagine, no thanks to your sorry ass. Our days partnering up with dickless psychopathic surgeons are done."
"You didn't answer my question."
"You shouldn't have asked it." Sean cut in. "What we choose to do with our business is none of your damn business."
Quentin chuckled softly. "Oh come on, Sean, I thought there were no secrets between us. After all, I've seen both of your tight white asses, the two of you were generous enough to let me have a piece of Julia and Kimber, I thought we were practically like brothers. So why the change of scenery? Not getting enough media publicity back in South Beach or was the number of bitter and lonely housewives too much for you to take? While Hollywood might be the home of high-priced celebrity surgeons, there's really no room for a couple of homeless old surgeons starting from the ground up."
"Oh that's right." Christian nodded in regard. "It must have been your lack of a dick that turned Julia into a dyke and made Kit so fond of pussy. It all makes sense now."
Quentin's brows arched in surprise. "Julia's a lesbian now?" A chuckle escaped his lips, his gaze fixating on Sean, who, was staring coldly at the other man. "I'm surprised at you, Sean. It's been over a year and you still haven't managed to successfully satisfy your wife's growing desires. What happened? Did impotence finally rear its ugly head?"
Before Christian could prevent it from happening--not that he would have--Sean lunged forward with a growl and threw his whole weight into a punch hurled at the bastard's unbruised left eye. Quentin stumbled backward, nearly losing his footing and doubled over, placing his hands on his knees and breathing heavily.
"The only thing that's ugly here is you, asshole!" Sean shouted.
"And if anyone should be worried about being impotent, it's the dickless psychopath I'm staring at right now." Christian added.
Wiping at his busted lip with the back of his hand, Quentin glanced down at the blood on his hand before clenching his teeth together and swinging his fist towards Christian's face. Before the fist could even connect with his face, he instinctively pulled his head away, dodging the attack and slamming his fist into the prick's stomach and his elbow into his left eye, knocking him to the ground once more. He took a quick glance around the area, exhaling sharply and rolling his eyes dramatically when he noticed a larger crowd had gathered, but no sight of the bouncer anywhere, which could only mean one thing. The people around them were enjoying this little show and had no qualms about putting an end to it anytime soon. That was fine with him. For all the times Quentin had humiliated he and Sean, he deserved to have an audience watch as he kicked this son of a bitch's ass. There would be no more ass grabbing for him. Shit no. Not if he could help it.
"Get the hell out of here or we're calling the police!" Sean cried. "Go!"
Exuding a cough, Quentin pushed himself up to his feet, hatred gleaming in his eyes as he looked between the two of them. "You'll regret that," he advised them, before wiping at the blood on his lip a second time with the back of his hand.
Christian opened his mouth to utter one last smart ass remark, but before he even had a chance to get out a single word, the asshole whirled around and stalked off in the opposite direction, towards the front of the club. Exhaling sharply, his eyes shifted expectantly towards the curious club goers, who, almost immediately diverted their attention away from the scene and went about their business. With a weary sigh, he turned his head and exchanged a look with Sean. "You all right?"
Sean nodded his head in agreement. "You?"
"No. In fact, the only way I could possibly feel better about this whole Goddamn situation, is when that asshole is either dead or behind bars." He planted his hands firmly on his hips, shaking his head in disbelief. God knew when that would ever happen let alone be remotely possible. The way he looked at it, it was going to be a hell of a long time coming. This prick was too damn sneaky!
Sean's shoulders slumped in defeat. "I'm with you on that. I can't believe the nerve of that asshole! To fake his own death, come back here, and attempt to screw with our lives again."
"Looks like fame, or in my case, lack there of, is the least of our worries now that his ass back." He stared off into the sea of young men and women still bumping and grinding against one another on the dance floor, in the same direction that Quentin had disappeared. "The son of a bitch is up to something."
"We should warn Julia and Liz, and Matt."
"No." Christian sighed deeply. "Julia hasn't been in town long. She's probably still getting settled. With the kids and with Olivia, this is the last thing she should have to deal with right now. And if Liz gets word that Quentin's in town, it'll be the mother of all bitch outs, and frankly, I'd rather not spend half a century explaining every horrendous detail of this psychopathic bullshit."
"So what are we supposed to do? Wait around for him to make the next move? We've done that before and look where it got us. If he doesn't go after them, he'll come after us...again. We have to be prepared, for anything."
"Look, as far as I can tell, that bastard assumes we're alone in this town. He might suspect Liz has taken up residence here too, but other than that, he doesn't have a damn clue as to how long we've actually been in L.A., much less that Julia or Matt are even here." Wrapping his arm around Sean's shoulders, he turned his head to look down at the other man. "I guess this just means we'll have to stick together, keep our eyes peeled, and make sure we're damn well prepared for whatever this prick throws at us next, huh?"
Sean scowled. "I don't like this. We've worked too hard to try and put this nightmare behind us, now its back and we don't know what to expect."
"Don't worry, we'll get him, Sean. Him and his witch bitch sister, and when we do, we're going to bury this Goddamn Carver bullshit deeper than the bottomless pit of Hell, which is exactly where those two will end up going...eventually."
( One day later )
"I've been thinking," Christian started, as he stepped into the McNamara/Troy break room, heading towards the glass refridgerator against the back wall, "maybe it's high time we get that security system installed. After all the shit that's happened back in South Beach, not just with that psychotic bastard, but everything, I think it would save us a shit load of new freaks breaking in here unannounced." As a result of the blows that prick had inflicted upon him that night at the club, there was a slightly purple bruise on his chin and a larger one beneath his right eye. Sean, however--minus the bruise on his leg--although he was much smaller in size compared to him, had been lucky enough to walk away from that fight with no visible damage to his face. Unbelievable.
"Maybe you're right," Sean nodded in agreement, from where he sat at the square, grey laminate table in the center of the break room, nursing a mug of coffee and scanning over the morning paper, and although he was staring at it, he could tell that his partner wasn't reading it. He looked to have too much on his mind to concentrate. "The business has been through enough hell for one lifetime, maybe hiring a security team is the best thing."
Pulling open the refridgerator door, he grabbed a strawberry Yoplait, snatched up a clean spoon from the holder beside the sink, and joined Sean at the table. "Have you managed to get any sleep these past two nights?"
Setting the paper down on the table, Sean lifted his gaze to his, a scowl appearing on his features. "No, you?"
He exhaled sharply, pulling back the top foil on the cup in his hand and shaking his head. "Not a chance in hell. I've been far too busy thinking about that asshole, worrying the son of a bitch will break into our Goddamn apartment and take another stab at my face...or worse." He sighed deeply, suddenly not feeling so hungry, despite the fact that he had neglected to eat breakfast that morning. After setting the opened and untouched yogart on the table before him, he leaned back in his seat, averting his gaze downward as the same troubled scowl appeared on his own face. It had been exactly one whole day and neither he nor Sean had heard anything from Quentin, much less had another run-in with him.
"Maybe we should look into getting a security system installed there too."
"Yeah, maybe. Jesus..." He shook his head, sitting forward and crossing his arms over the table. After a few long seconds of silence, he got up the nerve to utter the words that were lodged in the back of his throat. "These past couple nights, I've been having these...nightmares."
Sean's forehead wrinkled in thought. "Nightmares? About Quentin or The Carver?"
"Both. I keep flashing back to what the sadistic piece of shit did to me, the attack, the torture and hell he put us through when he strapped us down. If the son of a bitch wasn't in town, I would think my mind was just playing tricks on me, but I don't know what the hell to think anymore. How in the hell are we supposed to start fresh or even get on with our lives now that this asshole has ressurected?"
"I don't know. We could go to the police, but aside from the numerous victums we've treated back in South Beach, we don't have any solid evidence here to prove that he's even a threat to us, much less anyone else. As much as I hate to admit it, he was right, it's been over a year. Even if we make contact with the Miami Dade police, you know as well as I do that they aren't going to be so willing to re-open the case. His body might have turned up missing from the morgue, but what proof do we have to support the fact that he faked his own death, got up and walked out of there unharmed?"
As much as he didn't want to admit it, Sean was right. That psychotic asshole was right. Jesus! What the hell was happening to the world? He exhaled sharply, leaning back in his seat. "So, what the hell are we supposed to do, Sean? Huh? Sit around and wait for the next Carver victum to turn up? Wait until he reaks havoc on everyone we care about, and carve them up too? We can't sit on our asses like Goddamn ducks! If we don't take action now, he's going to come for us, strap us down all over again and finish what the hell he started!"
"I don't know!" Sean cried loudly. "Maybe we should hire a Hitman to get rid of him! How bout that? We could save time cleaning up his mess, keep our families safe, and maybe try and get our Goddamn lives back in order!"
He knew by the exasperated tone of his voice that Sean was only half serious, but it didn't stop him from letting it go. "It's an idea," he replied flatly, looking down at his lap. "It might not necessarily be a smart one, but it's still worth a shot."
Sean's shoulders slumped in defeat as he relaxed back into his seat. "Maybe if we're lucky, he'll finally have the sense to move on and leave us alone, go screw up the lives of some other innocent surgeons."
"Oh for Christ's sakes!" A scoff escaped his lips, his brows stitching together incriminatingly. "Do you actually believe that line of bullshit?" Yeah, that would happen, maybe when hell decides to freeze over. The prick was having far too much fun screwing with them as it was, and now he was back for round two. What could be worse?
Suddenly, before Sean had the opportunity to utter some kind of response to those words, Liz's soft and anxious voice drew their attention to the doorway. "We have an emergency."
He exchanged a haunted look with Sean, his blood running cold at the mere thought of what could be waiting for them outside of that room. With a weary sigh, he pushed himself up to his feet, following Liz and Sean out of the break room, towards the front of the office. His heart beat harder with each step he took, a looming feeling of dread hanging over his head of what awaited them.
As the waiting area came into view, he stopped dead in his tracks, inhaling sharply as he laid his eyes upon the three women that sat perched on the broad turquoise colored couch. "Jesus..." The first thing that drew his attention were the slashes across either of their cheeks, the exact same cuts that shaped the infamous Carver "grin" on the numerous other victums they had operated on. However, that wasn't what had sent his heart leaping up into his throat. Sitting on that couch, beside an unfamiliar but attractive young woman with permed, shoulder-length blonde hair...was Julia. Julia and her girlfriend, Olivia Lord. All three women had the same markings on their cheeks, but they had been stitched, much like those of the other women who had come to them seeking their care to repair their faces.
Quentin. The sadistic piece of shit had done this to them! Somehow, he had managed to hunt Julia down and seek his revenge on the two of them by hurting the one thing they both cared so much about.
"Julia, oh my God..." Sean managed to utter, his voice nothing louder than a whisper. Without hesitation, he dashed over to her, concern written all over his face.
Christian followed behind him, scrutinizing the cuts on all three women's faces. He exchanged a knowing look with Sean, although he had no idea how they were going to explain this one to Julia or if they even could for that matter. She had no idea who the identity of The Carver was, and after her short fling with Quentin, it might be better if she remained in the dark about it. It was one thing to explain to Liz that the prick was back, but to Julia, that was another story entirely.
"How the hell did this happen?" Sean demanded, dropping down onto the couch on the opposite side of Julia, examining the extent of the damage on her face.
"I think the bigger question is, when the hell did this happen." Christian cut in, rising to his full height and planting his hands firmly on his hips. That asshole would pay for this. He would see to that, Goddamn it!
Julia sighed softly, her eyes shifting between both he and Sean, appearing as if she wanted to say something, but had no idea what. The scowl that was on her face deepened as she averted her gaze down at her lap.
"Last night," Olivia spoke up, placing a comforting hand on Julia's shoulder. The blonde woman's cheeks were tear stained, and her eyes and nose were red, giving him the indication that she must have been crying, possibly all night since the attack. "Some masked man--"
"The Carver," Julia corrected her glumly.
"Sorry, I'm still a little new to the story of this serial killer." Olivia sighed softly, turning towards the young blonde girl beside her and placing her hand upon her elbow, "The Carver broke into our apartment last night. First, he went after Eden and then he came after us."
"He attacked me first, and then he went after Olivia," Julia spoke softly.
Olivia scowled, reaching out to caress the hair out of her face. "I tried to stop him, I even tried to call the police, but...he was too strong, he drugged me before I had the chance. He did the same thing to her and Eden."
He exhaled sharply with a roll of his eyes, wishing she would just cut to the Goddamn chase. "We already know how the psychopath does this shit." Hell, he'd experienced it himself! Although, he knew it wouldn't make a damn bit of difference since the asshole didn't have a dick, he still found himself posing the question. "Did he rape all three of you too?" His eyes darted from one carved face to the other.
Just as he anticipated, all three women slowly nodded their heads in affirmation. He exchanged a scowl with Sean and sighed irritably, knowing full well he was thinking along the same lines he was. This was Quentin's revenge for being ruthless enough to beat the shit out of him back at the club. "You'll regret that," that scum bag's words echoed back at him in his head. The son of a bitch! He was just waiting for the opportunity to sneak up and bite them in the ass and now he had done it.
"You have to help me, Sean!" Eden pleaded. "I don't want to be scarred for the rest of my life because of what this guy did to me. Please, help me!"
"Don't you mean help us?" Christian implied, wondering who this selfish little girl thought she was, besides being Eden's daughter, but for the moment, he could give a shit. There were more pressing matters at hand, such as getting the three of them booked for surgery as soon as possible.
"Well, sure I do," Eden muttered, shrugging his words off as if they had no effect on her whatsoever. "I mean, I want him to help my mom too."
Sean rose to his feet, exchanging a look with Christian before glancing over in Eden's direction, his features solemn. "I'll help you, Eden, as soon as I help your mother and Julia." He turned his head to look over at Liz, who, was watching and listening in quiet curiosity, and judging by the dumbfounded look on her face, she was as overwhelmed with the news of The Carver being back in town as the rest of them. "Liz, re-schedule any appointments we have on the books so we can prep the three of them for surgery."
"As long as I'm entitled to an explaination later, including why Christian still looks like he's gone two rounds with Mike Tyson, I'll get right on it," Liz answered pointedly, before turning on her heels and starting towards the receptionist desk.
He sighed deeply, already sensing that was coming even before the words left Liz's lips. After exchanging another look with Sean, he turned his focus back on Julia. The two met eyes for a brief moment and he felt his heart skip a beat, recalling back to the couple nights ago that the two of them had slept together. She didn't deserve this. He couldn't imagine how the hell Quentin had managed to track her down, especially since she hadn't been in town for more than a week. That asshole must have connections with the devil or something. She deserved an explaination as much as Liz did, but now was not the time for it. Better to wait it out a little while longer. At least until after she started to recover.
"Are you okay?" He asked softly.
"Now that I've become a victum of The Carver? No. I don't understand how this even happened. I thought they caught this bastard back in Miami over a year ago!"
He glanced over at Sean, who, gave him a skeptical look. Exhaling sharply, he rolled his eyes towards the ceiling. "We did too. It's kind of...a long story, but I don't really think now would be the best time to discuss it. We should get you prepped for surgery."
"He's right," Sean added. "They'll be plenty of time for that later."
Julia sighed sadly and looked over at Olivia.
"Go ahead. We're in no hurry. Eden and I will be fine out here." Olivia assured her, giving her back a warm rub for good measure, which, caused a pang of jealousy to shoot through Christian's chest.
With a light nod, Julia slung the strap of her purse over her shoulder and rose to her feet, stepping towards he and Sean. With a small smile, Christian placed his hand against the small of her back and proceeded to lead her down the broad hallway towards the back of the office. When they reached the adjoining door to the exam room beside the operating room, Julia stopped and turned to look tentatively up at the two of them.
"Before I forget, there's something...h-he wanted me to give the two of you." She spoke softly.
"He?"His brows furrowed inquisitively, although he had a looming feeling he knew exactly the "he" she was referring to. What the hell could that asshole possibly have for them, and why would he give it to Julia? Was he too big of a chicken shit to give it them personally?
"The Carver," Julia replied shakily, slipping her purse off of her shoulder and reaching her hand inside it. Both he and Sean turned their heads, staring anxiously at one another. While he was dreading--and he was sure Sean was too--what Julia would pull out of that purse, he relaxed some when she came out with nothing more than a small white envelope. "Here." She handed the thin, clean, still sealed envelope to him before pivoting on her heels and disappearing into the exam room.
He sighed softly, stealing a quick glance over at Sean before slipping his finger under and breaking the seal. Reaching inside, he pulled out the white folded up piece of paper and laid his eyes upon the words printed on it, his gaze filling with vexation.
"What does it say?" Sean inquired.
"'Next time, I'll come for one of you and this time, your hands won't be the only thing I cut off. Be seeing you.'"