A/n: OK, so I've revisited a few chapters of my story that needed going over. Hope all my readers will appreciate the changes I've made. I think there for the better, i just hope I've got most of the bad grammar and spelling out. (I have also changed most of the spelling into American English for all y'all fokes, and since White Collar is American. That's how much i love you guys ^_^) Please enjoy the revised version of the next couple of chapters. =)
Disclaimer: You know how the drill, its not all mine, ;_'. alas, except for the plot and the creation of the ever creepy Beholder.
~Prologue~
Beauty is only skin deep. Even the most precious of faces can be torn off and underneath the skin its all the same. Sallow fat, fragile bone and scarlet blood. There is always lot's of blood when you cut into flesh. He knew this. He knew because not long before he had carved out the beautiful face of the girl that now lay before him. Her blood soaked hair was blond before he had started his work. Silky soft, but fake, just like her. She was such a dirty liar. He stroked the dark roots of her hair, her eyebrows and her pubic curls. She was cold now; her warmth had left her body a long time ago.
She was a fraud. She had pleaded with pretense and hypocrisy when she had begged for her life. He had to show her. Beautiful things, truly beautiful things were not false. He hated the plastic celebrities that flaunted themselves in the public eye; they thought they were all so beautiful, righteous in placing themselves in the category of perfection. But they were wrong. They were fake, and he would love nothing more then to show them all.
But he didn't, that would only stop him from doing his work. To correctly educate those art collector hypocrites who truly thought themselves capable of appreciating the mastery of art.
And now he had shown this petty creature. He could see now, her true beauty. Her sapphire eyes, though now crystallized over, were the windows into her soul. They were unique, and he wanted them. In the shadows, he reached for a spoon.
~Sound Of The Storm~
Neal Caffrey, rehabilitated ex-con, smile of an angel and charm of a snake. On a regular day, his flamboyantly outrageous lifestyle kept him preoccupied enough for him not to think that he had become the property of 'Uncle Sam'. At least he was supposed to be. Regulations had never held much power over him in the past. But now the stakes were higher, a pending life sentence of imprisonment, the pursuit of truth behind Kate's vanishing act and the mystery of the music box. And there was Peter.
But as of late, the caseloads that usually poured in to the White Collar office were dwindling. Neal complained, Peter rejoiced. He had tried to console Neal by saying 'this was just the lull before a storm'. Neither of them would know how right he had been.
That morning, Neal was in early into the office. Looking around he saw Jones sifting though paper work, Lauren tapping on her keyboard and Hughes was in his office on the phone. Neal had approached each of them asking if he could be of any use, but they had all thanked him for his offer and said they could manage. What they did not realize was it was not a gesture of kindness; it was a plea for sanity.
The glass-paneled doors to the bureau swished open. Peter walked into the office just as the clock hand struck the hour. As always, Peter was prompt and reliable. Before he could inhale the cool of the air-conditioned office, Neal was in his shadow. "Hi Peter. I made you coffee" he said passing him a cup.
Peter took the offering absent mindlessly walking directly to his office, used to Neal's immature and impromptu gestures. Sipping from the mug, he grimaced at its contents. "Its cold." he said.
"Oh, oops. It would have been warm if you were here when I made it."
Peter scowled as he set the sacrilege offering on his desk. "Why are you bothering me Neal?"
Neal shrugged looking briefly lost. "I thought perhaps the storm you mentioned might have rolled in,"
"No clouds in the sky?"
"Not even a gull." Heaving a large sigh Peter took a seat and Neal followed suit. "Perhaps I could orchestrate something." Said Neal innocently "I'd return everything, naturally."
"Crime is not a game Neal."
"Common Peter, you got to give me something. Another diamond highest!" Peter could see Neal's azure eyes light up at the prospect. "A piece stolen from the MET. Identity theft of a diplomatic citizen! Or a royal who has lost her jewels, huh?" Neal said with a large grin on his face, wiggling his eyebrows.
"Its too early for this." Peter said, rubbing his brow. His phone bleeped and he leaned over and answered it.
Neal snapped his fingers; " I've got it, how about the Federal Banks gold stolen without a trace!"
"How about an art thief?" Peter interrupted as he placed the phone back into the cradle.
"Not me?" Said Neal, suddenly suspicious.
Peter's eyes narrowed at Neal. "No, not you. Not unless you've taken to murder as well. And wasn't that a scene in Die Hard?"
In the conference room, Hughes stood at the tip of the table. Gentle warm rays of light shone through the large windows as summer said its last goodbyes to the city. On the table, a couple of thick folders lay closed under Hughes hands as he addressed his agent and consult. "The FBI are requesting our assistance. A portrait was stolen from one of their murder crime scenes, and they would like us to track it down and work the white-collar aspect of their investigation. They could use all the help hey can get on this one, but it doesn't mean their going to like it. Peter, you know how Organized crime hates to have our department snooping around on their crime scenes. I don't want us to get too comfortable on this one."
Peter nodded with a sigh. He remembered Agent Ruiz snide comments the last time that he had been at a crime scene with Homicide. Most agents that worked in that division became the same. Haunted and made cold by the things they had seen, numb to the world around them. That was just one of the reasons that Peter had turned down the job offer from them. He couldn't do that to Elle. The majority of white-collar criminals used their brains instead of brawn, most of the time anyway. That was why he had decided to join White Collar.
"What piece was stolen?" asked Neal.
"A private piece by James Abbott McNeill." Said Hughes, sliding across a folder to each of them across the conference table. "It's an untitled piece, and unfinished which lessens the value, but it's still a Whistler panting none the less. We have an image given to us by the victim." Both men opened the file they were given. Inside was a picture of the stolen painting, showing a woman in a white dress posing in a flowerbed of daffodils. The outline of the image was drawn in light pencil, barely visible as the lines had faded over time. Delicate stokes of paint adorned the girls face and dress, but only dabs were seen on the rest of the image. The painter had obviously grown tired of painting the piece and never bothered to finish it. Neal looked over the copy slowly digesting the image. He recognized it, but he didn't say anything to the room.
"The FBI have been following a serial killer for just over four years, and have given him the title of The Beholder. It seems this is the first time that he has stolen a piece from one of his murders, though it is suspected that other art thefts can be linked to the killer."
"Why is he called The Beholder?" asked Peter curious.
Hughes sighed. "He's called The Beholder because he leaves a burn mark on the skin of each of his victims. Its his trade mark." Hughes opened his folder and produced a close up photograph. "The mark on the skin resembles an eye. Hence the name, 'The eye of the beholder'. He also leaves each of his victims posed and takes body parts as trophies. But he always lets the authorities know why he killed them, by telling us their faults."
"How colorful." Said Neal, turning to the image that Hughes had referred from, his face contorted into a grimace at some of the crime scene images. He shut the folder curtly and tossed it onto the table, clearly discussed at the contents.
"The FBI believes he's been using a personalized branding iron. They haven't had any luck tracking down forgers that may have made it customary. So far they believe that he made it himself. That makes him adept in forging as well as the amateur surgery that he commits on his victims." Hughes flicked out another photograph of a young girl. "That," said Hughes, "is from the latest victim, Hanna Relvar, the daughter of Clive Relvar, an industry owner of an electronic commerce business downtown. Mr Relvar has a lot of influence, which is another reason why we are being called in. He's is making it his personal mission to bring his daughters killer to justice. He's threatening to bring in the newspapers as well."
"I can see that going down well." Peter said sarcastically.
"The FBI have deterred him from doing it thus far, but if there aren't results soon, it will change very quickly. Peter your track record speaks for its self, at least our department will be covered if things go wrong."
"You said they suspect other art thefts made by the same killer. Why do they think this?" Asked Neal.
"One of the agents on the case," Hughes paused and squinted at the folder under his fingers, "Agent Huntington believes he has recognised a pattern in local thefts. In each case the frame is left on the wall and a fingerprint is always found in the center of the empty frame."
"Suggesting it was intentionally put there." Said Peter.
"Precisely. But the fingerprint is a dead end. They can't find who it belongs to. But it's the same in each case."
"What paintings have been stolen?" Neal said.
"Certainty not your economical paintings. Kazmir Malecich, Gustav Klimt, Raphael, I believe a Matisse is on the list too."
"A Matisse?" Said Neal, Peter smiled across the table at the con man. He knew how fond Neal was of Matisse.
"These are all very prominent artist. Why haven't we heard anything about this before now?"
"All paintings were like this one, quick sketches or half finished making them less noteworthy. Some we don't even have images of. I suggest you talk to the agents in charge of the investigation, Huntington and Durk. They will be able to answer most questions about The Beholder. But remember, you are not to get involved in their side of the case. You are not Homicide, your white collar. You have only been requested to investigate the missing McNeil painting. Everything you find has to be turned over to the agents working this case once you have finished."
A/n: Next chapters coming up soon, I'm clocking into 5 in the morning here in little old Britannia, so I'm an itch tired. *_* gonna rest my eyes. I'll have two more chapters, old and new, to post, so ill get them up in a jiffy. Hehehe, have fun translating that one. ;P
~Chow4noW~
