In the early morning hours after Maura's abduction, Jane and Frankie's sweep of the crime scene revealed a stroke of serious luck. Providentially, the new owner of the block of derelict buildings across from the alleyway had installed motion-activated security cameras on the property on the same day Maura had been taken. The city had sold the abandoned, run-down structures for cheap to a real estate developer looking to literally turn rags into riches (urban warehouse lofts with high ceilings were all the rage these days), and since every so often a group of kids liked to use the place as a late-night hang-out, they had opted to install the cameras for legal and liability purposes. Jane's instincts screamed that Maura's kidnapper was the same arsonist and stalker who had been taunting Jane, and she knew he was painstakingly meticulous and careful in his attention to all details. So how could he have overlooked this? But the sale of the buildings the previous week had not yet been made public, and the cameras were installed in the late afternoon, so they hadn't been there when he scouted the location one last time before show-time the morning of the abduction.
Jane thanked God for this bit of luck, or fate, she didn't know and she really didn't care. Jane nearly cried out when, upon reviewing the tapes, one revealed a black sedan pulling into the alleyway trailing Maura's Prius. A camera which had been placed high on a ledge offered a view of the front of the car as it drove in, but because of the angle and the low-resolution of the image, they couldn't get a good look at the driver other than that there seemed to be a dark hat or hood covering his (or her? but Jane had a gut feeling there was a man behind all of this) face.
Jane had watched that tape a hundred times over the last few days, but it offered nothing more than what Nina had initially gathered – make and model of the abductor's car, a partial plate, a time stamp indicating the exact time of Maura's kidnapping, and the direction the car turned as it left the purview of the camera. Unfortunately (or perhaps, for Jane's sanity, fortunately), there were no cameras aimed towards the alley, and so they could only suppose what had happened there. But they knew with certainty that she had indeed been taken out of that alley in the vehicle, as the same camera that had captured the grainy image of their suspect on his way in also showed someone - a small, dark silhouette which hadn't been there before - sitting upright in the back seat as it drove off. Maura, no doubt.
No, no. The cameras did offer one more piece of information – the most important one of all: Maura had been taken out of that alley alive. Jane counted this as a blessing amongst all this perdition.
From there, Nina and Frankie and 3 of his buddy patrol officers had spent hours upon hours diligently combing through the maze of Boston's streets, locating every last traffic, security and surveillance camera, trying to piecemeal together a map of the route the perp had taken. It wasn't easy, as they quickly realized that the kidnapper was purposely doubling back, driving in a distorted and confusing pattern, making a right turn and moments later, reappearing at the same intersection only to go left. But on Day Two, they were fairly certain that he had driven Maura out of the city sometime within an hour of taking her, and that they were headed somewhere west.
A quick scan of the state's DMV databases, running the partial against the car's color and model revealed only four possible registered vehicles. Jane had personally made a visit to two of the owners, ruling them both out rather quickly. One was a florist who lived outside of Medford, and who had been out to dinner and a show with her husband downtown the night Maura was taken. Footage from the parking garage showed her car had been in the same place till shortly after midnight. The second was a college kid from Lancaster who had another solid alibi.
The other two vehicles were registered to one Willie Maples and to one Stephen J. Crawley. They had sent local police to investigate the former, who had an address listed in Raynham, and got word that everything checked out. The latter, however, was a recently divorced, high profile corporate defense lawyer who was known for his shrewdness. He had gotten some big name businesses out of some big time trouble, and was much despised (or admired, depending on who you asked). Jane and Korsak had brought him in for questioning, but he knew the system. Once he realized he was being looked at for the disappearance of Boston's top ME, he quickly shut his mouth and lawyered up. Jane was initially suspicious, but the more she delved into it, she couldn't find a motive or connection between either her or Maura and this man. She nevertheless kept a close eye on him, demanding the Captain assign officers to detail him night and day. He hadn't been anywhere out of the ordinary, so if he had Maura stashed somewhere, he hadn't been to see her since. That worried Jane.
It was getting late. Maura had been missing for nearly 48 hours already and Jane had spent the whole second day pouring herself over every detail of the lawyer's life when she finally allowed herself to admit that maybe – maybe – he wasn't her guy after all. True, he hadn't been cooperative once he realized what Jane's aim was, but before that, he also hadn't shown any signs of recognizing Jane, and had freely made small talk with her about the Sox as she walked him into the precinct. Jane was usually good at reading people.
So at half past ten in the evening, Jane slammed the folder which contained Mr. Crawley's records shut. "I don't know," she said out loud, to no one in particular. Korsak, who was sitting at his desk, looked up at her over the rims of his glasses. "What are you thinking, Rizzoli?"
"I just don't get it. Why would this guy have any beef with me or Maura? He's got a whole lot to lose from this and I don't see what he has to gain. I can find nothing – no old case, a client, a judge, his gardener, the neighbor boy who walks his dog – nothing," she repeated, "that connects him to this or us. He's a sleaze ball, don't get me wrong, and he knows how to play the game, but I just can't find anything to connect the dots." Jane sighed, rubbing with her thumb and forefinger at the dark circles which had formed under her eyes.
"Me either," Korsak responded, taking off his glasses and resting them gingerly on the stack of papers on his desk. "I hate to say it Jane, but…"
"I know." Jane held up her hand. "I know," she said again, softer this time. They were both worried that they were coming to a dead end so soon. Nina and Frankie were still working on their part, but once the car had left the city, all traces of it had for all accounts and purposes vanished. They had of course immediately put out a BOLO, and every officer in the state was on high alert for a car or passengers matching the description. The Captain had even contacted neighboring State Troopers who had promised to be on the lookout too. But so far, nada.
Korsak ran his hand over his moustache and beard, then squeezed his jaw. "Jane, maybe you should get some sleep, just a few hours in the cribs," he said, but it was more of a question. He knew before the words came out what Jane's reaction would be, but he had to try anyway.
"No. I can't Vince. I just… I can't."
Korsak didn't push. Honestly, he couldn't sleep either. He certainly wasn't as close with Dr. Isles as Jane was, but they were nonetheless good friends, and over the years had formed a hodge-podge family of sorts. Their bond had been solidified over many a Sunday lunch together at the Doc's house, prepared by Angela Rizzoli. He couldn't bear to think of Maura in any danger, and he was currently fighting to keep his own demons at bay – the ones from years ago when Jane herself had been held against her will. In a small way, he could empathize with his ex-partner. He knew firsthand what it was like to worry in this way about someone you care for deeply.
"Okay. But I can't sit at this desk any longer." Korsak stood slowly from his post. "Can we at least get out of here for bit? I don't care where we go. You decide."
"Yeah actually, I was thinking…" Jane trailed off, shuffling through the mess of files in front of her. She rooted around and finally dug up the piece of paper she had been looking for. "What do you say about a drive to Raynham?" she queried, leaning back in her chair as she pushed against her desk.
"What's in Raynham?"
"That's where the last guy on our DMV list lives. Maples… " Jane looked down at the paper in her hand, "Willie Maples."
"I thought he checked out?" Korsak questioned, his expression puzzled.
"Yeah, I guess. I mean, he did, according to the local PD. But I want to check him out myself. I would have done it earlier, but I really thought Crawley was our guy for a moment there and was busy with him." Jane shook her head. "If you're up for it, I wanna go take a second look."
"Sure," Korsak returned voluntarily, "but what do you plan on doing this late at night? We can't go knocking on this man's door at…" Korsak paused, checked his watch, then made a mental estimate of roughly how long it would take them to drive to Raynham, "close to midnight."
"I'll knock on whoever's door, whenever I have to, if it means finding her." That came out harsher than Jane had meant. She immediately eased up. "But no, I'm not planning on busting in on the guy in his PJs. Not yet. Just want to talk to the officers who checked him out, see what they found. Maybe drive by his house?" Jane threw her hands up to the side in surrender. "I don't know what else to do, Vince."
"Alright then, let's go. You pull the car up. I'll tell Frankie where we're headed and meet you down there." Korsak underhanded a set of keys to Jane and smiled slightly at the detective. Jane nodded back, thankful for this man who was willing to come with her on a wild goose chase if it meant getting Maura Isles back.
Maura sat on the dirt floor, legs out in front of her, her knees slightly bent towards the ceiling. Her back was pressed softly against a damp cement wall, as straight as she could manage. She hugged a square pillow to her chest with one arm and tried to control her breathing.
She was fairly certain she had a fractured costa. Most likely the eighth or ninth, she had concluded, after delicately walking the skilled fingers of her left hand down the right side of her rib cage, pressing down tenderly to locate the exact source of the pain. It hurt unbelievably to move, even breathe, which was why she was now holding the extra padding gently to her. She squeezed her eyes shut, sucking air steadily in through her teeth, counting slowly to ten as she inhaled and then back down to one as she released. In spite of the searing discomfort, she knew that in order to prevent any complications, especially pneumonia, she had to force herself to take ten deep breaths every hour while awake, being careful not to over-exert herself. As she counted through her pain, she reminded herself that the piercing, burning sensations currently travelling from her nociceptors via the dorsal horn in her spinal cord to her thamalus and beyond, were indeed a positive sign. That is to say, the fact that her brain was still actively registering pain meant she… was still alive. And that was good.
Maura looked around the small, dim space she was now currently entrapped in. The walls were made of cinderblocks, stacked high in a rectangular shape, and the gaps between them as well as the hollow insides of the blocks had been filled in with concrete. The room was perhaps 15 feet by 10 feet (roughly 4 and half by 3 meters, Maura calculated), and the roof was nothing more than sheets of undulating, corrugated metal fastened to a decaying grid-work of thick wooden beams. During the day, sunlight snuck in through the curved gaps under the wavy edges of the roof, for which Maura was grateful, as there were no other windows or sources of light in her cell. The one way in and out was the solid metal door in one of the shorter walls, which Maura could tell by the paint that was chipping and flaking off had once been a sort of dark orange-yellow hue. She sat facing the only exit, unable to take her eyes off it.
Next to her, a thin flat mattress lay on the dirt floor, a worn-out comforter squarely tucked in and turned down over it. Maura had never gone a day in her life without making the bed she slept in. On those rare occasions that Maura spent the night at Jane's, her detective friend lovingly teased that her bed was going to feel "suffocated" as she watched Maura expertly rearrange the sheets and pillows, smoothing out all the wrinkles.
On either side of the door were two large plastic buckets, both covered by slabs of wood. One top of one – the bucket which was half-filled with water – there was a bright yellow sponge. Other than that, the only other objects in the space besides Maura herself were her black Italian leather zip-up boots, placed on their side at the foot of the makeshift "bed", and Maura's heather-grey blazer neatly folded and resting on top of the boots.
Maura figured she'd been missing for a right around two days by now. They had driven through Massachusetts, briefly through New York and in to Pennsylvania, only stopping that once early on for her kidnapper to refuel. Neither of them had used the restroom or eaten since they started their journey almost 8 hours prior, and though she was starting to feel small pangs of hunger, she was glad that she had long ago learned to control her body's needs and impulses. It had been a useful skill with parents who sometimes became so engrossed in grant writing or charity work that they neglected to think of their young daughter. And Maura had truly hated to bother them, so she learned to wait as long as she could – to put whatever she needed out of mind until one or the other parent stirred from their trance and tended to her.
When the sun finally rose the morning after her abduction, and more people and cars began to occupy the side roads they were travelling, her captor had stopped the car for a second time. Again he slid into the seat next to Maura, and this time, without a word, had produced a 28 gauge needled syringe from a small black kit and dexterously stuck the tip into Maura's neck. She had no time to think, to react, before she felt the effects of what she imagined (hoped!) to be a sedative slide over her senses and pull her towards unconsciousness. It was quick acting, and Maura tried to fight it, but in less than a minute she was out. The last thing she saw before closing her eyes was him covering her with a blanket. How odd, she mused, her muddled brain interpreting this act as some kind of compassion. Had she been more aware, she would have quickly realized that he had done this so that, to anyone who might have caught a glimpse of the woman in the back seat, it looked as if she were merely taking a nap.
When she did come to, Maura's world was upside down, literally. As she struggled to get her bearings, she looked up to see her hair standing straight on its end in front of her face and the… ground passing above her? She shut her eyes tight again and tried to focus, but the sound of blood rushing in her ears made it impossible. When she opened them again, she thought she could make out the back of someone's legs mid-stride. A few more moments passed before Maura finally regained her senses completely, and it dawned on her then that she was being carried, tossed over someone's shoulder. She mentally inventoried her physical state, and quickly realized her arms and legs were no longer bound. Her wrists were still taped together, but otherwise she was free, except of course for that this man had both his arms wrapped tightly just above her waist. She tried to turn her head up and around so that she could see him without giving away the fact she was now awake, but could only get a look at his broad shoulders and the back of his neck. He wasn't, she instantly noted, wearing the hood or the mask, which to her could only mean two things: 1) he was no longer concerned about Maura recognizing him, or 2) he hadn't expected her to come around this soon. In either case, Maura thought her best chances were to play opossum, and hope he bought the act.
He carried her perhaps another minute before stopping. Maura could feel him jostling around a bit and heard the sound of keys clanking together and then the slow, heavy, mechanical thhhhck of a key turning in a dead bolt. Maura opened her eyes one last time, trying to get the best look she could of where on earth he had taken her, but all she saw was gravel and a patch of grass and beyond that, what she thought were trees. Lots of trees. Then he stepped into a room and the light disappeared as he spun around and she heard the creaking of a door being closed on rusty hinges. She quickly shut her eyes again, stilling her heart and evening out her breathing as much as possible.
He set her down carefully on the mattress, and Maura let her legs fall limply and awkwardly where he laid her, like a discarded ragdoll. She willed herself not to move, even though she felt… vulnerable. Exposed, all splayed out that way, eyes closed but her mind fully conscious of the position she was in. Since she couldn't watch, she listened, and she distinctly picked up the sound of his footsteps as he walked away from her, opened the door once more, and exited. She could hear the gravel outside crunch under his shoes. Maura dared to lift one eyelid ever so imperceptibly, and found, thankfully, that she was alone. What was more, she could see a wedge of light coming in from where the door had be left just slightly ajar.
Was he testing her? Or did he really think she was still under the effects of the drug he had given her?
Maura weighed her options. This could be her only chance. If he really wasn't aware that Maura was conscious, then she could make an attempt to escape. It was an enormous risk, she knew that, but she felt compelled to do something. So far she had only been a powerless bystander in this whole ordeal. Maybe it was now or never. But what if he was waiting for her just outside the door? So far, besides the very first threat he had made, which had seemed more bark than bite, he had been more or less indifferent to Maura. Yes, he had bound her and kidnapped her, but he hadn't been overtly violent. She was afraid to provoke him all the same, as more than anything he seemed highly unstable psychologically. He had to be, to do something like this.
Maura wasn't sure what to do, and she knew that the longer she debated it internally, the more her possible chance at freedom drifted away from her. "What would Jane do?" she considered. Jane - Jane would run the first chance she got. Jane would have taken her captor by surprise, started kicking and fighting the moment she woke up in his arms, and by sheer strength and willpower Maura was certain Jane would have escaped him. But Maura wasn't Jane. She didn't have Jane's police training, her physicality or build. She also didn't have Jane's courage. Jane was the kind of person that leapt off bridges without a second thought, while Maura had remained immobile and watched helplessly, only able to stand there as a million unbearable thoughts ran through her mind the second Jane went over the ledge. No, Maura couldn't do what Jane does.
Her mind was made up for her then when she heard him coming back in her direction, and she relaxed her eyelids. He entered the room, and it seemed from the sounds he was making like he was moving things around. She could hear something hollow and plastic knocking against more plastic, and then a low bubbling which slowly rose in pitch, what sounded to her like a lot of water being poured into a container. And then, once more, without a word, he left, leaving the door half closed and unlocked on his way out again.
Maura opened her eyes to a black tripod leaning against one wall, as well as a bucket and some small boxes of various shapes that hadn't been there previously. This was it, she thought. He obviously had been bringing these things from wherever they were stored and had genuinely trusted that Maura was out to the world. It was strange, knowing him, that he could have incorrectly calculated the dosage or the length of time it would stay in effect, but she pushed these thoughts out of her mind as she made the mindful decision to roll on to her side and use her bound hands to leverage herself into an upright position. Her whole body trembled, the direct result, Maura understood, of her hypothalamus triggering the pituitary release of the hormone ACTH, which in turn caused the adrenal glands in her kidneys to unleash adrenaline into her bloodstream.
She stood slowly but resolutely, squinting in the relative darkness of the space. And then, truly leaning in to all the fear, self-doubt, and uncertainty that pulled at her, she took a small step forward, then another, and another, until she was standing directly behind the door. She placed her ear against the cool metal and stilled her lungs and heart, focusing on the sounds coming from the opposite side. Wind. The distinct rustling of leaves. The chirrup of a bird who couldn't be more than 10 yards away from where she stood. But no footsteps. No. Footsteps. "Move, Maura," she whispered aloud herself, and without giving herself time to second-guess her actions, she leaned around and through the opening, poking her head out of the doorway. Her eyes darted over the scene before her franticly, and relief washed over in waves as she realized her captor was nowhere in sight. She released a breath she hadn't realized she was holding and, emboldened, slipped through the opening in the door, careful not to make it swing in either direction on its oxidized hinges.
And just like that, she was out. She was free. Free. Run, Maura. Move. Her mind jolted her into reaction and her feet started moving of their own will, carrying Maura as fast and as nimbly away from her prison and captor as she had ever moved in her life. She had no idea where she was but instinct told her to just run, put as much distance between him and her as she could. Headed straight for the row of trees at the edge of a thick wood, Maura actually felt like this might not have been some desperate, crazy act. Maybe she really was going to get out. She was flying.
She felt it before she heard it. The deep boom of his voice as he bellowed, distraught, "STOP!" He was behind her, there was distance between them – not enough, she cringed, but maybe – and she kept moving forward, the legs that had carried her across many a marathon finish line now drawing on muscle memory, propelled not by some faculty in her brain but by the feeling in her gut that told her her life really did depend on it.
Thundering footsteps, gaining on her. Maura tried to run faster, but with her arms tied unnaturally together, she couldn't swing them to propel her forward. Her chest heaved. Move, Maura.
The snapping of twigs, closer still. He roared again, "Stop, Dr. Isles! No! This is not the way! Not. Like. This!" and with the last word, she could practically feel his breath on her back as his longer legs closed the final gap between them. In an instant, she slammed into the dirt and leaves face down, unable to brace her fall, smacking her chin on a rock. Warm blood trickled instantly. Her back ached too and a heavy weight pinned her. She could feel his entire body shaking as he grabbed furiously at her shoulders, and then he was flipping her underneath him to face up, straddling her thighs as she kicked and flailed.
"Please," she begged, and it came out in an agonized whimper. "Please, please. Please." Tears were, for the first time she realized, streaming down her cheeks. She brought her gaze up to his face and when she did, she regretted it instantly. Yes, his features were those of the man whose voice she'd recognized. It was him, no doubt. But the expression on his face was foreign - wild, deranged, and… enraged.
"It can't happen like this!" he spit as he seethed. "Not. You." And through her tears Maura tried but failed to comprehend something of his rant.
She opened her mouth, ready to plead and bargain and entreat him to come to his senses, to not do this, but all that escaped her lips was a deep, guttural mmmffff as once, then twice, his knee made sudden forceful contact with her right side. "Don't. Talk, " he commanded and Maura couldn't have if she'd wanted to, only able to gasp for air. She wasn't sure if it was the physical blow or the panic that was suffocating her, but she was certain death wasn't far off.
He leaned down now, bringing his face within a few inches of hers. "Not you, Dr. Isles. You can't do this. Don't you understand?" He wasn't shouting anymore, but the venom in his voice was still present. "Not. You. Jane. Jane has to do this. Not you."
After that, he had picked Maura unceremoniously off the ground and dragged her back towards her cage by her linked forearms. He panted heavily and shook his head repeatedly, trying to regain his composure, Maura thought. In the short time it took to reach the cell, Maura watched as the fury and madness dissipated from his eyes, and he almost looked familiar again. The nearly instant change from irate to calm and collected unsettled Maura to her core. He was volatile, unpredictable, and Maura Isles was a person whose life had been ruled by facts and predictable outcomes. She was at a loss with how to handle him, this situation, any of it. She contemplated saying something, but even had she known what, the overwhelming pain in her side kept her silent.
A few feet from the prison door, a handful of boxes lay haphazardly on the gravel, their contents spilled out in all directions. He leaned down to pluck something from the mess, swinging it back and forth on his index finger in front of Maura. She recognized the black ski mask he had worn in the car. "Guess I won't be in need of this, eh?" he joked nonchalantly, and his grin made Maura sick.
He had lead Maura back into the room, making a show of locking the door securely behind him this time. Flipping an empty bucket on its mouth, he indicated for Maura to sit down, and he quickly set up the tripod, snapping a few pictures of Maura against the cinderblock backdrop. "She'll go crazy over these," he murmured giddily, and Maura's heart stopped.
He didn't have to say who "she" was. Maura knew. Maura knew and it made her physically nauseous. She had of course hypothesized that he was also the one behind the watch and the arson, but this along with his damning confession out in the woods sealed Maura's dread. Maura was just another pawn. Jane – her tough, tenacious, fierce best friend – was the real target. He was using Maura to get to Jane. Maura doubled over instantly, a searing pain tearing through her side as she felt the acidic burn of stomach bile rising through her throat, heaving up and out.
Her failed escape had happened on the evening of the first day after her abduction. Night had come quickly and the next day passed, nothing occurred except for the two times he had come back, bringing Maura something to eat and waiting while she finished so he could take her plate and utensils out with him. She barely ate - she was constantly nauseous and, even had her appetite returned, she was afraid of what damage she'd do to her injured rib if she vomited again.
Both times he had come, his face was unreadable. The stoic, detached expression he wore seemed practiced. He simply stood, studying his captive, and said nothing. Maura didn't speak either. A part of her had wanted, desperately, to coax some justification from him. She was never one to let anything rest, she had always been driven by an innate need to understand. But her desire for answers was overridden by pride. She wasn't going to give him the pleasure of watching her supplicate another time. That, coupled with the belief that any attempt at reasoning would be futile, kept her silent. So she used every ounce of strength and will power she had in her to ignore his presence in this tiny prison cell with her. Thankfully, his visits were brief and infrequent. Only on the first morning in her cell, the second morning after her disappearance, after collecting the still-full bowl of luke-warm soup he he had cut the tape from Maura's wrists, allowing her to clean the deep cut on her chin and the blood from her neck with a sponge and water from the bucket he kept half-full – enough for Maura to drink, or wash herself with, but not enough to drown in.
And now, two days in, Maura sat leaning against the wall, fear and guilt picking away at her. She was the bait. He was hunting, Jane was his prey and he was using Maura to lure her in. As much as Maura prayed and hoped that Jane wouldn't, she knew. She was certain in every fiber of her being. She knew her Jane and she knew beyond all doubt that Jane would come for her, Jane would find her. And he would be waiting.
Author's note, feel free to skip: THANK YOU for your fantastic reviews and follows. I can't believe what a quick and positive response this has received! Hope Chapter 2 lived up to your expectations. I don't have a beta or proof-reader so please forgive any mistakes or typos. I had wanted to get further in the plot than this but it was already getting so long (I hope not too long) so I thought this was a good place to stop it for now. I'm not entirely happy with Maura's part, but I wanted to update, so I might come back and rewrite this later. I won't change the plot, just polish some things. Anyway, let me know about the pacing of this one - too slow? Too much detail?
I was asked if this is going to be a Rizzles story. I mean, I absolutely believe these two super-brilliant and gifted ladies are soulmates, destined to be together come what may (who doesn't?). But for now at least the story is just going to focus on their insane connection to and need for one another in order to survive (this ordeal, life in general) – when that turns into a realization of a deeper kind for one or both of them is still to be determined, but it will happen in some form or another sooner or later (I even have the perfect inspiration song for it). This thing is just kind of writing itself for now, and I'm letting it go where it wants. Does that answer your question? :-X
And, since I'm new to this, I have no idea if I'm actually legally obligated to post the disclaimer that these characters (clearly) are not my intellectual property. So here goes: none of it's mine.
Again, I really do welcome any criticism, critiques, or suggestions. I'm shooting for as in-character and as much accuracy in the minutia as I can get (inconsistency irks me, but I'm definitely not a doctor), so if something doesn't match up right or you don't think one of the characters is believable, let me know. Or, anything else really.
