Chapter Two

They were too tight, pinching and bruising as he wriggled against them but they wouldn't budge. With tiny hands he scratched and clawed at them but they didn't shift or move at all. Why had they made them so tight? His shoulders ached now and his tummy too, the clip was pressing in, jabbing him with its sides. He cried out, complained it was too tight but nothing changed. Pulling his bear closer he hugged it to his chest for he was suddenly scared, scared that he couldn't move, scared that no one answered him. Then there came a crash, a huge crash and he bounced violently. The bear almost slipped from his grasp as he was pressed back into his seat but he regained his grip just as the second crash came, just as big as the first, and he lurched forward. The water came next, so much water and he cried out again but only bubbles emerged, surrounding him, blinding him. Clutching the bear as tight he could he flung himself against the straps until the darkness of the water took him.

Callen blinked and lifted his head from his arms where it had been resting since he was left in this tiny interrogation room several hours ago. Rubbing his eyes he sighed heavily and leaned back in his chair. It wasn't like him to fall asleep during the day but he knew chances were that once the interrogation started he wouldn't be allowed any more chances to rest so he'd made the choice to take it now. Of course the fact that he'd managed to fall asleep at all was a minor miracle and he wasn't betting on that happening again either. Now staring at the ceiling he allowed his mind to wander back to the dream which had woken him. He'd forgotten about the bear, hell he'd forgotten about a lot, but he couldn't help wondering what had happened to it. Had it floated away when he passed out or had that been where they got his name? Tilting his head thoughtfully Callen decided it was probably the latter, I mean, who put their full name on toys anyway?

He was brought back to reality by the interrogation room door which swung open without warning, revealing an older man in a grey suit who was carrying a large cardboard box with 'Callen' written across it in thick, black letters. Still, by the time the new arrival looked his way, the agent had wiped his face clear of all emotions with a practiced ease and raised one eyebrow as he fought off the overwhelming urge to smirk. How desperate were these cops, bringing in a box of blank paper to try and put him on edge? He knew for a fact they had nothing on him; G Callen didn't exist, he hadn't existed in nearly twenty years, the FBI had taken care of that deleting any record of him when they recruited him directly out of the Army. The promise of being able to disappear completely had been what drew him to undercover work, along with being able to live as people with actual family histories for a change.

"So," said the man, closing the door behind him and setting the box down on the table before taking a seat across from Callen, "You're G Callen, correct?"

Callen folded his hands on his lap and eyed the older man with a blank expression. "Well you clearly seem to think I am," he replied in a bored tone of voice.

The man looked him over coolly. "I'm Detective Bronstrum," he supplied, clearly studying Callen's reaction, "Do you have any idea why you're here?"

Callen leaned back in his chair once more, balancing it on two legs and rocking slightly. "Not a clue, Detective," he replied in the same bored voice.

Bronstrum nodded slowly. "Alright," he said calmly, "Are you aware that there's no status of limitations on murders?"

Callen narrowed his eyes slightly; this was not the questions he'd been expecting. "Yeah, I'm aware of that. What are you getting at?"

He may not be as good as Nate, but Callen could still read people quite well, it was one of the things that kept him alive undercover and at the moment he was studying Detective Bronstrum as closely as he could without it being obvious. The detective was clearly confident, and knew he was holding all the cards. His smugness seemed to seep from every inch of his body and from the pleasure he was taking in holding information just out of his reach, Callen could tell he was the type of person who enjoyed breaking people in interrogation.

"You're a particularly difficult man to find, Mr. Callen," the detective said airily, skimming over his suspect's question with ease, "Very difficult in fact."

"Am I?" G replied, being sure to sound unconcerned while wondering for the millionth time how they had even managed to find him. It was like he'd told Sam, he never lived under his own name; everything he owned was under one alias or another.

"You must have paid someone good money to get your past erased Mr. Callen," Bronstrum continued, ignoring Callen's remark, "How long has it been since you've heard that name anyway? About twenty years I believe, does that sound about right?"

Callen said nothing and watched as the smug smile on the detective's face grew.

"That's about the time this guy showed up," the older man continued, reaching into the cardboard box between them and pulling out a file which he flipped open, "Thomas Veser, you run your own small business, own the apartment where we picked you up and have no criminal record unless you count a handful of speeding tickets."

Behind the carefully crafted mask of indifference Callen's mind was buzzing. So they'd somehow found Veser, though how they'd managed to put two and two together he had no idea. Veser had been one of his first aliases and had stuck with him even when he had changed agencies. He was his security blanket, the name he used to buy things, and the one under which all his personal belongings were registered. Veser was the only one of his aliases who was nearly his own person, the business Bronstrum had mentioned was an add-on to OSP and run by the agency, he owned whatever apartment Callen decided to call home and he was a member of at least two local gyms.

Sighing he decided to play it truthfully, or at least not to deny Veser's existence. He let his chair fall back on to four legs with a bang and leaned forwards on the table. "Alright, I changed my name. It's not a crime to want a fresh start Bronstrum," he said, shrugging his shoulders, "Besides, G wasn't much of a name anyway."

Detective Bronstrum nodded slightly then sighed. "Well here's the thing Mr. Callen," he said and Callen noticed he was purposely using that name instead of Veser's, "Thomas Veser may seem like a decent man but you, not so much." He reached into the box again and pulled out yet another file, much thicker than the last. "You see all electronic records of you might be gone, but it just so happens that this department is old-school enough that we still write everything down. The next time you hire someone to make you disappear, Mr. Callen, tell them to make sure they get the paper copies too." With that he flipped open the latest file and looked it over. "Between the ages of ten and eighteen you were arrested nineteen times for everything from shoplifting to assault with a deadly weapon to possession with intent to sell," he paused, "You did five stints in a juvenile detention center and one in the state prison all before joining the military at twenty one."

Callen laughed coldly and shook his head. "Alright, you dug up my past, congratulations. I was a pissed off, miserable kid, my life sucked, but it was twenty years ago, what does it have to do with anything?" He was frustrated now more than anything else, he didn't like people knowing this much about him, hell even his own team didn't know about the criminal record which had been hidden for so long. As it stood the FBI would be getting a phone call to discuss their ability (or apparent lack there off) to make someone disappear. How stupid could they get not to realize that the police in particular would keep paper copies of everything?

"May 28th, 1983, does that date ring a bell?" Bronstrum asked, again ignoring Callen's comments, "You would have been fourteen, I believe."

"Well there're a lot of days in my past detective, you'll have to give me something more to go off," Callen replied, his eyes narrowed as he tried to see where this was going.

"Alright," the detective agreed, he reached into the box again and pulled out a large photograph which he studied for a moment. "That would have been the day you drug the dead body of a young boy past the alley security camera of a local business." He set the picture down and slid it over to Callen. "That's a still taken from the video."

Callen lifted the picture in a sort of daze. It showed two young boys, one – dark haired and the younger of the two – was hanging limply over the shoulders of the older boy and covered in blood. The older boy didn't look much better, his blond hair was filthy and his arms and face were also covered in blood. Callen swallowed the lump which had risen in his throat at the sight but apart from that managed to keep his face empty of emotions.

"Horrible, isn't it?" said Bronstrum, who had been watching him closely, "We just found the younger one's body, or what was left of it anyway. And you did that Mr. Callen, you shot him three times in the chest, you hid his body so no one would ever find him, you murdered a child."

Callen was shaking his head, fighting to keep a lid on his emotions. "I didn't kill him," he said softly, looking up and meeting the detective's eyes, "I didn't."

"But you admit that's you in the picture?" Bronstrum prodded.

"Yes," said Callen who could see no way of getting around that, "That's me, but I didn't kill him, I swear."

Bronstrum tapped his finger on Callen's criminal record beside him, his eyes never leaving those of his suspect. "You were a violent child Mr. Callen," he said coldly, "So don't be too surprised when I tell you that I think you're a lair, and I know you killed him."