-2-
The right side of Brennan's head pounded behind her closed eyes. Groaning, she fought an impulse to vomit, leaning back against the cool concrete for support. A sudden pinch of pain from her neck forced her eyes open, and her hands involuntarily jerked toward the open puncture mark—the chains stopping them halfway there.
Her prison was now partially lit from the corner directly across from her. A small candle was the source. The light it emitted was so faint it barely created shadows, but its presence was a small comfort to Brennan. If light could survive down here, then so could she.
Her eyes discerned as much as they could from her surroundings. She noted that the candle rested on top of a large boiler—a black, bulky shape which sent a small shiver through her spine. A thousand times she had used them, but never had they seemed more menacing then now. To the right of the boiler was a table, unoccupied. But she knew that it hadn't been not long ago.
She looked to her right and stared into an inky void. The light didn't go far enough to illuminate it. But her memory told her that there was a door somewhere in there, as well as a staircase—confirming that she was indeed underground.
She froze as she heard a click to her right, and at that moment the candle went out.
--
Booth walked into the Jeffersonian trailed by two men from the lab who were wheeling in another skeleton. He hadn't been able to contact his partner. But it was six o'clock in the morning when the body had been found, and at the time he hadn't really wanted to wake Brennan up anyway, so he just let the lab workers recover the body.
He knew she'd be angry, but he'd take his retribution.
Zack, spotting the body from the bone suite, supervised the workers' movements until they had lain the body on the table, at which point they scurried off.
Booth ignored these actions and headed to his partner's office, figuring it would be best to take the lashing sooner rather than later. To his surprise, she wasn't there.
Frowning, he headed for Angela's office.
"Angela, have you seen Bones this morning?"
She shook head, "No. She hasn't come in yet."
He made a "hmph" sound and shrugged. Maybe his partner was asleep. It was only eight o'clock after all.
Shrugging again, he walked up to the forensic platform, where Zack and Hodgins had already begun to lay out the bones.
Booth watched them, thinking that they had to be the most efficient squints on the planet. Hodgins' specialty was slime and yet he was still helping Zack in lieu of Brennan.
It only took the two of them ten minutes to get the skeleton lain out. As soon as that was done, Zack grabbed the bag which contained the skull and carefully placed the bone pieces on a small tray.
Thirty seconds in, he froze, holding onto a small envelope and its contents.
Hodgins, noticing the object which held his attention, got up to look. After a pause, he turned to Booth, swallowing.
"What?" he jumped up and walked over to them. "What is it?"
Mutely, Zack held the object out to him.
Booth took it.
In his hand was a necklace made of small silver beads. The centermost bead was slightly larger and contained a small red gem; hanging off of that was a yellow stone framed in more silver.
It was the necklace Brennan had been wearing the night before.
--
Angela walked into her office to find Booth on her couch, staring at the necklace despondently.
Two hours ago he had called the Bureau and pulled every string he could find to try to find Brennan. Agents had looked all over her apartment, the Jeffersonian, and any other building that she could conceivably have gone to. In the end, they were forced to face the reality of things: she wasn't there.
Zack was working furiously with the bones, trying to find anything. Hodgins and Cam were rubbing Booth's shoulders, staring into space.
Angela herself had been crying in the bathroom, fighting the images infiltrating her mind.
"Did you find anything?" she asked Hodgins, sniffing.
"Sediment. She was taken from the garden," he said it without looking at her.
"Here?"
He nodded.
She collapsed onto the chair opposite them. Hodgins got up and crossed to her, reaching for her hand.
Angela pulled him closer and wept into his shirt.
It was then that Zack walked in.
He was trailed by a security guard. The security guard was holding onto the cuff of a young man, maybe fifteen, who was holding onto a small box.
Everyone stared at them, wondering what was going on.
Zack looked angry; it was one of the few times Angela had ever seen that emotion characterize his generally calm features, "Tell Agent Booth what you just told me."
The young man looked slightly frightened by all the angry attention being turned his way, "Uh…I have a delivery from a Dr. Brennan."
At the mention of her name, everyone jumped up.
Booth grabbed the guy by his collar and slammed him into the wall, "What?"
"A man walked up to me in the street. Gave me five-hundred dollars if I could deliver the message and the package to the Jeffersonian."
Zack had grabbed the small box before Booth had gotten up, saving it from certain destruction.
"What's in it?" Angela asked, almost afraid to know.
"I don't know," Zack said, not looking very inclined to open it either.
Neither Hodgins nor Booth were willing to touch it.
After a few moments of staring at the box, Cam finally stepped forward and took it. It was wrapped in the remains of a few paper-bags, like those taken from a supermarket, and sealed closed by duct tape.
She grabbed a small letter opener from Angela's desk and cut the paper and the tape all the way around the box. Being careful not to touch the tape, she took the packaging off. What everyone was staring at was a jewelry box. After another brief pause, Cam used the letter opener to undue the latch and lift the lid.
Inside was a surgical needle filled with blood.
Angela's stomach performed an upheaval, but she didn't move.
Cam didn't say anything; she just took the needle out of the room, heading for her office. Hodgins grabbed the packaging and the tape and departed.
Booth turned back to the delivery boy, "The man that approached you. What did he look like?"
"Uh, um…" he looked like he may have a panic attack.
"Tell me!"
Angela wasn't feeling too sympathetic, but she knew that coercion wasn't going to work on him.
"Here," she got up and led the boy to her desk chair with a lightness she didn't feel, giving Booth a look. "Just give me his features," she drew a basic outline and waited for his response.
When the boy started to talk, Zack left the room, no longer able to control the shaking in his legs. He headed to the bone suite. Booth remained in the office, sitting on the couch with fists clenched.
Eons later, they had a face.
And Hodgins had something else.
Hearing that their co-worker had found something, everyone went to his office while the boy was escorted out.
"The needle was washed with tap water, and a fairly large amount of it was trapped inside of the pocket for the plunger."
"You have something?" Angela asked, hope returning.
"Well, I don't have an exact location, but I know the neighborhood."
"Where is it?" Booth asked.
"It's within a few mile radius of my neighborhood."
--
The house stood on an outcropping of small trees, closed off from the street by a large iron gate. Several large and overgrown bushes bordered the gate, effectively giving the illusion that the house it contained was large and impressive. But as Booth drove through he couldn't help but note that real house looked very normal. Brick in some places, white everywhere else. It was banal, as he suspected the owner would turn out to be.
Parked outside of the small building were five FBI SUVs and three police cars. A large truck with FBI stenciled across it was parked off to the side—the transport for the CSU techs.
"What do we have?" Booth asked hopefully, walking up to Special Agent Katherine Dorsey, who was running the scene. "Did you find her?"
Katherine was tall and fair-skinned, her hair black and long. She was an honest, hard-working agent—more than worth her salt. But right now her hazel eyes were worried and weary, sympathy poring from her facial features. He knew her answer before she could voice it.
"No," she said mournfully, "I'm sorry, Booth."
"Did you find anything?" his voice borderlined on a beg.
Karen exchanged glances with Andrew Simmons, who had walked up behind her. "Yes," she said hesitantly.
"What?" His apprehension level was rising.
With only one final glance at her partner, she led Booth through the front door of the house. The interior truly was banal—wood floors, beige walls. There was no art, no rugs, no pictures. To the right of a completely unimpressive kitchen was a staircase, which the two quickly climbed up. She led him down a hall with brown carpeting, then stopped beside an open door.
"What?" he asked again.
She gestured inside and he looked. To his horror, photographs of at least fifteen women wall-papered every square inch of space available in the room. He recognized all but a few, but his eyes were riveted to one particular set of photographs on the lower left-hand corner of the southern wall. He knew that auburn hair, those clear gray eyes.
Taken from a telephoto lens were at least two dozen shots, all of his partner. In some she was eating; others she was walking down the street, talking to a figure he recognized as himself, or kneeling over a body. A particularly impressive shot showed her with hands on hips, hair yanked into a pony-tail, as she glared at a hapless CSU tech. He remembered that as the day they had discovered the eighth victim and an inexperienced tech had apparently moved something that he wasn't supposed to.
With a sigh, he asked quietly if there was anything more at the house. Karen shook her head.
"I'm sorry, Booth."
"Yeah," he said, walking away, "So am I."
--
Brennan stared into the oppressive darkness, wondering what the man was doing. She still couldn't see him, but she wasn't really sure that it mattered. It held no bearing on whether or not she could escape, it was merely something her psyche craved.
Caging her emotions, she ran her fingers along the chains which kept her captive, searching for a weakness. Just as she felt something which sent a surge of hope through her body, the man spoke.
"Your partner has cops crawling all over my house right now, so I can't go back," she could sense his movement as he got closer to her. A shift of his footing, and suddenly a light flickered on. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, her eyes pierced with pain from the abrupt change in lighting. "I have supplies here though," he turned and she forced her eyes open once more.
Her captor had coal black hair which had grown out of a close cut. His nose was straight and sharp, his cheekbones high and standing in sharp relief against his otherwise gaunt face. He didn't look particularly strong or agile. She would never have believed she was looking at a monster had it been a normal situation.
The one thing that struck Brennan was his eyes. They were filled with rage and hate. But more than anything else, she saw emptiness. His eyes were more terrifying than anything she had ever seen before. They told her that he would not hesitate to end her life, as he had his other victims.
He leaned against the corner of the side room, so that he was facing her directly. Between his fingers was another needle, but this one was filled with a bright green liquid. Adrenaline began to course through her body.
She had a suspicion about what was in that needle. She didn't want it confirmed.
Perhaps noticing the expression on her face, he looked down at the object he held, "Oh, this? This is euthanasia. But not to worry, I'm not going to kill you now," he said it nonchalantly, shrugging. He might as well have been discussing the weather.
"Why'd you color it green?" she asked quietly, and her voice sounded labored even to her ears.
He smiled, revealing perfectly white teeth, "I've always liked the color," he set the needle down on an old wooden shelf directly to his right. "But enough talk," his fingers twitched as they pulled out another surgical needle. "It's time for sleep now."
Once more, there was nothing she could do but watch as he injected another heavy dose of sedative into her bloodstream.
--
"What did you find, Hodgins?" Booth asked, stepping into the entomologist's office with the rest of the team trailing behind him.
"Pollen, organic compounds, particulates—"
"Please. Just tell us," Cam said.
He sighed and shook his head, "I think this basement is outside of a house."
"Why?"
"Well, I found trace evidence from plants and soil. Why would someone have a tree in their house?"
"So, what? We're looking for something like a hurricane shelter?" Booth asked.
"Something like that. And I took a look at the water you collected from your suspect's house—it's pretty much the same."
Booth shook his head, "We have a name, a house, a possible location—what are we missing? Why can't we find her?"
None of them had an explanation.
Cam and Booth left together—he needed her for morale support. Angela forced Hodgins to go home, unable to stay at the lab any longer. Zack stayed, playing his teacher's role—reading the bones of the dead woman on his table.
--
Brennan had a feeling it was late afternoon. Although it was pitch black and there was no source of light in the basement, she just had the feeling.
Hours ago she had rediscovered a small crack in the eighth link of the part of the chain holding her right arm. She had since been applying a large amount of pressure to the area.
After guesswork combined with what her hands told her, she had concluded it was only one chain looped through an eye-hole in the wall which held her there. So, by her reasoning, if she broke just one link, she would be free.
The chance of success was slim. She knew that. But she would not just wait in the basement for her death, staring into the void with trepidation. If she was going to go down, she would go down fighting. No matter how small the odds, she would keep on fighting until the very end.
She had lost all feeling in her hand long ago; it had been twisted into such an unnatural position for so long that she was starting to get concerned about the lack of blood flow. Just when she was considering readjusting, there was a loud CRACK! as the link finally failed.
She froze as the chains finally slid to the floor around her, sure that he had heard her. Hell, she was sure penguins in the arctic had heard her.
But nothing happened. Her prison remained as silent as it had been from the beginning. Placing her hands on the dirt floor, she pushed to her feet, then reached for the wall as her legs failed. She had been in a prone position for at least forty-eight hours, and the muscles in her legs had long since cramped up.
She slid back to the floor and massaged her now aching muscles, trying to get feeling back. After several long minutes she felt strong enough to walk again, and she clambered to her feet once more. This time her legs supported her.
Cautiously, she stepped into the black void of the room, her fingers traced the wall. She stopped as she felt something small and box-like, and to her great relief she realized it was a light switch. She flipped it and the single naked light bulb oozed into life, occasionally flickering to show its dubious strength.
Revealed before her were two doors—one on the left wall and one directly in front of her. She walked toward the latter, reaching for the knob.
It was locked.
A quiet curse slipped from her lips. She had no confidence in her ability to kick the door down, and even if she succeeded, it would surely draw the attention of the Man, whom she would have no strength to fight.
Brennan decided to see what was in the smaller room to her left, hoping that it might contain a key. What she found was unsettling.
Inside of the room was shelves—and they were filled with drugs. She could see pills, vials, IV fluids, and ointments, all lined up and organized by their names and type. Some she recognized, and others she did not. On a table directly in front of her she recognized a small bottle of benzodiazepine—the drug he'd been using to keep her sedated. So distracted was she by the sight of the pharmaceuticals, she almost didn't hear the sound from behind her.
She turned, and a bat slammed into her parietal.
Gritting her teeth, for she was not going to give up now, she twisted the object out of his hands and hit him in the gut. Hard. He backed up, stunned. Taking that to her advantage she hit him a few more times before he landed a blow to her jaw.
Tasting blood, she stepped forward and caught his next attack, whirling and throwing all her weight into her elbow as it slammed into the space above his right kidney.
He doubled over as she put every last drop of strength she had into a punch to his head. He went down with a grunt, and then went still.
She stared at him for a moment, her mind swimming and her thoughts fragmenting. All she could think was that she needed to get out. She reached for the slightly ajar door which led to a staircase and mounted the first step. What she saw on the top was a small platform and a trap-door. Opening it, she proceeded out into cool summer air and the welcoming shapes of trees and plants.
Taking a deep breath, she looked down to see a slight trail in the underbrush. Following it, she discovered it lead to a sidewalk.
She stood there for a moment before recognition hit. She knew this sidewalk.
--
Angela walked to the door of Hodgins' estate house, on her boyfriend's heels. Someone had been banging on the door for several long minutes, and he was getting antsy.
He glanced through the peephole and paused, every muscle in his neck tensing.
"What?" Angela asked.
Hodgins yanked open the door.
Temperance Brennan was standing on the stoop, looking worse for wear. Her hands were bruised and bloody, her hair was matted and tinged red, her jaw was bruised, and she was covered in dirt and filth. Around her wrists were the remains of a long chain.
"Angela…" she muttered before her eyes rolled up and she crumpled.
Hodgins dove and caught her, while the artist ran to call 911.