A/N: Thanks for the support for this story. It turns out people like me :) Please review! -SB
She felt as though she'd been lying on her side for a millenium. Her shoulder and hip felt as though they were on fire. She was bone-achingly cold- with each breath she took, her teeth chattered together as audibly as a jet engine. Her body trembled, goosebumps covering every inch of her flesh. Her hands shook constantly, the cuffs set to a constant jingle. She tried to calm herself, to think rationally, but hysteria was starting to set in, creeping steadily into every thought in her head.
But her hysteria began to peak when she heard a doorknob turn somewhere behind her. A beam of light streamed in from an open door, but in her panic, she didn't think to look around at her surroundings.
She heard heavy thuds on the floor, like hiking boots on a solid concrete floor.
Her breath came out rapid, growing louder and shallower. "Please," she said, her voice breathy, desperate, "Don't hurt, me. Please!" she pleaded with her captor, hysteria growing more and more evident in her weak voice.
A voice came from the now darkness. A sadistic, cold, unfeeling voice. "I wish, sweetheart. I wish."
Brennan released the remains to Cam so she could perform DNA analysis. After signing the last signature on the paperwork, she retreated to her office. Sitting down at her desk, she closed her eyes, rubbed her temples, and sighed. She grabbed the remote and flipped on the TV across the room from her, trying to find any news program or footage that the nosy film crews may have obtained.
She found a promising station when she heard the older-looking broadcaster announce, "The following footage is considered extremely disturbing. We encourage all young children to leave the room."
It then cut to footage of the recovery of the remains, and a much-too-cheerful sounding woman talking about the scene before them. "I has been years since a victim of the Little Lady Killer has surfaced. But now it seems that the dry streak has ended. Human remains have been discovered today in a vacant lot, and all evidence at this time points to the Little Lady Killer." A picture then cut to the victims, listing their names and who they left behind. Then came Chelby. "It is believed that this victim found is Chelby Hodgins. She disappeared June 29, 2003. It is believed that Chelby's dog attacked and wounded the kidnapper, providing his blood and DNA. It is believed that after the kidnap of Chelby, the killer went into hiding, afraid of capture."
"Famous author and forensic anthropologist, Dr. Temperance Brennan is going to be working the case. Many experts are optimistic of the Little Lady Killer's capture. Officer Michael Reed of Washington, D.C. Police Department says, 'Dr. Brennan is the forerunner of her field, and if anyone can capture the Little Lady Killer, it's her. She had closed cases that have been cold longer than the Little Lady Killer's.'"
Brennan switched the TV off. She got enough of these terrible events in her real life. She didn't need to hear a full recap on the news. Plus, she hated when the media glorified her. It was Booth who did the real arresting.
So, after getting awfully bored mentally cussing out the media, she decided to check her email. After logging in, she blew through the first few emails, one from her publisher confirming book tour dates, and a few from other departments at the Jeffersonian. When she was replying to a question from a grad student, a window popped up on her screen. It read: You have a new message in your inbox. Would you like to read it?
She clicked yes. The message was presented on the screen. And the three words that she read made her ice run cold, and her stomach to drop to her feet.
Watch your back.
It's just a prank, it's just a prank, it's just a prank, She kept repeating to herself, willing it to be true. She did not recognize the sender. She kept repeating the prank chant in her head as she dialed Booth's number, which she had memorized. As it rang, she felt herself grow more and more scared. As soon as she heard his voice on the other end, however, she felt a lot more confident. "Booth," he answered in his normal brusque way.
"Oh thank god," she gasped, letting out the breath she didn't know she was holding. She didn't mean to sound so needy; it was just the fact that she was kind of freaked by the email.
"Thank god for... what?"
"For answering," Brennan stated matter-of-factly.
"Okay, then. Your welcome to answering." He paused. "Is there a real reason you called?"
"Yes. I got a really..." Terrifying. Scary. Freaky. I'm-Scared-Out-Of-My-Wits-So-Come-Hold-Me Freakish. "...strange email. I want you to come look at it, or..." she trailed off.
Booth stopped breathing on the other end of the line. A strange email? Usually 'strange' in Brennan's book meant 'horrifying' in Booth's. What really freaked him out was the fact that she'd recieved this 'strange' email on the same day that they'd found the body of the most likely recent victim of one of the most violent serial killers in history? Yes, this definately was more than 'strange'. This definitely qualified as horrifying.
"Bones, you need to listen to every word I say. Understand? Do not be alone. Go out onto the platform where everyone can see you. Go. Now." Booth commanded, his voice icy and serious.
"Booth, there's nothing to do on the platform right now. It's better if I just stay in my office. Besides, I've got a ton of paperwork to do-"
"Bones, you have to trust me. Do you?"
She didn't hesitate. "Yes."
"Then go out onto the platform. I think the killer sent you that email, and you need to make sure you get somewhere where he can not get you without someone seeing." Booth said, his voice still in the deadly serious monotone.
"Sure, Booth." Brennan said, her blind trsut in Booth coloring her voice.
"I'm on my way."
Booth had the sirens blaring on the way to the Jeffersonian, not wanting to waste a single second. Driving like a madman, Booth tried to come up with a hundred different scenarios about why the Little Lady Killer could not get Brennan. "She's in a secure lab," he said aloud, but in his mind, a voice was screaming, a lab that has VENTS. Tunnels. Truck ports. Security gaurds that could be corrupt or bought off. It could be an inside job. For every positive scenario, Booth's mind automatically came up with about a million horrible ones to match it. "She not even his type-" But he cut himself off. Who was he kidding? Brennan was totally his type. Right body type, hair color, height, eye color... not to mention she could find the evidence to put this guy on death row... Subconsciously, Booth's foot pressed harder down on the gas pedal, which was already floored.
Panicked adrenaline pumped through his body, temporarily shoving aside fear. He drove with a one-track focus: Get to Brennan. Get to Brennan. Get to Brennan.
A voice seemed to be chanting that in his head, over and over, and over, and over. Go to her, Booth, it said, you can SAVE her. Go faster. Booth tried to shove the pedal down further, but did not succeed.
For Booth, the ride seemed to take an eternity. But in reality, as he careened into the Jeffersonian, it only took three minutes. He ran in, glad he was wearing comfortable street clothes rather than his usual, stiff suit. His hand was poised on his gun, ready to draw in a millisecond.
"Booth?"
He nearly jumped out of his skin and almost shot Cam when she said his name. "Whoa, there!" she exclaimed as he drew his gun, aiming with the sniper-accuracy of the seasoned shooter he was. "What is wrong with you?"
"Where's Bones?" he asked, his mind still on that one-track focus.
"In her office? Like she always is?" Cam said slowly, her forehead crinkling as she squinted in confusion at him.
"Damn it. I told her to come on to the platform!" He cussed again under his breath, and ran in the direction of Brennan's office.
"Booth!" Cam shouted after him, "What the hell is going on?"
But he hardly heard her. He was still running for the glass doors that would lead to Brennan's office. Upon entering, there were two things he was certain of: One, Brennan was not in there, which sent his stomach and heart plummeting to the soles of his shoes, and two, there was no evidence of a struggle, which made him feel a bit better. If Brennan was kidnapped, she'd put up a fight. Unless she knew her kidnapper and didn't know his intentions, his mind screamed.
As Booth surveyed her office, Cam approached behind him. "Maybe she went to the bathroom or something," she suggested. Booth noticed that her voice had raised half an octave, which usually meant she was getting a bit nervous.
"Maybe..." Booth trailed off. He strode over to her desk. His heart plunged through the floor, and he felt on the verge of passing out.
On her desk was a lady bug barrette.
