Disclaimer - Not mine.
A/N - Stuff happens in this chapter. Things start to move in the story, although I suppose people of a particular disposition may find some of it a little upsetting. It's nottoo graphic though. OK, well I hope you enjoy this chapter. Next one may be up in a couple of hours, maybe a couple of days. Please review!
He paced up and down in front of them, trying to make them understand how it was supposed to be. How they were supposed to be the perfect family; enjoying home-cooked meals, talking rather than watching television in the evenings, discussing anything under the sun. They just didn't understand how much all of this meant to him. He stopped short, and crouched down in front of little Katy. She stood firm, trying to make her bottom lip stop trembling. Stefan lurched forward. He was caught by his mother and Lucy, who seemed at least to understand that interrupting him was a bad idea.
"Katy. My sweet little Katy." He said, brushing her cheek with his knuckles. "You know why I do this, don't you?"
She choked back a sob, and looked at her mother for guidance. Melanie nodded. Katy looked back at him, and parroted the gesture. "Yes." She said, in a surprisingly strong voice. "I understand."
"You're my good girl." He said.
Rising to his feet, he fixated on Stefan yet, who was still tense under his mother's tight grip. The boy, only just twelve, returned his gaze with cold fury. He was surprised at Stefan's strength. He would not have predicted from the quiet boy who hung back most of the time, and said little. Perhaps, he thought, I have underestimated him. The fire that his twin, Emma, possessed, was present in him too. A light bulb went on his head.
"Now you, boy." He chuckled. "You have to stop disobeying me." Stefan's face was a picture as he took the mobile phone out of his pocket. "I know you've been hiding this."
It belonged to the boy's sister, Annabel, but Stefan had undoubtedly been keeping it hidden. He had secreted it away behind a loose brick. Unfortunately for the boy, he had heard the tell-tale scraping sounds of brick against concrete, and had searched the basement whilst the kids were away at school. He regretted that now; the decision to put them in school. He realized it was too much of a risk. For all he knew, they had already passed on information.
An ugly look crossed his face. He crossed the room, and took out a shoebox from his cupboard. The family sat frozen on the sofa, as he carefully unpacked a small gun. He handled it reverently. It had belonged to his mother, who had bought it to replace the gun his father had always kept around the house. A Beretta Cheetah. The thing packed a punch, he knew. The smile he knew his mother had always loved fell into place as he turned to face the family again, holding his Beretta out at arm's length. They started to scream.
He walked into work, greeting everyone with a cheerful smile. His vacation had done him good. As he sat down at his desk, and switched on his computer, he thought over the last few days, and reflected that he only wished the break could have been longer. Although, he chuckled inwardly, judging by the state of his email inbox, it was a good thing it hadn't.
"You enjoyed that retreat of yours then?" a colleague called across the room.
He grinned. "Very much."
"Bet you didn't want to come back."
"Oh, you have no idea."
They laughed together, and he savored the sensation of having a secret that no-one could know about. Even as a child he had loved to keep secrets. He looked out of his window, putting off the daunting task of dealing with his emails for a few minutes longer. It was a beautiful day out, though the autumn weather was starting to turn cold. The leaves were already golden and red, and were starting to fall from the trees. He loved this time of year.
A noise caught his attention. Just across the street, a woman struggled with her two young children. One of them was still just a baby, really, and was screaming in his stroller. The other was maybe four years old. He was tugging on his mother's arm, trying to get her to cross the street. He smiled at the child's antics. In a few years, his mother would remind him of this behavior; perhaps telling a girlfriend about it, and laughing with her at the boy's expense. His own mother had done much the same thing. He supposed it was part of the job description.
"You planning on doing any work today?"
He looked up at his boss, who was grinning, and smiled sheepishly. "Sure."
"Welcome back."
He might have said something in return, but his boss was called away. When he looked back down at the street, the little family was gone.
Flack looked down at the tiny body of Katy Bellings and lowered his head. The crime scene was unusually quiet. He glanced at Bradwen, who was crouched down next to one of the older girls – Flack thought it might be the eldest, Lucy – and wondered how his friend was taking this. He knew that Bradwen had a little daughter of his own. The other man answered that question as he stood, and walked out of the warehouse. Flack followed him, mindful of disturbing evidence. He caught up to Bradwen as the older man leant against the car.
"How you holding up, Dave?" Flack asked quietly.
The use of his first name caught Bradwen's attention. It wasn't his real name – that was Dafydd, a relic of his parents' obsession with their Welsh ancestry – but it was what he used. The detective shook his head. He didn't trust himself to speak.
"You know – we all feel it."
Bradwen swallowed. "I know, Don. I just-" he paused, looking away from his friend. "I'll be fine."
Flack stepped closer, but Dave Bradwen never got to find out what he was going to say. Just then, Mac's car squealed up beside them. Taylor, Messer and Monroe piled out. They collected their equipment from the back, and wordlessly waited for the PD detectives to lead the way. Flack took the honours – for which Bradwen knew he ought to buy the guy as many beers as he wanted.
"Security guard patrols this whole area. Came by here about two in the morning, thought he heard some noises. He looked around, but didn't find anything." Flack paused at the door. "He came back at five, and saw the blood."
They looked down at the drying patch of reddish-brown to the left of the door. It started low on the wall, and carried on to the ground.
"It's bad, guys." He warned them.
Even with that warning ringing in their ears, nothing could have prepared the CSIs for the carnage inside the warehouse. Lindsey turned away. Flack caught her, holding her gently. He knew how that moment felt. Knew that she would have to steel herself against it – but allowed her a moment of mourning anyway. Mac's face drained of all colour. He placed a firm hand on Danny's shoulder, as much for his own sense of balance as to comfort the younger man – who looked like he wanted to throw up.
Four bodies lay sprawled across the floor, covered in blood. There were flies around already. Mac surveyed the scene, trying desperately to detach himself. He took charge. It was his responsibility to see that this was dealt with in a professional way. He would talk to his CSIs later – maybe even hint that they might like to consult a different kind of professional.
He eyed Lindsey's softly shaking form, and caught Flack's look. "Lindsey, you take the perimeter. Flack, it's been secured?"
"Since the first officers showed, yeah."
"OK. Danny, you and me are in here. Flack, could you call Stella, let her know that if she's free anytime soon, we'd like her help."
It was unusual for Mac to ask that he make that call, but seeing this devastation, Flack couldn't refuse him that favour. The detective nodded, and led Lindsey out of the warehouse. She went with him silently, trying to wipe away her tears. Mac watched her go, mindful of the equally shocked young man standing next to him. Danny was trying to pull himself together when his boss looked at him next.
"I'm OK, Mac." He said.
"I'd be very surprised – and a little disturbed – if you were. But for now, we have to work." Mac smiled sadly. "We owe it to them to do this properly."
Danny took a deep breath. "You're right. For the Bellings family."
As they fanned out, preparing to cover the scene in a spiral formation, the CSIs both noted with hope that there were only four bodies in the warehouse. The fourth, Emma, was not there. They could only pray that she was still alive somewhere, waiting for rescue.