Story: Cage
Disclaimer: I happen to own… NOTHING! Everyone belongs to FOX…. Damn. Five for Fighting lyrics for "Superman" (amazing song) and Seether lyrics for "The Gift" are also not mine, but all other neighbors, victims, murderer dude and other people are mine. I have spent much time creating bios for them and thinking of what gruesome way they died, so they are mine.
Spoilers: Umm... If there are any, minor for the finale, me thinks.
Pairing: BoothxBrennan. I STILL don't get why I always say that… it's rather obvious, don't you think?
Chapters: Around seven, I think. Chapter four here is the happenings of the fourth murdered families house and some more chilling information. Haha, fourth chapter, fourth family… ironic, aye? Or am I just an over-analyzer…
Summary: It's hard to find relief in the world, and people can be so cold. Their latest case has affected Temperance more than she would have liked, and she finally sees how lucky she really is to have a man like Seeley Booth at her side to guide her through the darkness and show her the light of human nature.
Chapter 4: Floorboards
Note: This started as a pure fluff fic, just for some BrennanAngstBoothComfort type thing, but I turned it into a case file for the last few chapters, so stick around after the fluff to find action, violence, and more fluff! Review please! -Ash
Another Note, again: Holy hell, mate, I'm up to fifty reviews and with only three chapters! You guys are AMAZING! Keep it up!
Thank you to: Ava Leigh for being my fiftieth review, AJeff for being a proud mommy, wolfmyjic because she's Wolfy, and I have too much to say on that matter, and Invis for constructive criticism!
I know ZILCH about Washington D.C., even though I've been there a few times, so I've made up places. Sorry!
Wow this chapter was fun to think about! I honestly had no idea what to do with it, but then it turned into some bloody fun, more case stuff, and a new twist in the story! Then I ruined the haunting atmosphere with fluff. Enjoy the long chapter!
CHAPTER RATING: M FOR GRAPHICAL DESCRIPTIONS OF MURDERS AND HORRIBLE EMOTIONAL TRAUMA
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Previously: "Ready?" He asked. She nodded in response, accepting the gentle squeeze on her hand with one of her own. Exiting the car, Booth observed Brennan's mask fall securely back into place as she snapped a pair of latex gloves on and strode confidently, though Booth could see she was shaking inside, to the house. It was going to be a long day, he thought bitterly as he followed her through the peeling door.
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"Hold me now; I need to feel relief
Like I never wanted anything.
I suppose I'll let this go and find a reason I'll hold on to.
I'm so ashamed of defeat,
And I'm out of reason to believe in me.
I'm out trying to get by."
-Seether
The hallway held the lingering smell of cheap cleaning supplies and mildew. Brennan walked cautiously down the passage, stepping over various dark stains on the floor that emitted a scent that vaguely reminded her of blood. Indeed, the whole house reeked of the salty metallic substance as well as death and decay. It was rather out of place in the small home, too.
The walls were covered in peeling wallpaper, the design faded and hard to decipher. Booth decided it used to be yellow with small blue flower-like designs on it. Though it might have been beautiful once, it was now coming off the wall in strips, revealing chipped concrete and wood beneath it. Someone had tried to hide the bare walls with small photographs, though. Pictures of a little boy and his mother were taped up along the hallway, though most had been recently slashed by a knife, blood spattering across them in an odd pattern.
Brennan noted the house was very clean and orderly, if not shabby. Where the killer had not infiltrated the domestic environment of the small home, there were little trinkets aligned on shelves in straight lines. A peek in the living room of the abode provided her with a glimpse of a ratty sofa and small toy cars in a line. There were structures of books and blocks that some cars wound around, evidence that some small boy had once played and been happy. Tempe quickly looked away from the play setting and turned back towards the lead officer in charge.
"The bodies are upstairs." He looked a bit unsure of himself, his tone questioning. Booth picked up on the man's doubts immediately and stepped forward next to Tempe.
"She's the best at her job, she sees dead bodies daily. I think she can handle this." He said quietly and forcefully. Brennan's face remained impassive as the man looked from her to the FBI agent standing protectively at her side. With an almost invisible shrug, he turned to lead them up the stairs.
Both Brennan and Booth stepped carefully as they ascended the rotting wood. A trail of congealed blood had formed to one side, and Booth was disgusted to see small pieces of what seemed to be flesh holding onto the jagged edges of some of the boards.
"He dragged the adult up the stairs." The officer in front of them said over his shoulder. Brennan mentally shuddered. The victim must have been cut up pretty badly if her skin was able to catch and tear on the wood.
Towards the top of the stairs, the pungent scent of decay grew stronger. Booth grimaced and brought a hand to his mouth, covering it with his shirt sleeve. The trail of blood led them down the hall past a small bathroom until is curved and entered a small bedroom on the left. Brennan stepped forward, undeterred by the three fingers that greeted her at the door.
"What happened here?" she gestured towards the extremities. Head officer flipped through a notebook in his hand.
"We suspect the killer dragged the victim up the stairs and into this room where he cut three fingers off, then dragged her further down the hall." A hand sweep towards the continuing trail of blood supported the last bit of information. Brennan squatted down by the fingers and turned towards the man.
"May I?" Brennan's hand hovered above one of the fingers that rested on the floor.
"Sure. Everything has already been photographed." Brennan nodded her response and gingerly removed the finger from where it stuck for a moment in the dried puddle of blood. A quick tug released it from its prison. The head officer blanched. Brennan studied the bloody end of the finger for several seconds before replacing it and picking up the other two.
"These weren't cut." She stated matter-of-factly. "It would be more plausible that the victim was dragged through the door and grabbed onto the frame with one hand. The door could have then been slammed onto her finger and the force of that combined with a strong pull from her assailant would have caused the bone to break." Brennan stood back up and carefully opened the door.
"See the edge here?" she said, pointing at the door's edge. "There's a metal strip imbedded in the wood. The edge is rusty, which is why it blends in with the tone of the wood here, but it's still very sharp." Brennan took a piece of cardboard off the floor and slid it along the metal edge.
"It's not sharp if you touch it, but if someone slams something in the door-" she placed the cardboard on the frame and closed the door. It wasn't a slam, but there was considerable force behind it. When she opened it again, the cardboard had been cleanly cut along the middle.
The officer in charge pursed his lips and crossed something out in his notepad, scribbling Brennan's explanation in beneath what he had earlier. Then they continued down the hall, still following the blood until they reached the end of the short hall. Here, the blood trail entered the room and did not come back out. Brennan reached forward and opened the door; they were immediately met with the overpowering smell of metallic blood and decay. Both FBI officer and police officer took a step back at the stench, leaving Brennan alone as she entered the room first.
It was the room of a child, the walls painted a light blue and a crude bookshelf off to one side, filled with used books. There was a small off-white crib in the corner with a chair placed next to it. Without hesitation, Brennan walked forward toward the crib and chair where two bodies sat waiting patiently for her.
A small body was resting in the crib, its facial features mutilated beyond recognition. There was a finger in his mouth, one that was too big to be a baby's. A glance at the other victim's left hand confirmed Tempe's suspicions: the killer had placed the mother's finger in the baby's mouth, or what was left of it. The adult victim's left hand was indeed missing four fingers; the three from down the hall and the one with the baby. Her thumb was still in place, though it had been twisted backwards.
A bloody story book rested in the mother's lap, the bright illustrations of happy animals tainted with dried blood. Tempe noticed the ulna, not the radius, was the arm bone facing up. Furrowing her brows, she leaned in closer to where the hands seemed to be upside down. Instead of where the thumb should have been up, the pinkie was. Her gaze trailed down to the legs where the feet were facing forwards, the way they should be facing, but the knees had bones protruding from them like large white splinters. Brennan turned back to the two men who had since entered the gruesome room.
"He twisted her." She stated. Upon receiving confused looks from both, she sighed and elaborated.
"The head here is facing forwards the way it should be, but if you look at the neck, you can see the bones pressing against the skin," she ran a finger along the bumps in the neck, "indicating they are broken. Further down here, the torso is turned towards the back of the chair; ergo the back is actually the front. Here the shoulders are normal, but the arms have been snapped so that the forearm faces forward. The junction where the radius and ulna meet is here," she touched a protruding bone junction, "meaning he broke the arms so that he could manipulate the elbow to where it faced the wrong way.
"And here he bent the femora so they face towards the crib instead of towards the back of the chair where they should be. Then here the knee joint has been torn so the knee is backwards, and then he turned the feet so they faced forwards." Brennan swallowed once and stood back up from where she had been looking at the ankle bones that escaped the skin. Booth ran a hand through his hair and sighed.
"So, you're saying this guy completely twisted her around so she was really facing backwards but appears to be facing forward and he did all of this by breaking her bones?" Booth's explanation was confusing even to his own ears, so instead he reluctantly looked at the corpse to draw conclusions for himself and the officer behind him.
"The head is forward, torso backward, arms bent backwards, legs bent backwards, knees broken so they go the wrong way, and the feet have been twisted around?" Booth summarized quickly as he diverted his gaze from the body instead focused on the stoic anthropologist.
"Yes, I just said that." Her face turned quizzical and Booth rolled his eyes.
"Okay, Bones." Brennan gave him another strange look before turning towards the crib where the tiny cadaver of what had once been a baby boy lay.
"On this one, he dismembered the victim and then rearranged his limbs." Brennan wrinkled her nose as she observed the crude job in which the killer had jammed legs into arm sockets and arms into leg sockets.
"Then what happened to its face?" Booth questioned as he came closer to the scene. Brennan shrugged and looked around for an answer. Booth turned away from the bloody face to overlook Brennan's seemingly futile search.
"Looks like someone stuck his head in a blender…" Booth callously commented. Brennan turned around and he immediately regretted his choice of words.
"You're probably right." She spoke in a monotone, holding up a blender blade coated in grisly pieces of flesh and what was left of a shattered blender cup. Before Booth could apologize, she turned back around to do a quick scan for the standard victim characteristics she got in the preliminary victim analysis.
"Victim 1 is female, looks to be in her late thirties or early forties, and could be Caucasian." Brennan drew back from scrutinizing the exposed portion of skull. "Victim 2 is male, one to three years old and Caucasian. Judging from the decomp rate, I'd say they have been dead since at least Wednesday, more likely Thursday."
"That fits with the timeline of murders we've had so far, as does the ethnicity of the two." Booth supplied.
"Supposed ethnicity." Brennan corrected automatically, earning her another eye roll from Booth.
"The house belongs to a Peter Billings, but someone named Catherine Morrow is renting it out." Booth read from the file he had received on the occupants of the house. "Catherine is thirty-seven years old and has a son named Harry who is one year, five months. Does that fit?" The FBI agent looked up from the summary of the two to look at Brennan. She shrugged.
"Yes, for now." She went back to squinting at the bodies. Booth, on the other hand, was doing everything he could to avoid the faces of the two. The woman's eyes had been gouged out and were resting in her open mouth, and someone had carved an elaborate game of tic-tac-toe on her cheek between skulls and some butterfly-type looking thing. The skulls had won.
"Catherine was a brunette, small for her age, and very slim. Eyes were blue just like Harry's. Harry was a big baby with really dark hair… it says here it's brown, but in the picture I can't tell if it's that or black." Booth squinted at the picture of a chubby little boy dressed in blue overalls and a red striped shirt. The boy had a big smile on his face and there was spilled vanilla ice cream down his front.
"Who was the father?" Brennan said from her position on the floor. Booth flipped through the thin file.
"Um, doesn't say. Apparently Harry was the product of date-rape."
"We need to know who the father was." Her voice was now muffled, and all Booth could see of her was one leg as she edged her way around the crib and to the floor where she was looking for god knows what.
"We could run a DNA test with the baby's blood to see if we have a match in the FBI database. Who knows? If he raped the mother, maybe he's been convicted of other crimes before, too." Brennan emerged from her journey around the floor looking triumphant.
"Okay." She agreed. "There're two gloves wedged into the edge of the crib. If they belonged to the murderer, maybe we can pull a print off the inside of them." Her smile was small and didn't reach her eyes.
"But why would they be his?" Booth wondered. She had an answer for that.
"He left everything else here. Look, here's a bloody knife, I already showed you the blender, and there's a hacksaw under the crib, too. He would need that to cut through the bones on the victim in the crib, and I doubt anyone would keep hacksaws in a baby's room." Brennan reasoned. Booth nodded, a ghost of a smile beginning to creep onto his face.
"Nice work, Bones." He praised. Brennan's lips twitched in an almost smile.
"I just need to collect some of these insects here for Hodgins. There aren't many, this is a clean house, so it shouldn't take long. Then we can go back to the Jeffersonian and go from there."
Ten minutes later, Booth and Brennan exited the room and left the rest to forensics to finish up. They were told to expect body bags containing what could be Catherine and Harry Morrow by the end of the day and no later than the next. Removing her now rust colored gloves with a snap, Brennan dropped the latex material into a bio-waste container the forensics team was using for their disposable equipment.
"So, that makes victims seven and eight." Booth mused as they approached the door. Brennan sighed forcefully beside him, causing Booth to look at her.
"You okay there, Bones?" He asked the unnecessary question.
"This man has murdered eight people and we barely have anything to go off of! Why would I be anywhere near okay with that?" Brennan gritted her teeth together as she answered Booth's question.
"Well, we haven't interviewed the neighbors and people that called the murders in yet, so maybe that will yield an answer." Booth put a hand on Brennan's shoulder and squeezed it, the tense muscle beneath her brown corduroy jacket relaxing slightly at his touch. Booth stepped away from her as they neared the door, intending on opening it for her, when Brennan suddenly pitched forward towards the old wood.
The hem of her jeans caught the edge of an old floorboard, and as she fell, Tempe twisted in the air to try and regain her balance, but it only sent her back towards the ground with her head facing up. Booth turned when he heard the unmistakable crack of the wood and caught Brennan with one hand around her waist and the other on her arm.
"Clumsy much?" He grinned down at her where she rested in her arms, her body an almost parallel to the ground.
"Shut up, Booth." She scowled and tried to stand. Booth pushed her up and she knelt down on the floor to unhook her jeans from the rotting wood.
"Booth!" She shouted suddenly, falling backwards on the floor and yanking her leg free at the same time. Booth rushed to her side and stooped to her level on the floor, automatically taking her hand in his. Her face was pale, eyes dark. She said nothing more and began to crawl back towards where she had just backed away from. Booth followed behind her.
Where the floorboard had been pulled back, there was a shriveled brown eye set in flesh toned green. Brennan pulled back the rest of the board and began to work on several more. On those boards, the nails were newer and shiny, but the wood was still old and rotten and gave easily to her shaking hands.
A face stared back at Tempe, its dark brown hair falling away from a cut face and lifeless brown eyes locked on her. The skin was beginning to turn a greenish tint and was marred with various cuts. Dried blood caked the rest of the face, and the mouth was open in a silent scream. Through the decay and slashes, though, the face rang a bell of recognition in both Brennan and Booth's minds.
"James Henry…" Booth whispered softly, his breath softly blowing tendrils of Tempe's reddish hair. Henry had been the one to call in the lack of activity at the Arlington house, his relationship with Jane Arlington his incentive to be worried. Well, the devoted man must have gotten too worried and become vengeful. In his quest to discover what happened to Jane, the poor man must've gotten too close to the truth.
"Decomposition indicates death occurring on Wednesday, most likely Thursday." Tempe's voice was robotic as she began to rattle off facts, one after the other. Booth didn't catch half of them; his brain only registered his partner going into shock and hiding behind science, as she always did. Booth's hand clenched into a fist and trembled as he resisted the urge to hit something. Nine murders and they weren't even close. Henry could have walked in on the murderer while he was torturing the Morrow family, resulting in his own premature death by brutal stabbing and dismemberment. While Tempe continued to mutter science talk, Booth looked up at the small crowd that had gathered around them.
"Look around on the floors for any recent disturbances in the carpentry. Your clue should be new nails like these and protruding floorboards." Booth quickly ordered and the people scattered to find the rest of the late James Henry. Turning his attention back to the rambling scientist, Booth put his hands on her shoulders and felt her stiffen.
"That's nine, Booth. Nine. And what do we have to show for it? Nothing." She said softly. "Nothing but nine innocent people's bodies. Four mutilated babies, five murdered adults. Four families and one worried man. None of them even had the chance to live." She choked on her words, carefully hidden emotions seeping through the cracks in her voice. Booth stood up, pulling her with him.
"C'mon, Bones. We can't do anything else here." He gently pushed her towards the door, watching the floor as he went. When they exited the house, Cullen approached them from where he had been directing a reconnaissance team searching for any forced entry, footprints, etc.
"Well?" His face was grim, but it was no match for Brennan's scowl.
"Victim 7 is female and her son is victim 8. Both were mutilated and one dismembered. I found a pair of gloves that could be linked to the murderer wedged between the bedding of the crib and the railing on the side closest to the wall. Victim 9 appears to be-" Cullen quickly interrupted Brennan's words.
"Victim NINE?" He gaped, turning to Booth. "What is the meaning of this?"
"There was a third person beneath the floorboards, sir. We believe he is James Henry, the man who was romantically involved with Jane Arlington and called in her disappearance." Booth quickly summarized for the deputy director. Cullen ran a hand over his face, clearly exhausted.
"Ah, well, good work, agent." He shook his head slightly.
"Dr. Brennan found him."
"Well then, good work." Cullen reiterated before walking away to talk to an agent about a possible entry used by the murderer.
Brennan continued to head towards the SUV parked in the midst of other empty Washington P.D. vehicles, Booth close behind. She walked around to the passenger side and instead of getting in, leaned her forehead against the black metal, closed her eyes, and crossed her arms over her chest. Curious, Booth changed his route from the driver's side to Tempe.
"I told you, Bones. We'll catch him." Booth leaned against the side of the vehicle so he was eye level with the anthropologist.
"Sure, Booth, we'll catch him. But how long till then? How many more people will die?" Her voice was flat as she spoke, her words slightly muffled by her close proximity with the car. "And even when we do catch him, there will be others. There will always be others." Booth saw her bite her lip and he put a hand on her shoulder, the other finding its way to her chin. Turning her to face him, he looked straight into her deep blue eyes, his gaze never faltering.
"That's why we have to keep going, Bones. Because there will always be others. But with us around, at least there will be fewer. Not all humans are bad, you know that, Bones. Some of us care, and we fight for those innocent people."
"Who, Booth? Who cares enough anymore?" Her tone was dead; hopeless as yet another three murders chipped away at her resolve and whittled at what was left of her optimism.
"You, Bones. You and me, we give hope to those who have fallen beyond caring and we put fear in those who don't want to care." Booth's eyes were smoldering as he spoke. "I care, Temperance. We can make the difference."
The sincere words brought Brennan back from the dark corners of her mind and she sighed, biting her trembling lip again. Booth's hand slid from her chin to her other shoulder as he drew her into his chest, his arms wrapped tightly around her small body. Tempe's arms were still crossed across her chest, and as he pressed her tightly to him, she felt herself give into his touch, his strong grip enveloping her. His scent flooded her mind, his presence a comforting blanket smothering her frantic thoughts. Slowly she felt herself relax against him, giving into the security he constantly provided for her whether it be a touch, a word, or even a smile.
"We should go." Tempe murmured, even if she did not want to follow her own suggestion. She felt Booth nod, his chin tapping the top of her head. She slowly raised her head from its comfortable position on his chest and looked into his dark brown eyes, his face radiating care.
"Alright." He smiled, pulling her once more to his chest with a quick squeeze before releasing her. Brennan sat for a moment longer, her mind surprisingly calm for a moment. She felt something as she watched Booth walk around the car, a feeling she remembered from a long, long time ago. She tried to place it, but the return of her disquieted thoughts chased it away before the ancient emotion could be named.
Brennan stepped into the car and shut her door as Booth turned the key in the ignition. She was uncomfortable; the feeling that she would fall apart any minute now was discomforting enough, but with people like Booth and Angela discreetly, well, not Angela, discreet was not a word in the woman's vocabulary, watching her as if she was about to fall apart did not help her any. It was enough to admit to herself that she was beginning to fall apart at the seams. Hopefully, getting closure on this case and sorting out where she stood with Booth would help.
"I'm just out to find
The better part of me.
Wish that I could cry,
Fall upon my knees.
It may sound absurd, but don't be naïve.
Even heroes have the right to bleed.
I may be disturbed, but won't you concede,
Even heroes have the right to dream.
It's not easy being me."
-Five for Fighting
He watched them from his window, the anthropologist and dark FBI agent that threatened to turn his game upside down. But the man was not worried, no, he was excited. When people like James Henry and Jenny Allen got in the way, it was a simple matter of finding the proper instrument to silence them. Permanently. The middle-aged man chuckled darkly to himself as he turned back into the house, whistling a merry tune as he went about his daily routine. Yes, the FBI agent would be an issue, but the lot of them were worthless without the anthropologist.
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OOOO the fluff went out the window with the appearance of the murderer watching them!
Okay, I shall be gone for the next three days on a short trip, so hopefully I'll get more writing done, but I don't know if I'll be too busy. That means give me a few extra days before the next update.
Again, thank you to all the lovely reviewers! Fifty reviews for three chapters? Unheard of in my world! I love you ALL! Please leave another review for me, and it maketh me happy and I writeth faster!
Next Time: Our favorite dynamic duo journey to a few streets over to interview the kindly old neighbor Jenny Allen. But, ho, what will be waiting for them there? More is found out about the killer, and there is danger on the horizon for other kindly neighbors! I'm debating whether or not I'm going to put the big break in the case in this next chapter or chapter six… huzzah for mindless debating with one's self! If only we all had a Special Agent Seeley Booth to calm our fighting thoughts, if only for a minute.
PLEASE review! I like constructive criticism and I drink up praise like nectar and ambrosia! Thanks to those who have reviewed so far, keep it up, I mean it, and thank you to those who will REVIEW THIS CHAPTER! I will find you –evil eye-
Take care all you lovely reviewers! -dangles chocolate-covered Booths in the air-
-Ash