Waiting…

Waiting was frustrating under the best of times, Diana thought but waiting when a friend's life is on the line is torture. She pushed the thought of torture away and sat up straighter in her chair. She would not think about the autopsy report she read yesterday. This waiting was driving her crazy. Waiting for information on Dennison's people, specifically the big guy in the video. Waiting for her dad's friend to get back to her, two days of sitting around waiting for a lead, since they identified Franks and Hamelin had her ready to punch the next person who walked by.

Her email pinged and she checked it instantly hoping it was what she was waiting for. Instead the subject read Police Report Nicholas Bennett Disappearance/ Homicide /Autopsy report, sent from DC police department. Her hand hovered over the email… uncertain if she should open it. It hardly seemed the time but after all she was just waiting. She opened the file.

Light brown eyes scanned the report expertly. The little boy went missing on July 7, 1984 from his own bed room… his disappearance was quickly connected with a series of infant abductions that plagued the area that year. Twelve children went missing in exactly the same manner. All taken from their bed rooms between midnight and six am, a single origami stork left on their pillow. None of the parents heard a sound, no one saw anything. All of the babies were less than a year old with the exception of Nick Bennett.

The apparent perpetrator was caught in February of 85, a thirty-five year old man fired from an adoption agency in January of 84 for disregard for procedure and borderline abusive behavior… He directed the police to three tiny bodies… all killed by shaking, the other children were never found. One of the bodies was a little boy between fifteen and eighteen months old. He was killed six to nine months earlier.

Diana clenched her jaw. She was a tough woman but things like this made her sick. She kept reading, unable to make herself stop. The identity of the boy was officially confirmed by default, Nicholas was the only child reported missing, connected with this series of kidnappings, over a year old…the case was listed as still open. The kidnapper though arrested was never convicted, the charges dropped on a technicality… she closed the file then. She definitely would not be telling Caffrey any of this, unless she had to. Diana froze… Neal… she suddenly hoped she could tell him all of it. As devastating as the information would be for the young man, she hoped for a chance to tell him, because that would mean they brought him home safely.

The ringing of her phone pulled her out of her thoughts. Grabbing the device and answering in one rapid movement, she listened for a moment with baited breath.

"Thank you." She managed before ending the call from England. She rose hastily and rushed up the stairs bursting into Peter's office "Boss, We have an ID on the big guy! His name is Henry Ridgemont, he owns five properties in England and New England believed to be fronts for part of Dennison's operations. "

Peter grinned up at her and Diana felt herself returning the look.

)()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()(

He couldn't take much more, he knew it. Every breath had become agony since the seventh… or was it the eighth round with Big Man's fists, the skin on his forearms were nothing but blisters, burst and blacked at the edges … he assumed the bottom of his feet and under his arms looked much the same, blood dripped slowly but steadily into his eyes and mouth. Neal had reached the crisis point… he was going to break or die soon. He choked on that thought but it lingered, no matter how hard he tried to push it away.

The noise and light show continued, blaring as vulgarly as before but Neal barely noticed anymore…with an effort he focused his eyes on his hands and gritted his teeth. He could not leak any more information. Giving these monsters Peter's name was out of the question. The consequences of that were unthinkable. Which left him one desperate option… he twisted his wrists fiercely trying feverishly to catch the scratched, blistered flesh on the sharp prong of the buckle. It was a ridiculous idea but he was out of choices and they were going to kill him anyway. If he could just pierce an artery…

The door banged open and Big Man stood in front of him again. Neal clenched his fists and locked his jaw. He could stand one more round… just this one more and then he would find his escape… the only escape her dared hope for.

"We don't seem to be making much progress Mr. Scott." The grim face smiled coldly down at him black eyes glittering "Perhaps we should try something new… What do you say?"

"It doesn't matter to me … "he shrugged or tried to, his shoulders hitched up a bit but the pain in his ribs stopped the movement short "I don't know where the card is now. I will not know where the card is tomorrow or the next day or next week, but by all means keep using me as a punching bag… you look like you could use the exercise." the man growled at him fiercely

"I will get my memory card." Big Man snarled coolly, ready to make his next move.

"I keep telling you it's gone… and I don't know where."

"But you know who has it."

"I don't, my boss has a boss who has a boss I don't know what happened to it once I handed it over." The same words he had repeated for an eternity. Big Man motioned toward the door. A heartbeat later and Neal's blood ran cold. He didn't have the strength to throw up even a thin façade of calm. "No! NO! Please don't!" He pleaded as one of the other men strode into the room grinning, his left arm wrapped securely around William's waist, his right languidly pressing a gun to the toddler's temple. "Leave him out of this."

"Ahhh, finally we find your weak spot Mr. Scott."

"Don't hurt him, please." Neal knew he was begging but… But William was two years old and these monsters killed his mom. The young man could not let them hurt that baby… but he couldn't betray his friend either. There it was, one last idea from his swirling, panicking mind…panic! And Neal willingly surrendered himself to the tide of despair he had been so frantically holding back "Please let him go. I don't know where it is… if I did I would tell you. For his life I would tell you anything… anything at all. Please…" he breathed as deeply as he could, forcing himself to almost sob. Pulling up helpless tears wasn't hard, they had hovered just below the surface for a long time now. He fought the restraints pulling at the straps until he couldn't help whimpering in pain. "Please let him go, please I don't know anything else. Don't hurt him." Neal screamed frantically, glancing discreetly at the small boy, the calm logical center of his mind quietly determining that he was basically unhurt. The child's terrified gaze tore his heart out though. "Please…" his voice faded involuntarily as the last of his strength waned.

Big Man glared at him for a long moment. "Put the kid down, Franks… if he knew any more he would have told us." despite his weakness Neal covered a tiny triumphant smile by dropping his head in unfeigned relief, as the thug sat Will on the floor. His triumph was short lived when Big Man produced his 1911 Desert Eagle. Neal swallowed painfully. The mountain of a man pressed the weapon to the center of the young man's chest, just below his breastbone. He had time for one startled breath before the burning pain tore through his body and he slammed back against the chair.

Vaguely he heard Will scream at the concussion of sound, distantly he felt his body fall forward against the restraints. Neal tried to raise his head to see that the toddler was unhurt, but he couldn't manage it around the anguish. The straps around his wrists vanished allowing his unresponsive arms to flop loosely from the armrests, one falling into his lap the other hanging off the chair. Hazily he watched the blood flowing over his fingers and pooling in his palm, part of his mind registered that he should be concerned about so much blood, but he couldn't muster the energy. His legs were released next, bare feet thumping to the cement softly, shooting pain through the burnt soles but it didn't matter… it all felt so distant, disconnected.

Abruptly the chest restraint was gone and he crumpled out of the seat…folding carelessly to the concrete floor, limbs slack and wilting, his head connecting solidly with the rough floor and lolling gently to the side, the concrete ice cold beneath his cheek. He tried to will his body to move, to just get up, but he was finished… he had nothing left to give. He lay limp and motionless as the chill flowed up from the floor and seeped into his bones. A quiet voice in his mind cheered… he won… he didn't break… but even that didn't matter much anymore.

"Hamelin, dispose of the trash." Neal heard a voice far away command. Dimly he was aware of the door slamming. Then he felt it… tiny hands on his arm. He choked on the sick horror of that… they left Will in the room with him. The toddler was going to watch him die…

"Gid up" Will pleaded "Eal pease gid up." Sobbing the child wrapped Neal's limp arm around himself "he gib you owies… but you big… pease gid up" He wanted to rise… to reassure the boy to tell him everything would be ok, even if it was a lie, but it was impossible. Neal couldn't move, couldn't find the breath to speak. He managed a feeble squeeze around the trembling little shoulders before his eyes drifted closed and the pain faded.