Apologies for keeping my wonderful readers in the dark, I had some lose ends at college I needed to tie up before finishing the semester, but now that graduation is around the corner and I'm done and present you with chapter seven! Cliffhanger warning!

Thanks for sticking with me! Enjoy! Reviews are always awesome!

The Convicted and the Kidnapped

Cambridge
10:30am

The tires of the SUV sloshed loudly against the wet pavement as it turned into Lakeland Drive, sending a dense mist of water behind them. The rain ticked and trickled against the windshield as the wipers fought to clear the rivers the water carved over the windshield, allowing Olivia to see where she was driving- even through the torrents that fell. No accidents today, she told herself, one of the top things on her agenda. She had wrecked too many government issued cars in the past three years to drive anyone insane, the insurance companies being at the top of that list. A quarter of them she took responsibility for; the other seventy-five percent weren't her fault. Whether it was someone running them off the road, or taking a nose dive to avoid a bullet, it was for the better.

"I thought today was suppose to be a nice, sunny day," Peter looked over the water soaked bricks of the houses they drove through the development, "Remind me to never trust the weatherman again."

Olivia grinned. "I thought that was a given; they get paid to predict the weather, I'm sure the job description didn't include being correct or not." Peter huffed besides her and shook his head nonchalantly, a small curve in his lips formed at her comment. Who knew she had a decent sense of humor?

"So what's on the plan for lunch today? I figured we'd hit up that pizza joint you seem to enjoy."

"I'm not in a pizza mood, I was more thinking Emilio's."

Peter chuckled. "Emilio's is Italian; that means pizza. They make the best pizza this side of town. Kind of contradicts the 'no pizza mood' doesn't it?"

She turned the steering wheel, driving the car down yet another side street, the houses began to grow in size, her eyes averting his. "I was thinking more a chicken wrap, actually. They've got the best ones this side of town. You can get pizza if you want."

Peter turned his head curiously at her. This wasn't the same woman that, less than two hours ago, was sharing the same bed, the same woman who was sweetly whispering his name as they made love to the music of the early morning sun. Something made Olivia stand up straight, her voice wooden and stiff, her eyes darting back and forth searching for some type of avoidance. Even her hair looked different, despite the hair band that pulled it back. It had lost the bounce in it, like it was chained down. Pulling into a driveway on the left, Peter suddenly began to see it, the flattening of her face, the emotions drained from it, overcast like the clouds. He recognized the address almost instantly. Not by number or name, but by the numerous children's toys that were scattered carelessly across the front lawn, now frozen and abandoned in the rain.

Olivia's expressions mimicked the feel he suddenly had wash over him. Sadness, sorrow, and an understanding of the interview she had said they needed to do today. It was the house of the third victim, the fourteen year old girl who was found dead in the soccer field only a week ago. The bricks of the house were moist, their color a once happy eggshell white was now a darkened, slated gray, as if the house was crying for the loss of its inhabitant, the grass even seemed a paler green than what was normal for early May. The driveway was a dark, watery black as they stepped out of the car, examining the surrounding area. Any joy that used to be here was absent, gone, sucked dry. It was no longer a happy place. He could see it on Olivia's face.

Stepping around the side of the car he stood next to her as she released a loud sigh. "I hate doing these kinds of interviews. An adult is one thing, but a kid," she muttered. "I don't know what I'd do if anything happened to Ella."

Peter squeezed her hand reassuringly. "You'd catch the bastard," he said, smiling slightly as Olivia's mouth twitched. It was a microscopic grin, but it was definitely there, some of the tension rolled off her back. She nodded and lead the way through the rain and onto the porch, rapping her knuckled quietly against the door, half hoping no one was home. A locked unlatched and the door swung open, revealing a pale, red-faced woman, and a baby in her arms.

"Can I help you?" she asked quietly, her eyes sunken in from crying, her arms rocking a sleeping baby boy who cooed peacefully.

Olivia flashed her credentials. "Mrs. Warren, I'm Agent Olivia Dunham, with the FBI. Peter Bishop," she nodded towards where Peter stood over her right shoulder. "Would it be okay if we asked you a few questions? It… might help with our investigation into your daughter's-"

Mrs. Warren cut her off, not wanting to hear the word, "Yes, of course, come in, please." She opened the door and the duo stepped inside, examining the house. It was beautiful. Gleaming light yellow walls, wooden floors, fresh carpet, plentiful windows and the sound of a TV coming from the family room echoed an episode of SpongeBob Squarepants; one of Walter's favorite shows today, Peter shook his head at the irony. They followed the mourning mother silently into the kitchen where she offered a cup of coffee and a chair. Excusing herself for a few minutes to put the baby in its crib, Olivia stood and began to look at the pictures on the walls, the mantle, everywhere there was a frame and a toothless smile of a little girl whose body now rested in the morgue.

She picked up one in particular, a family photo. Jessica Warren, their third and youngest victim, had three younger siblings, a sister, and brother and the newborn addition to the family, dark haired baby boy. Her eyes shone brightly as she held the newest addition to the family, a proud older sister. Olivia smiled. She remembered the day Rachel was born and she was allowed to hold her, the precious, fragile gift that was a baby sister. Another was Jessica in a lacrosse uniform, dirtied and bruised, and happy as can be. Another was of her friends at what she guessed to be a birthday party. The girl couldn't have been more than twelve at the time and beaming.

"She looks so happy," Olivia said quietly. "It's unreal."

Footsteps echoed through the high walls as Mrs. Warren returned to the kitchen and handed Peter and Olivia a cup of coffee as they took their seats across the table from her, the baby monitor turned on and hummed quietly beside them.

"I'm sorry, you would have thought after having three kids I'd be an expert at this by now," Mrs. Warren chuckled and turned the baby monitor on low, trying to shake away the tearful shudder that escaped her body. "What can I do for you, Agents?"

Peter opened the file and set it down as Olivia spoke. "Mrs. Warren," Olivia paused, unsure where to start, and dropping her voice in pitch, "I am terribly sorry about what happened to your daughter. But rest assured, we're going to do everything we can to bring her killer to justice, you have my word. But in order to do so I need to ask you some questions." Mrs. Warren nodded in agreement, grabbing a fist full of tissues in preparation. "The day before your daughter disappeared, before you filed the report, did you have any arguments, any disagreements, anything that would have made Jessica want to leave or run away, say to a friend's house?"

"No," her voice shook with equal tension as her head. "It was like any other normal night before. Jessica came home from practice, did her homework, helped me with dinner, and took care of Bobby while I got my other two kids ready for bed. She was responsible. I know that doesn't say much for a teenager, but believe me, she was. Before Bobby was born, my husband left us for another woman, dropped everything and left. I was so proud of Jess. She stepped up to the plate to help, nothing a normal self-centered teenager would do. Even if we had argued, she'd never leave like this. That morning she left for school, and kissed her brothers and sister and me goodbye. Had I known that statement would have been true-" she stopped, a series of sobs overcame her as Olivia and Peter let her have her time. "Do either of you have children?"

Olivia glanced quickly at Peter who scrunched his brows at her in curiosity, "No, but I do have a niece. Kids aren't on the plan just yet," Mrs. Warren gave her a small smile through a tear-streaked, silent waterfall.

Peter spoke, changing the subject. "Do the names Veronica Marshall or Elise Charton mean anything to you? Perhaps people your daughter knew through friends, or family?" Peter pushed the photos of the two women forward, but Mrs. Warren shook her head, giving them a sure 'no'.

"Where they victims as well?" Mrs. Warren asked, unable to hold back her tears any longer than the first time. Olivia gave her a hesitant nod. "I hope you catch the bastard who did this," she said, her words becoming thicker. "I pray you never have to go through something like this, Agent Dunham. It's not something I'd wish on my greatest enemy. It's been less than a week, but it still feels… unreal. Like at any moment she's going to walk through that door, and we're all going to joke about this over dinner."

A younger boy, age seven or eight Olivia guessed, entered and opened the fridge, grabbing a juice box and spoke, "I know your niece," he said, popping the straw into the box and drinking down the cold liquid, "You're Ella's Aunt. The FBI cop lady."

Mrs. Warren looked at Olivia curiously, "As in Ella Dunham?" She asked, her brows scrunching together as Olivia nodded, "Paul and Ella are in the same class, Mrs. Benson at Stevens in downtown Boston. You're Rachel's sister?"

Olivia nodded again. "One in the same, yes. How do you know my sister?"

Mrs. Warren smiled for the first time in their visit. "Ella comes over here every now and then for a play date or if Rachel is running late from work. Wonderful girl, she is, your sister's raised her well. It's a small world after all, isn't it? Ella talks about you all the time, Agent. Nice to finally put a face to the name."

"Given the circumstances, I wish they were better," Olivia grinned and turned to Paul, a smile grazing her lips. "Is Ella behaving, anything I should know about?" he boy laughed and shook his head as Olivia winked at him.

Paul giggled. "No, I like Ella, she's one of the few girls Mom lets come over and play. Although, she won't let Jake come over anymore." Mrs. Warren shushed her son and sent him playing, but Olivia stopped him.

"Why's that?" something in Olivia's gut flipped, her face fading. She turned to Mrs. Warren, her eyes begging to let the boy continue. He looked towards his mother, who nodded in approval. He moved closer to the table.

"Jake's gotten really weird lately, I don't know why. He's not fun anymore, it's like he's a zombie or something. He always looks tired and weird. We used to be really good friends, but something's different about him. Mom doesn't like him anymore. He's not fun." He shrugged. "I think he's been brainwashed by aliens or something." Mrs. Warren hushed the boy away quickly.

"Jacob Handler," she shook her head, "Up until about a year ago, was a," she paused, "broken, but somewhat happy kid, always had a smile, but then something changed, like he was switched off. I'd go to pick up Paul from school and Jake would be sitting outside all disheveled and frightened, like he was afraid to go home and was petrified, or that he was being watched. He stopped showering; his clothes always looked dirty, almost like he was being abused. It was reported to the state on suspected child abuse by his foster parents, but with the investigation they found no evidence and dropped the case. He got weird, started talking about all these weird experiments he knew that were going on. After hearing about all this a few times and conferring with some of the other class mothers, I decided it was in my son's best interest to not talk to Jake anymore."

Olivia sat silently, pondering for a moment. "Do you have a copy of the class roster I can have, Mrs. Warren?" She nodded and rose to go make a copy; the wheels in Olivia's head began to turn. Minutes later she returned and handed Olivia copy, who thanked her and rose.

"Anything else I can do for you, Agent Dunham?" Mrs. Warren asked and Olivia shook her head and motioned towards the door with Peter behind her. "I appreciate your concern for this, for my daughter. If you hear anything can you please, let me know?"

"Absolutely," Olivia said, thanked the mother and excited the house. Darting through the raindrops they entered the SUV, silence falling between them.

Peter watched her curiously, seeing the ten yard stare that came over Olivia's face as she relaxed into the seat, her mind processing and cranking away quickly at the new information they received. "What are you thinking, Liv?" Peter asked curiously. Olivia gave no answer as she turned on the car and pulled out of the driveway, turning down the main street and headed in the opposite direction of the lab, leading to the headquarters of the FBI.

"I'm thinking lunch will have to wait."


Olivia diligently typed at her computer, her fingers flew over the keys, barely touching them as she stared at the screen and pulled up file after file. After talking with Jessica Warren's mother and oldest son something in her gut kicked her into looking up the name of the boy Mrs. Warren's son had mentioned, eight year old Jacob Handler. In a matter of two hours she had read through his file with Child Protective Services, the case investigated by DYFS, read the case debrief his mother's mysterious suicide and the incarnation of his father into the correctional facility in Tennessee, all occurring before the poor child's fourth birthday.

His mother had taken her life when she was two, the poor kid to witness his mother shooting herself in the head with a handgun after an argument the parents had. His father was a wanted felon for countless rapes and a double homicide, finally being caught a few years back and was now held with no bail and serving a one-hundred and twenty year sentence. He was unreachable and not allowed visitors. One aspect that caught her eye curiously was his brother, rather, step-brother, Joshua Handler, age sixteen and locked away in a hospital somewhere in the west. She opened up the file about what the Warrens' suspected, a case of child neglect and abuse starting at around age seven when he was placed into another foster home. All the while she kept stealing glances at the kid's photograph; his eyes were small, frightened, and dark. Her heart strings tugged slightly for him. No child should ever have to go through that kind of emotional trauma. She knew that first hand.

"Knock knock," Peter said and entered her cluttered office at the FBI, boxes of files were strewn everywhere, and her eyes peaked quickly over the crest of the computer and made contact with his. "I figured since we couldn't sit down at a restaurant, I guess here would be good enough." She said nothing as Peter sat down in a chair and pulled a chicken wrap from the bag. Quietly she opened it, took a small bite and began typing and reading away again. Peter couldn't help but grin as she did this small, mundane task. He loved watching her work; he could do it for hours. The intensity that came behind her eyes as she got further and further into the zone was simply mesmerizing. He took a mouthful of pizza and chewed. "F-nd a-thing?" he asked between bites as he swallowed.

"I don't know if it's something yet or not, but look at this," Olivia turned the screen around. "This kid's got one messed up five years of his life. Mom killed herself, dad was a murdering psychopath, and he's been bounced around foster homes every few weeks. He's got a step brother, Joshua, who also has been in and out of hospitals for the past few years."

"Step brother? So the kid's been adopted or something?"

Olivia shrugged. "That's the strange part. There's no record of any adoptions or even of him having a half brother. The only living family that is apparently alive is his uncle, but his last known location was California. I called up a contact over there and so far they've found nothing on him. Apparently, however, this guy was deemed unfit to raise children," she pulled the page down, "He's some kind of biologist who was thrown into a mental institution a few years back for experimenting on his own son. As far as I understand it, he's still there."

Peter hummed. "What kind of experimentation, does it say?"

Olivia shook her head. "Just that he used his son in some weird science experiment was caught and nearly killed the kid." She paused. "Here's a thought. What if Josh and Jacob aren't brothers, but cousins? Perhaps someone fudged the paperwork, falsified it to cover up something."

Peter chuckled. "Got to love those cover up schemes. Any current address on the uncle?" Again, Olivia shook her head 'no'. Peter sighed. "What about the father?"

"I'm not sure, but I can make a phone call in a bit, to see if we can arrange something. The guy's been locked up in a state penitentiary for the last five or six years, I can't guarantee we'll even get the phone number to arrange it." She leaned back in her chair, begging for a distraction. "Any progress from Walter and Astrid on whatever it is they found on one of the victims?"

He shook his head. "Walter's still working out the logistics, but he's thinking he may have found something. Walter is working at Walter speed, but something's getting done with it, slowly but surely."

She closed the sea of files that surrounded her. "I just hope it doesn't take him too long, I want this guy off the streets before anything else happens." Olivia took another small bite of her wrap and sighed.

"Not hungry?" Peter asked as she laced her fingers together and placed her chin atop them, her elbows planted on the desk. "Never hungry," he corrected.

"It's not that, actually I'm starving. It's just… I don't have a good feeling about this case; like we're missing something or something's going to happen right under our noses." Peter stood and closed her door slowly, making his way around the corner of her desk and plopped himself in the small arc in front of her, rolling the chair into him, bringing Olivia closer. He took her face in his hands, bent down and kissed her. "You always say that, right before some big breakthrough occurs. We're close, I can feel it." She rested her elbows on his knees, her head pressing into his chest, his fingers making their way underneath her soft strands of hair.

"Peter, I hope you're right." She said into his jacket, inhaling him in deeply. As he kissed her again his phone began to rang, Walter's name flashed on the screen. He opened it and before he could get a word out, Walter's voice blasted his ears.

"Peter! You and Agent Dunham need to come to the lab, I believe I've found something! Hurry back here. On the double and not a second later!" Without another word Walter hung up, leaving Peter to do nothing but stare at his phone.

"To the lab we go," Peter said and stood with her, grabbing their coats as Peter helped her with the files. Before she opened the door, Peter placed his hand against it, countering the pressure she applied. He took her chin between his fingers and kissed her once again, small and petite, but with admiration. "One more for the road."

She smiled at him and opened her office door, making their way outside, where the dreary morning clouds began to dissipate and the afternoon sun began to peak through, shining a little warmth and light on their case.


"I've figured it out, what the substance was on that poor child's intestinal track, look!" Walter jumped like a child on Christmas, eager for Peter to look into the microscope at his discovery. Peter eyed him for a second, then slowly looked through the tubes and down into the slide. The substance he was looking at was clear, maybe a tinge cloudy, and thick. "It's Wharton's jelly. I've also studied the cross section of the vessels, and I was right! There were two arteries and one vein. There's only one connection in the human body that has that type of vascular setup." He looked towards Olivia who crossed her arms in confusion.

"Translate?" she turned towards Peter who still kept focused on the microscope, his brows furring together.

"An umbilical cord?" he asked curiously, an eyebrow raised. "That's impossible."

Walter huffed. "Well given our line of work son, I would say it's highly probable. But yes, I hypothesize that whatever was implanted or growing on these victims, the killer was trying to preserve or grow something."

Olivia crossed her arms, her head tilted downward. "Grow? Walter, you're not suggesting someone's trying to… grow a human out of another?"

He moved over to the body, taking a section out of the abdomen. "What I am suggesting isn't that, no, although I'd be interested to see something like that occur. No, what I am suggesting is that someone merely wants the products of the umbilical cord. It's been a rather controversial subject in the news for many years, if I am correct."

Astrid glanced over from the computer before Olivia could ask. "Stem cells," the young Agent said, causing Peter and Olivia to turn towards her. "I was reading about it in the news yesterday, the idea that Obama may legalize the use of stem cell research. Stem cells can grow into any type of cell. Brain cells, liver cells, heart cells, anything."

"To cure a disease, or perhaps help a dying child," Olivia muttered. "Jacob Handler's brother – cousin- whatever he is was apparently in the hospital several times a month, for whatever reason is still yet to be sought. I have a call in with Broyles to subpoena his medical records."

Peter stood up straight, a thought coming to mind. "The first victim, Marshall, she had a bone marrow transplant, correct? Astrid," he said, turning towards her. "Try searching for any leukemia, anemia, blood disorders or bone diseases that have been treated in the past two weeks, any hospitals or doctors' offices that have an outpatient clinic for pediatrics, begin the search there."

"Why?" Olivia asked.

"There's a chance perhaps one of them also treat Handler. It's a strange science, but I read somewhere a while ago that a victim of some blood and bone disorder was cured by giving another victim their own diseased marrow, that the victim was able to fight off the infected marrow and cure it, this giving the patient a better outcome." Olivia said nothing, but cocked her head in disbelief. "Don't ask me how or where, but trust me. Run the search."

Astrid nodded. "I'm on it."

In her pocket Olivia's phone began to ring, "Dunham," she said, turning her back to them. Suddenly she threw her hands up in anger. "What do you mean he escaped and they never filed a report?" She listened again, her face swelling in disbelief. "Book the flight; we'll be at the airport in two." She hung up and nearly threw the phone against the wall.

"What?" Peter asked, seeing the flush come over her face, her lips pursed.

"That was Broyles. Jacob's father, Alexander Handler, escaped from prison a month ago. The prison never reported the escape." She shook her head, grabbed her keys. "I'll be back in an hour to pick you up; we're flying to Tennessee to question the prison. This isn't just a case of murders anymore; he's a wanted felon with a taste for blood."

Peter said nothing as he glanced towards Olivia as she stormed out of the lab, her back tense and her face set as she took the stairs in one giant leap and threw open the door. She heard a voice call her name from behind her as Peter ran, amazed at the distance she created in a mere five second span.

"Hey, Liv," Peter said, catching up with her, grabbing her arm, "I get that you're pissed, but storming into a prison demanding to talk to the Warden isn't how you should approach this. Sure, they covered it up but-"

Her phone rang again as she turned to face him, "Dunham," she said.

"Liv?" came Rachel's panicked voice other the phone, "Liv, thank God,"

Olivia's face changed from anger to worry, her eyes glistening as Peter heard her sister's frantic voice over the phone. "Rach, take a breather and slow down, what's wrong?"

"She's gone, Liv," Rachel half screamed and half cried into the phone, "I came home, and she wasn't there. She called me when she got home, and that was a half hour ago."

"Who?" Olivia asked quietly, her eyes connected with Peter's as her face dropped, and her stomach sank.

"She's gone," Rachel cried, sobbing into the receiver, "Ella's gone…"


To Be Continued…