Chapter 11
Night seemed to be coming earlier and earlier to the D.C. area. Autumn had teased and flirted with mild temperatures and then finally settled in, each passing day seeming to be shorter and colder than the one before. Today had not been a material deviance from the area's normal weather pattern, but complete darkness had already succeeded in enveloping the city by only seven-thirty PM.
Normally a pleasantly crisp evening such as this would have been ideal for dragging Brennan off to some outside destination. Although the majority of their excursions were typically to crime scenes, Booth had always allowed himself the liberty of using any reason at all during this time of the year to get her out of the lab in order to achieve that wonderfully pink flush in her cheeks. It was a breathtaking complement to the bright sparkle that would form in her eyes when she realized Booth's true motives to extricate her from the lab, and the resulting effect her gaze would have on him always served as an effective warming agent.
At this moment though, driving in the silent, frosty twilight, all Booth could feel was the damp coldness all around him, absorbing all the way through his heavy wool coat to his bones.
His Bones.
His foot pressed slightly harder on the accelerator, the vehicle already careening perilously around nearby traffic as it plowed through the dark night. He inwardly cursed the effect of an earlier sunset, thereby slowing down traffic somewhat and making drivers more aware of the chilly conditions. The mantra his mind that had been endlessly repeating throughout the day had shifted somewhat in the last fifteen minutes, morphing from an almost resigned prayer of goodbye to a pleading query of divine intervention: Please, God. Let them be there. Please let me find them and save them both.
He recognized several other cars as he turned off his lights and let the vehicle roll to a stop in the street outside the doctor's home. A small cluster of agents had gathered on the street side of the fence, and Booth knew another group would be covering the back door simultaneously. He drew his acquired gun from the waistband of his jeans and took a position near the head of the group by the fence.
No one dared voice the question to him about the appropriateness of his presence; in fact Booth knew the agents to his right and left would have only questioned his absence. They all supported him wholeheartedly and would have been guilty of the same actions had it been their family in danger.
My family.
Fingers fumbled through the night to pass a protective vest to him, and mindlessly he slipped it over his head and fastened the straps. The signal was given, and they advanced on the house. He could hear the agents entering with a crash through the back door well before they had reached the front. Lights began illuminating each room as it was cleared by the agents, and when Booth finally crossed the threshold into the front foyer, he was rendered speechless.
The entire drive he had prepared himself for the myriad of possibilities he might encounter. The worst case scenario he had replayed over and over again, whereby the doctor was spooked and enraged when he heard the doors come crashing in and Booth was left with nothing but two bloodied and mangled corpses where his life used to be. The best case scenario he barely dared to hope for, knowing that it was highly unlikely they would catch the doctor off guard enough to take him down without a fight or without harm to either of his captives.
He was prepared for the best and worst case, as well as everything else his mind had come up with that would fit neatly between. But nothing could have prepared him for the stark reality that now stretched out before him.
The house was empty.
Completely, spotlessly, virtuously, empty.
Vacant.
Devoid of life.
Easily mirroring the gnawing pain in his own soul.
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He couldn't look them in the eye when he arrived back at the lab. His own heart had been cut to the quick with the realization that his last possible lead had been a dead end. The thought of witnessing the last of their hopes being washed away by his expression was something he would rather not have burned into his memory. He mumbled something in passing that only Cam managed to decipher as "empty house", before tiredly going into Brennan's office and flopping down into the chair behind her desk.
As much evidence as possible was being collected from the doctor's house and brought to the Jeffersonian, but they had no idea of how long it had been since he had actually been there. And whatever evidence was found would take hours to test. They didn't have hours. They had...Cam looked at her watch again...only forty-five minutes left.
The rest of the lab techs dispersed as quickly as they had come together upon seeing Booth's arrival, with the exception of Angela, Hodgins, and Zack. Cam gently waved them off, staring into Brennan's office and observing the countenance of the exhausted FBI agent within. Her heels clicked on the hard floor as she approached him, and he raised his head from his hands to fixate his red-rimmed eyes on her.
"Seeley," she stated tentatively, trying to feel out how he would respond to her.
"Camille."
She pauses for a moment, tactfully trying to gauge his emotions. "It's after nine."
He nods his head slightly then drops his eyes to stare at his hands as he rubs his thumbs together. She approaches him from behind, placing a soft hand of support on his shoulder, anxiously hoping to convey the sorrow and sympathy her heart was feeling. Not only for him and the position he was now in, but also for the grief they would need to share for their partner and colleague.
He reaches up with one hand, squeezing hers slightly, gratefully accepting the comfort of a friend at his worst moment. "Do you want to talk?" she offers, halfway hoping he will decline but knowing that the effort was necessary.
He didn't disappoint her. "No." A slight pause, and then, "Not right now." His eyes trail over the wall to the clock, each passing tick feeling like a separate dagger through his heart.
The phone on Brennan's desk began to ring, momentarily distracting Booth's obsession with the clock. Puzzled, he verified the accuracy of the clock he had been memorizing with his wristwatch. It was only nine-thirty. Was the doctor calling early to put him out of his misery? If that was the case, should he even answer the phone if by avoiding it he would lengthen Bones' life even a half an hour?
He looked at Cam, desperately hoping she could offer some sense of rationale and logic, both of which he had sorely missed through the absence of his partner.
Come on, Booth. Just get it over with, he could hear Brennan urge, as if she were standing directly beside him.
He knew it was what she would want him to do. His fingers reached out to snatch up the phone from its cradle. "Booth."
"Agent Booth? This is John Shaw with Jeffersonian Security. I'm at the security desk at the main entrance to the museum." Booth could hear the hesitation in the man's voice. "I think you should get over here as soon as possible."