"He's just asleep, Connor," Jeremy said, "Nothing to worry about."
Connor turned to the teenagers, "What did you give him?" he asked accusingly.
"It's a rare relaxer – our father used it occasionally when he was on the verge of snapping, " Denise explained, "He's the only one who knows where it came from, and he's the only one who knows how to get it – fortunately we have a bit of a supply of it stashed around the house."
Connor glanced back down at the sleeping youth, "What's it done to him?"
"Nothing, it has no side effects, it does nothing to him emotionally, and it won't make him go crazy either," Jeremy said.
"Then what was wrong with him?" Connor asked.
Jeremy didn't answer, he avoided all eye contact with the Immortal, and instead, fixated his eyes on the floor. Denise answered for him, "He hates shots."
Connor's eyes shot up past Jeremy and over to his sister, demanding an explanation.
"He has for years," Denise said, "When we were younger and we were all together, we got into a lot of fights – either with the parents at our foster homes, or their own kids that didn't want us around. We wound up with a lot of injuries after the fights – usually we had to go to the hospital to be treated. They submitted us to a whole series of shots while we were there, mainly ones that were unnecessary –tetanus, measles, the flu, allergy shots – one time, they told us Jeremy had to get rabies shots, and you know how that works, don't you?"
Connor nodded, "Twenty shots into the stomach."
"Yes—," Denise said, "Fortunately, that was a false alarm."
"But," Jeremy added, "Out of the three of us, Richie was always the worst – he usually got more shots than us, and he couldn't stand it – a – a few times he had to be sedated–– well, they had a lot of sedatives and tranquilizers that we didn't know what they were or where they came from – we just knew that you had to take them through a needle."
"And Richie used to worry that if they put him under with them, that he'd never wake up," Denise said, "But he'll be allright, Connor—if you just leave him alone."
Connor looked back down at Richie, now it seemed the relaxer was working, his breathing was steady and, his body seemed relaxed instead of the tense form it was in moments ago.
"You're sure he won't wake up?" Connor asked.
"Not for a while," Denise answered.
"So now that we don't have to worry about him, what do we do?" Jeremy asked.
"Allright, there has to be a reason why Uncle David's not answering at the station—Jeremy, you go out and look for him—if you find him, bring him back here, but tell him no backup—I'm going to call Krug and have him come back over—if Mason decides to take action, we may need some help—"
"And what do I do?" Connor asked.
"You? You stay here, watch Richie, and make sure nothing happens," Denise said, "We can't take a chance of leaving him unguarded when we're low on backup."
"What do I do if he does anything?" Connor asked.
"Nothing."
Half an hour had passed, Jeremy had gone out to find David, and Denise was expecting Krug to come at any time. Connor watched Richie as he slept, except for his light breathing, Richie never moved. Denise had gone into the den to look out the window and get a better look at Mason's house. She couldn't believe what she saw.
"He's out there," she said.
"What?" Connor asked.
"The bastard's just standing out there…the rain's pouring down like a Biblical storm, and he's out there standing on his porch with the light on," Denise told him.
"What do you think he's waiting for?" Connor asked.
"Who knows?" Denise asked, "He's looking straight ahead—there's nothing on this side of the street that faces his house—we're down a ways from him. It's like he's not looking at anything. Just looking past it."
"Maybe he's waiting on his partner," Connor said.
"I don't know…last we heard, Uncle David lost him in the Union Gap," Denise returned.
"Union Gap's not that far from here—he could've come back."
"Uncle David did, so why hasn't he come by, or at least picked up the damn phone?" Denise thought.
"Maybe he ran into that guy and didn't get so lucky," Connor said.
"I hope not," Denise said, "Uncle David's the only officer who'd ever believe us—he's the only one who believes Richie."
Connor went into the hall and looked out the window in the front door, "A car just pulled up."
"What kind of car?" Denise asked.
Connor squinted his eyes to get a better look, "From what I can tell—it looks like a white Sedan to me."
"That had better be Krug," Denise told him, "Open the door."
Connor opened the door and Krug came in carrying an umbrella.
"Krug Marrow," he said.
Krug looked at him. "Mister Nash."
"Now that you two are reacquainted, knock it off," Denise said.
Krug shook his umbrella and closed it. "I haven't seen it rain this hard in 10 years," he told Connor, then he turned to Denise, "By the way, I hope you didn't want Jason here tonight as well, he's out on another job."
"I don't care, just so long as someone's here," Denise said, "Krug, I think we got a problem."
"What is it?"
"After you left, Mason came back while we were still in the house. Richie fell through a window in a room on the second floor at the back of the house, we went out after him. We got him and ran back here before Mason could catch us, I'm not sure he saw us but he must know we were there –— he has to—and now he's out on his front porch as we speak. And you know damn well as I do that no one in their right mind would stand out in that kind of weather if they didn't have a reason. He must be waiting for someone, he's keeping his porch light on," Denise told him.
"And where's the kid?" Krug asked.
"Out cold," Denise said, "He gave me no choice, I had to sedate him."
"And your brother?" Krug asked.
"He went out looking for our Uncle David, we can't get him down at the police station so something must be wrong."
"Who answered?" Krug asked.
"No one, that's the problem, if there were someone down at the police station, they'd at least answer. Coming here would be another thing, but they always pick up the damn phone," Denise said.
"Then I'm guessing whoever bumped off the deputy went back for the rest," Krug said.
"That's what I'm thinking, and we all know by now that the guy must know Mason, there's just no other explanation for it all," Denise replied.
"So what do we do now?" Connor asked.
"Nothing's happening right now, so I suggest we get ready for a long night," Denise said.
Connor entered the living room and looked over at Richie. He was still asleep on the couch, in fact it seemed he hadn't moved a muscle in the last three hours.
"Denise," he called. When there was no answer, he tried again, "Denise."
"What?"
"How long is Richie supposed to be asleep?" he asked.
"That's hard to say, I never used that stuff on him before," Denise said, "On our father it usually works for a few hours, then he wakes up fresh as a daisy."
"Well I hope Richie wakes up soon," Connor said, "If something happens tonight, I don't want him left unable to defend himself if we can't protect him."
"He'll be fine. I called the agency where Krug and Jason work. I told them that as soon as Jason got in tonight I want him over here. When Jeremy finds Uncle David they'll both be back here. I don't think we have much to worry about with that many people here," Denise said.
Denise turned her attention back to the window in the den. The rain had let up and made it easier to see out the window, and Denise looked up at Mason's house. "Oh boy."
"What?" Connor asked.
"Mason's got company," Denise said.
"What?" Connor asked.
"What?" Krug repeated.
Both men went into the den and looked up the street and saw a man standing with Mason on his front porch. Mason was pacing around a bit as he talked with the man, and he turned and pointed down to Denise's house and that got everyone's attention.
"Oh shit," Denise said.
"You think they'll come over here?" Connor asked.
"I don't know," Krug said, "They seem to be planted where they are."
"We'll wait and see what happens—if they come down here, then we'll do something," Denise told them.
"You think that's the imposter that bumped off the deputy?" Krug asked.
"If it isn't, then Drew Mason must be forming a whole army to bring over here," Denise said.
They stayed at the window and waited, both men seemed to be discussing something or someone down at the Kramer's house.
"What do you think they're talking about?" Krug asked.
"Who," Denise corrected him.
"What?"
"Who—who do you think they're talking about?" Denise asked as she turned to him, "Richie, it has to be—he doesn't know us, not personally anyway—and while he may know Duncan MacLeod he doesn't know his—cousin, Mr. Nash, and he sure as hell doesn't know you. There can be no other explanation."
"Allright, if that is who they're talking about," Krug replied, "What are they talking about?"
"My guess would be considering how much damage Richie's done, how their last idea worked out, and how they're going to have to step it up next time to make it the last time," Denise said.
Krug was rather amazed, considering she was right; she really seemed to be on the ball tonight. "You're sharp about this stuff, ain't you?"
Denise was feeling a bit amusing tonight, despite what was going on and replied, "I watch a lot of Alfred Hitchcock movies, what's it to you?"
"He's coming," Connor said.
That drew their attention back to the window, Mason's guest had gotten out in the street and was coming down their way. Connor and Krug both headed for the front door to give the guy what was coming to him once he got there, Denise stayed at the window. "Get back here!" she called, "He's going back."
"What?" the men asked as they reentered the room.
"He got about halfway down here, then he just stopped—now he's going back," Denise said.
They looked out the window and sure enough Denies was right, the guy was retreating back to Mason's house.
"What the hell is going on here?" Denise asked in a low, tired voice.
Connor looked at her and saw she probably could've used a syringe of that sedative herself. He knew for a fact that putting up with Richie was exhausting as it was, but added to everything else that had gone on in the last couple of days, it was a wonder to him that she could even stay on her feet.
"You know, Denise—we basically have everything covered here, why don't you go lie down for a while?"
"I don't want to lie down," she replied, "If I do, I won't be good for anything."
"Allright, but I have to tell you sleeping standing up isn't too comfortable," Krug told her.
"I'm not going to sleep," Denise told him.
"Well then you might go check on Richie," Connor said, "We'll keep an eye on things here."
Denise wasn't sure about that, all the same she went back into the living room and saw Richie was sprawled and stretched out on the couch in a more comfortable position now. She walked over to the couch and knelt down beside it so she was closer to Richie's current height.
"You've probably got the easiest time tonight of all of us," she said to him, not expecting a reply.
She was surprised to hear Richie moaning in his sleep as he tossed and turned a bit before opening his eyes and sitting up to look at her. "What's going on?" he asked, his voice so low Denise could hardly hear him.
"Nothing," she replied in an equally quiet tone, "Jeremy's gone out looking for Uncle David—Krug's back here, Mason has company over at his house, but they're staying there."
Richie looked at her with terror in his eyes, "He's still there?"
"Yeah—for now, anyway," Denise responded.
Richie lowered his head back on the pillow against the couch's arm and squeezed his eyes shut and moaned.
Not again, Denise groaned to herself. "Now what's wrong?" she asked.
Richie refused to open his eyes, he wouldn't look at her as he explained, "If Jeremy gets killed by them, I'll never forgive myself."
"Now don't act like an idiot, Richie, none of this is your fault," Denise said.
"Yes it is," Richie replied as he turned away, "If I hadn't seen what happened, we wouldn't be in this mess."
"There wouldn't have been anything to see if Mason hadn't snuffed that lady, and you know that," Denise said, "You had nothing to do with that."
But Richie wasn't hearing it, and Denise noticed that his moaning was louder than before, and she also noticed that he was squirming like a night crawler out of the mud. Denise grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him up and forced him to look at her. "What's the matter now, Richie?"
"I feel sick," he groaned.
Denise sat down beside Richie and pulled him close to her, his head resting against her chest as he writhed and moaned. Denise looked straight ahead and took deep breaths and gently stroked Richie's head and his back, it was hard enough being this close to him while he was like this, she wasn't sure she could handle having to see him like that anymore. Another reason she was avoiding looking at Richie—she still felt guilty for hitting him the other night when he was crying, right after he'd seen the murder—and she was worried if she had to see him like this anymore, she'd snap at him again. She knew full well that Richie was having enough trouble as it was, without having Joan Crawford for a friend.
It had already happened a few times as it was since they'd moved to Seacouver and met up with Richie again, every time, minor damage was done, and Richie always forgave her, why he kept doing it, she didn't know. As glad as she was to have Richie around, she honestly didn't know why he kept coming back, knowing full well that she might do it again. And why did she do it? She didn't know, it just seemed that every so often, something would get to her and she would—
No, no! She was not going to let it happen again, instead, she dug the nails of her free hand into her thigh and gave herself a dose of her own medicine. Amidst the pain, there was minor relief in knowing that Richie wasn't the one that got hurt, and despite or because of the pain, Denise also knew that the only thing that could be better than that, would be sticking them into Mason's neck, and seeing the look on his face as she watched him die. To make it an even sweeter deal, would be if Richie could be there too, and watch the bastard die painfully.
As the pain passed, so did the thought, and it was then that Denise noticed Richie was resting now, quiet and still but not rigid. She would've thought he was asleep, except as she was starting to relax herself, she heard Richie say something, but saying it with his face buried in her chest, it was muffled.
"What'd you say?" she asked.
Richie pulled himself away from Denise and sat up. "I said nothing's changed. You remember how it was when we were living together in foster care?"
Denise nodded, "I remember. The bastards would go out for a couple hours, the whole time we'd try to think of a way to get out—to runaway, and where to, but everything we came up with always was a dead end, so all we could do was watch ourselves when they came home, drunk to the eyeballs."
Richie nodded. "And you remember how it was after that?"
"Yeah—sure—we all took shifts standing guard at night—incase anybody'd come in. They never did."
Foster care was one of the last things Denise had ever wanted to discuss again, especially after the hell she and Jeremy had been put through after Richie left. On the other hand, she was on her last nerve about the murder, and right now would gladly talk about anything else.
"Well, there were some minor advantages while we were together there," Denise added.
"Oh?"
"Yeah, as loose as they were with the foster checks, they never remembered blowing all of it, so they never found out we were taking part of it, and that sure came in handy."
"Yep," Richie replied.
"You remember the time Jeremy came home with those three box cutters so we could protect ourselves?" Denise asked.
And it was then she saw Richie's face had become a mask of horror. "What's wrong?" she asked.
"Jeremy—he hasn't come back yet," Richie said.
But Denise shrugged it off. "Don't worry about it, Richie."
"But what if—?"
"Jeremy is a runt, but he's not an idiot. He knows better than to get caught," Denise replied, "Don't worry, Richie, he'll come back."
"But when?"
"When he finds Uncle David."
"But what if he doesn't find him?" Richie asked.
"Oh come on, Richie," Denise said, "What do you think happened? Do you think the earth just swallowed him up somewhere?"
"What if he's dead? What if they buried him? Or burnt the body? You'd never find it," Richie said.
Denise could've slapped Richie right then and there for nothing more than the questions he was asking. "You worry too much, Richie. Do you think he survived 14 years in foster care by being an easy target? If he could survive foster care, he can survive anything."
Richie didn't say anything, he didn't even look at Denise, and she wasn't sure he'd even heard her.
"I'll be back in a minute," Denise got up from the couch and left the room, "Don't move."
Denise went back to where Connor and Krug were taking turns looking out the window and discussing their options. "What's the verdict?" Denise asked.
"Nothing yet," Connor said, "They're still out there. How's Richie?"
"He's awake," Denise said, "That's about the only good news to it."
Krug turned away from the window and looked at Denise. "What's wrong with him?"
Denise took a minute before answering that, it wasn't an answer that came easy. "Richie's not like Jeremy and myself, we grew up under very similar circumstances, but he's never had to kill anyone to survive—he's still got a conscience to him, that's both a blessing and a curse for him. He doesn't know what it's like to have a murder hanging over his head, to have his conscience ripping at him night and day to the point of absolute madness, until finally one day it just dies out. But, that also means he doesn't know how subtle everything gets once it has passed, so upon seeing the murder, he's been bombarded with trauma—horror—anxiety—tension—he's about two inches from a nervous breakdown is my guess. Please do keep in mind that he's the sole witness to the murder, and knows that every attack we take is aimed directly at him."
Krug just nodded as he turned back to the window. "I can see why you had to sedate him."
"And I'm afraid before the night's over, I will again," Denise added, "I'm going to take him upstairs and get him away from the main action down here."
"Before you do," Connor said, "Could I see him for a minute?"
"He's your nephew," was Denise's only answer.
Connor took it as a yes. "I'll only be a minute," he told her.
While Denise took his place at the window, Connor headed to the living room and found Richie seated on the couch with his knees drawn into his chest. He looked over at Connor, but acted like he didn't even notice he was there.
"Richie—you okay?" Connor asked as he seated himself beside Richie.
"I'd feel better if I knew where Jeremy was," he responded, "How's—everything going?"
"Oh, everything's fine," Connor assured the boy, "We've got those two watched like a hawk."
"Two?"
"Yeah—someone's visiting with him—we're not sure who, but we think it's the guy their uncle went chasing in the Union Gap."
Connor noticed that Richie's breathing became heavy very quickly, and he thought the boy would start hyperventilating soon. Connor slipped a protective arm around his back and drew Richie closer to him, despite the boy's protests. "Richie, calm down—it's going to be allright—we'll take care of Mason, the important thing right now is that you get through this allright. That's our biggest concern right now."
Richie quieted down and Connor thought that that was the end of the problem, but the initial shock of something wet coming in contact with his shoulder, told him something was wrong.
"Now what's wrong?" Connor asked.
Richie pulled away from Connor's embrace and scooted over to the end of the couch and wiped away his tears with the back of his hand. After that, he was too embarrassed to even look at Connor, and he nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt a hand on his shoulder.
"What's wrong?" Connor repeated, "You can tell me."
Richie refused to even face Connor when he told him. "This isn't going to be over until I'm dead. Mason isn't going to rest until he's killed me."
"He's not going to, not with us around," Connor said, "He doesn't stand a chance of getting through to you."
"If he wants me dead, he'll find a way," Richie replied, still not daring to look at Connor.
"Not with us around, you've got me, Denise, Jeremy and David are coming back, Krug's here, Jason is going to be here, when Duncan and Tessa get back they'll—"
Richie jerked around like a spinning top to face Connor, "You can't tell them that! They'd never believe it. They think this guy Mason is some kind of saint or something; you'd never be able to convince them otherwise. I know I can't." Richie turned back around so he wouldn't have to look at Connor.
"Richie—how old are you?"
"17, why?"
"Uh-huh, well—" While Richie waited for Connor to continue, he was caught off guard and jerked back by his arms, and Connor had Richie on his back across his lap so he could see the boy as he talked to him. "—I have about 457 years' advantage over you. Duncan will listen to me."
"How can you be so sure?" Richie asked.
"If need be, I'll force him," Connor said.
"You can't do that," Richie said.
"Why not?"
"Because, they'll want to know how you know what's going on here."
"That's easy, I'll tell them I came by to see them, they weren't there—"
"But how would you know I'm here? You'd have to tell them you know Jeremy and Denise to tell them that, and you can't do that can you?" Richie asked.
"No I can't—" Connor realized, "Duncan can be understanding when he has to be, but I don't know how I'd be able to explain how I know them without there being trouble."
"How did you meet them?" Richie asked.
"Denise didn't tell you?" Connor asked.
"Well—Denise has a way of calling them as she sees them, and what she sees isn't always how it happened."
"Well we met in New York, during a fight."
"What kind of fight?" Richie asked.
"Bar fight—nothing much, but enough to get their attention."
Richie couldn't remember if that was how Denise had told it or not, but he didn't care, he was too tired to care. He was so tired he could've fallen asleep then and there and not cared. Connor noticed so he slipped one hand behind Richie's head and lifted him up enough for Connor to slip out from under him, and he slipped a pillow under Richie's head to make up for the absence of his lap, and with that he headed back to the den.
"Is that your man out there?" Denise asked.
Krug tried to look through the darkness and the rain, after the blinding headlights from the car that pulled up. "Yep, that's Jason allright."
"Good, right about now I think I've had all the surprises for one night I can take," Denise said.
Krug turned around and saw Connor coming back into the room. "Mr. Nash—"
Denise turned around, "Long minute. How's Richie?"
"Asleep, how are things going out here?" Connor asked.
"Jason just pulled up," Krug answered.
"I'm going to take Richie upstairs now," Denise said.
"I don't know if that's a good idea, he just got to sleep," Connor told her.
"Trust me, he's not going to be able to rest staying on the same floor with the assassin SWAT team. If you can keep a lookout on things down here, and let me know when Jeremy gets back, I'll keep an eye on Richie."
"Sure, Miss Kramer, sure," Krug replied.
"When Jason comes in, have him watch the back door," Denise said, "I'm beginning to think that Mason's more strategic than we're giving him credit for."
Denise headed into the living room and found Richie asleep on the couch. She almost hated to wake him, but she knew once he awoke again, (and there was no telling when that would be), he'd rest easier away from everybody. She went over to the couch and gently tapped Richie on the shoulder to wake him up, he groaned and opened his eyes and before he could ask what was going on, Denise pulled him to his feet and took him over to the back stairs and up to the second floor.
"What's going on, Denise? Where are you taking me?" he asked.
"Ordinarily under the circumstances, I wouldn't be doing this," Denise said as she took a key out of her pocket and stuck it in the door's keyhole, "But I think you're better off up here while everyone else is downstairs keeping guard."
The door opened and Denise flipped on the light before letting Richie in. He slowly made his way into the room, it wasn't Jeremy's bedroom and it wasn't his guest bedroom, in fact, Richie wasn't sure he'd ever seen this room, and already he could tell he didn't like it.
"Where—where are we?" he asked.
"My bedroom," Denise replied.
That surprised Richie, for one thing, she didn't use her bed since she slept on the couch every night, and another was that she'd never even mentioned it to him.
Looking around at the room, he wondered why she didn't, it was certainly not like any room he'd ever seen. The walls were painted black, blood red candles in gold plated candelabras were spread all over the room, the brass bed in the middle of the room was made with black sheets, and the bed was easily big enough for three people, or more if they were creative. Beside the bed was a nightstand with a bucket and a bottle in it, champagne he guessed, and looking over on the shelves he saw a few skulls, a few empty beer cans and countless full cans, books by Poe and Stephen King, Anne Rice and Mary Rinehart, all tales of horror and suspense and murder. Also on one shelf was a large glass case filled with handguns, all different models, and plenty of ammunition beside the case. Richie also noticed alongside the gun case, was another case, this one had Ginzu knives, butcher knives, meat cleavers, machetes and small hatchets. Suddenly, Richie felt physically sick and felt the desire to get out of the room immediately, but when he turned around, he ran into Denise, who showed no sign of moving from the door.
Richie tried to cover how nervous he was—he laughed and said, "N-nice room you got here."
Denise grinned and pointed over to the gun case. "Like 'em?"
"Uh—" Richie looked back and tried to think, "Y-yeah, I guess—how—how'd you get them?"
"Collected them from all the places I've lived," Denise said.
By collected of course, Richie knew she meant she stole them.
"Of course, that's not enough—the rest came from gun shows."
"Oh—" Richie wasn't sure he wanted to know how she managed to get those, being 2 years out of the legal age limit.
"So you see, Richie—if Mason and his flunky try anything, we have them out numbered, and outgunned."
Richie looked over to where she kept the skulls. "Wha—what about those? Wh—where'd they come from?"
"That's nothing," Denise said, "That's from when we were living with a guy who taught medicine, he claimed he knew the entire human body, inside and out, and he had a skeleton in his bedroom, and one in his office, one in his den, and one at the medical school where he worked. So Jeremy and I thought, what would he do if the skeleton's kept coming up short a head? Well, there was very little fuss made, no questions asked, they just kept replacing the skeletons, where they got them from we don't know, but when we moved we took near two dozen of those things with us."
Denise knew that Richie wasn't sure about spending the night in her room, and she probably wouldn't have thought of it, but she knew she couldn't take him to Jeremy's room, and his own bedroom hadn't seen any use since the murder started. The master bedroom was always a possibility, but that was right at the front of the house, with a good view of Mason's house. Besides, her bedroom was a good choice for a "war room" if need be. That bridge would be crossed when they got there, for the time being she saw that Richie was finding it exhausting to even keep his eyes open, so she pushed him back towards the bed until the heels of his shoes found the legs of the bed and he fell backwards.
Almost immediately, he sprang up from the bed and tried to get off, but Denise pinned him back down. "What do you think you're doing?" she asked.
"The bed's cold," Richie weakly responded.
"That's because the sheets are silk and they haven't been used for two months," Denise told him, "Give it a minute."
Richie looked at her like he didn't believe her. "Two months? You mean you haven't slept in this thing for two months?"
"I haven't slept in it since a week after we moved here, that was almost seven months ago," Denise said.
Richie was sure he'd heard wrong. "Why?"
Denise turned away for a minute before meeting Richie's eyes with hers and replied, "If you don't know by now, then you got the better break in foster care."
And suddenly, Richie was sorry he'd even asked. He turned away from Denise and shut his eyes tightly, not even wanting to think about what she'd gone through. But Denise quickly brushed it off. She got up to the head of the bed next to Richie and propped herself up on one elbow and reached over and gently stroked Richie's head with her free hand.
"Don't get yourself upset again, you won't be any good if you make yourself sick," Denise told him.
"I know," came the muffled reply from the pillows.
Denise lowered her hand and ran it down to stroke Richie's back, this was getting to be too much like old times. "Why don't you go back to sleep?" he suggested.
"I can't," Richie replied.
"Why not?" Denise asked.
Richie turned over and looked at Denise. "Denise, I can't go back to sleep—I'm afraid to—I can't stand the thought of seeing that women get killed again."
Understandable. "Fine then, you don't have to sleep, but at least rest."
"How?"
"How?" she repeated.
"How can I be expected to rest when there's a murderer living right up and across the street?" Richie asked.
Denise patted Richie's back, "Don't worry about it. We'll take care of him for you—the important thing right now is that you don't throw yourself into a mental breakdown."
"I know, but after what I saw—"
"Richie—we can't help that woman, but we can see to it that Mason doesn't get away with it and that's all we can do," Denise told him.
"But Denise," Richie almost shouted in despair, "What are we going to do? We've looked that house over twice, we can't find her body, it's like she was never there."
"I know, I know," Denise rubbed hard against Richie's back as she tried not to give into the temptation to dig her nails into him for being annoying. "She has to be somewhere, Richie, maybe—maybe he had his associate take her body somewhere, if that's the case we might not find her. But she's out there somewhere, her corpse didn't just disappear into thin air."
"I don't want to talk about it anymore," Richie groaned.
"Fine, we won't."
Richie laid his head on top of his folded arms and quietly cried himself to sleep, Denise didn't intervene, he needed to get it out and he needed the rest. Once he'd fallen asleep, Denise silently swore that Mason would soon die a slow and painful death for everything he'd done to Richie.
Of course, Mason wasn't the only problem here, Richie wasn't used to seeing people murdered, but he also wasn't usually in this bad of shape. No, the problem was that when she last saw Richie, he didn't have much of a conscience to him, now he had it in full again. That she decided, was the diabolical doing of Duncan MacLeod, the warden. Denise swore to undue the damage that the two men had done to Richie, if it was the last thing she did.