So, a long time ago, a very long time ago, I began to write this fic… Then I hit a wall called writer block. In order to try and finish this story, I began another one called The cheese and the worms, thinking it would help my muse to come back. Unfortunately, said muse, after a few sparks, decided to enter in this long comatose state until recently. I finally updated The cheese and the worms, and this very update seems to have the planned effect since I found a way to finish this damn fic.

All those futile words to say that I'm very sorry (and a bit ashamed too) for this long silence and that, if you're still willing to follow me, I'm now ready to take you to the end of the trip. At last.

A big thank you to Diane and her so welcome "nagging"…

Disclaimer : I don't anything. Nada. Que dalle.

CHAPTER NINE

46 HOURS MISSING

For the tenth time in the last five minutes, Alex Miller walked nervously to the side of one of the front windows, pulled the light green heavy curtain just enough to cast a discrete glance outside and was unable to contain his frown. The navy blue SUV was still there. Those damn Feds were still there. A sudden wave of cold, implacable rage almost submerged him as he dug his nails in his sweaty palm to the point droplets of blood began to appear without him even noticing the pain he inflicted himself. He could still see the male agent's stupid, overconfident smirk. He could still hear the female agent's hypocritical, despicable voice. Who did they think they were? How could they dare talk to him like that? A violent swing with his left arm projected the crystal vase his mother liked so much on the opposite wall along with its bouquet of orange and golden lilies. The young man absently contemplated the mess he just caused, the flowers and crystal shards scattered everywhere, the stains of water and pollen on the light green wall and carpet. Stupid flowers. Stupid vase. He never understood his mother's love for those pretty things anyway Another liberating swing swept away the china cups and teapot from the sideboard between the two front windows and sent them crashing on the ground. It was impossible. Where had he gone wrong? What mistake had he made? His plan was flawless, as usual, and he had perfectly executed it, as usual.

It was all her fault. If that bitch had refrained her fucking curiosity and stopped being so fucking nosy, the Feds would have never crossed his way. Her damn researches had forced him to act and make her disappear before she became too dangerous. She had obliged him to hasten the plan he had elaborated to catch Gloria, this stunning, overconfident woman who worked in the juridical section of the library on Mondays and Wednesdays, a plan he had thought of for nearly a year. Alex let out a dangerous growl. Not only had the stupid girl made him act almost rashly, which he hated, but she had also forced him to abandon his long chosen prey. This last fact was the one which left the bitterest taste in his mouth. He had anticipated the moment he would have made the woman sit on the chair, the seconds he would have secured her on it, the hours he would have played with her and enjoyed her panicked stare for so many months.

"Fuck!" the young man yelled as he gave a violent kick to the sideboard, the vibrations causing the fall of the long-necked vase, which had escaped from his previous fit of rage. There was nothing left of the cool, seemingly unbreakable façade the agents had broken their teeth on for almost two days. However, the last interview had created small breaches, then the dam had totally collapsed under the pressure of his blinding, ravenous fury and frustration. Now, Alex Miller was just a standing, trembling form in the middle of a harrowed living room, a man covered by cold sweat, unable to contain his hidden violence, and, more than the failure of his plan, this uncontrolled rage, this pathetic attitude was what disgusted him the most. He was better than that. Much better. Alex closed his eyes, trying to regain control on his emotions, to stop the shaking of his clenched fists, to focus his wrath on the true targets.

There was no point in blaming himself, for he hadn't made any mistake. It was all her fault. And, indeed, he had made her pay; pay for having tried to outsmart him, for having denied him the pleasure anticipated for so long, for having been so stubborn and fixed her arrogant eyes on his. She had been a tough one, he had to concede, but, in the end, he had broken her; like the others, she had given him the immense pleasure of contemplating her panicked stare. Not nearly as glorious as what he had imagined for Gloria, not nearly as pleasurable, but he had won one more time. Then, it had been Kenny's turn to accept his superiority. The fool had confronted him, thinking he could compete with him. Poor, pathetic guy. It had been almost too easy, since the first blow to his ribs to the final kick in the head. The young man took a deep, calming breath. If the Feds had something concrete, solid on him, sirens would have resounded in the neighbourhood minutes ago. If Kenny had denounced him, the cops would have broken into his home already. A cruel smile formed on his lips. Or, maybe, they were stupid enough to hope they still could save the bitch.

Oh, God. He was better than them. So much better.

Kenny, the stupid agents. It was their entire fault. And he was going to make them pay, pay being too dumb to survive, for asking their damn questions with their superior smile…

He was invincible, after all.

…/…

"So, what's the plan?" Samantha asked to her silent companion as they were driving to Alex Miller's neighbourhood. In fact, said companion hadn't uttered a sound since they had gotten into the car and her question seemed like a desperate attempt to make him open up a little. This particular attitude used to worry and infuriate her before their affair started and now, she really couldn't stand it when this dark and thoughtful expression began to cover his face. Now, she knew what demons this type of cases awakened in his mind, she knew the battle between his desire to bring justice at any cost for the lost person and his obligation to his job properly that was raging inside him. And all she could do for now was showing her support by her presence and her word before comforting him in her embrace, in the secret of her apartment.

Later.

Until then, words were her only resources, so she pressed him again:

"Jack, are you listening? What are we going to do?"

As it often did, the use of his first name did the trick and tore him up from his dark reverie.

"Sorry", he answered lightly shaking his head as if trying to awaken for real. "Guess I'm a little tired," he offered as a weak explanation, perfectly knowing she wouldn't buy it.

"Yeah, right…"

"What did you want?" he asked, prolonging the charade.

"Nothing, I was just wondering about what we are going to do with this guy."

"Simple. Danny and Vivian stay where they are to get on his nerves. And you and I are waiting for him to make a move," he explained as if she didn't already know their plan.

And, fugitively squeezing her hand, he offered her a gentle smile to answer her silent question.

No, I'm not gonna lose it.

No, I'm not gonna kill the bastard.

Thank you.

"All right," she said, accepting both answers with a smile of her own.

…/…

48 HOURS MISSING

"No, he hasn't moved yet," Vivian made her report to the other waiting car. "Don't know what he's doing… But Danny has gone out to take a look at the house; maybe he'll have something interesting about the little bastard."

Her conversation with Jack over, she turned her attention to the house once more. Earlier, Danny and she had noticed some agitation in what seemed to be the living room. However, since then, everything had been quiet. The evening had come and the lights inside were still out. The agent was beginning to think that Miller hadn't taken their bait after all. After all, the guy was a sadistic and intelligent creep who had abducted fellow students to film them as he tortured and murdered them. He believed dearly in his superiority. And, her interviews with him had shown her how much he despised the mere cops they were.

So, maybe their classic plan of pressuring the suspect wasn't going to function this time.

…/…

Miller gave a final look at the improvised mechanism and smiled. Not perfect, but it was the best he could do in so short a notice. One last time, he checked that everything was ready.

Ready for the show.

Before exiting the garage, his studio, he adjusted the camera so that it was able to catch everything that was going to happen in this room. Once satisfied with his work, the man walked out calmly.

Those damn cops may think they got him but he was going to make sure they remember his name for a very long while.

Ready for the last show.

…/…

"Jack, he won't come out," Danny commented from behind the house. "What are we going to do? Have you obtained a warrant?"

The young agent had slowly but surely been losing his patience throughout the case, and this fruitless waiting was taking its toll as well.

"Nah," came the defeated answer. "Looks like Mr. Miller has very good friends in the right places… I have been told that what we had wasn't enough to get a warrant…"

"What?" Danny nearly exploded. "That's crazy, Jack, c'mon! We know perfectly well it's him; there are proofs, there's Kenny's testimony, there…"

"I know that! Believe me, I want to nail the bastard as much as you do, Danny," Jack answered coldly. "But, for now, all we can do is wait. Is that clear?"

"Yeah, sure," the younger man muttered before resuming his discrete vigil.

…/…

49 HOURS MISSING

"Still nothing, damn it," Jack muttered as he mechanically reached into his pocket, only to discover it was empty. "What the fuck is he doing?" God, he could really use a smoke right now, but he had left his last cigarette at the office, expecting to savour it as a victory trophy before giving up the stuff for good. At least that was the plan this morning, before their heart-wrenching discovery of Kenny Williams, before he lost hope of finding Erin alive and well… A fugitive movement on his right, the same Samantha already had done four times in the last hour, betrayed his companion's similar impatience and longing. In spite of the seriousness of their situation, he stole a few seconds to appreciate the way she repeatedly tried to put a stubborn, golden lock behind her ear, a typical sign of her growing nervousness.

"Old habits die hard..." he mused, an amused smile forming on his lips.

"God, she's beautiful…" was his second thought when she became aware of his silent staring and returned a sweet and conniving grin of hers.

…/…

The frustrating waiting was beginning to take its toll on the whole team. Her latest conversations with Jack and Danny proved that. Everyone's temper was slowly rising, and the ever patient Vivian Johnson was no exception. The judge had rejected their demand for a warrant for the second time just a few minutes before and all they had left to do was to wait for their suspect to do a move, any move. The problem was the bastard didn't seem to make any. Danny had reported some activity in what seemed to be the garage two hours ago, but, since then, Miller hadn't moved an ear.

It was utterly frustrating.

Besides, she had this nagging feeling in her stomach that this absence of movement was done on purpose; as if Miller was trying to play with their nerves. Vivian had met the creep twice and, in spite all the disgust she felt, she had to admit Miller was a smart guy, a very smart guy, even. And, if the way Danny had snapped at her during their last call was any proof, whatever the plan was, it was working.

Miller was preparing something, her intuition was screaming it, but she couldn't even begin to imagine what it could be.

God help them.

…/…

50 HOURS MISSING

Danny blew in his hands in a vain attempt to warm his hands, bitterly regretting the pair of gloves he had left at the office. October nights could get really cold and this evening was no exception. Again, he hadn't thought when he started his surveillance of the house earlier in the afternoon that he still would be there almost four hours later.

Damn the bastard.

Damn the judge who thought Kenny's testimony and the other evidence weren't enough.

He wasn't a rookie anymore, but his reaction to this kind of situations hadn't changed since his first day in the Bureau: he couldn't stand feeling useless; he couldn't bear seeing a suspect escape because of some judge's concern to preserve his reputation. Years after years, the young agent had worked hard to improve himself, to raise himself at the level of Jack's expectations, and he had become the agent he was today.

Not perfect, but pretty solid.

However, he hadn't quite succeeded in totally controlling this weakness of his: his temper and his impatience. In spite of what he had told Vivian earlier, the proof was still evident today. Without Jack's constant warnings, he surely would have done something stupid, like entering the house without a warrant… Fortunately, he wasn't alone that evening; the whole team was there to help him, calming him, backing him up. The four of them were there and, very soon, they will walk out from this house, with a handcuffed Alex Miller between them.

…/…

Samantha reached for her handbag for the third time in the last hour and cursed inwardly. If the pack of cigarettes wasn't here last time, there was no need to check again, was it? She sighed tiredly. Fortunately, Jack's silent presence, his fugitive and reassuring touches were doing more than compensating for the lack of nicotine. Much more. His presence was even so precious she really didn't want to think about what it could mean for her.

For them.

The young woman lightly shook her head. Silence was definitely bad; it made her over think and this was not the moment. She was about to comment about the ridiculous bushes in some neighbour's garden, anything to disrupt the silence, when a chilling scream made her regret the comfort of stillness.

It was a scream of pain and terror.

It was a desperate scream.

She had already heard it.

On the videotapes.

Jack and she were already out of the car when she realized how much this sound was familiar. Without really concerting each other, the whole team broke into the house and each one chose their own area.

Danny entered by the back door and began to search the kitchen then the living room.

Vivian rushed up the stairs to check the bedrooms.

Jack motioned her to follow him toward the garage.

Then hell broke loose.