MALICIOUS INTENT

Chapter Ten

Sheldon retreated to the window, still trying to stem the raging torrent of words that poured from his distraught mother. Everyone else crowded round Mac, as he began to turn through the pages of the New York Times. The detective was almost too afraid to imagine what he might find there. Reaching the obituaries at last, he laid the page open across the table for his colleagues to see.

And suddenly they understood.

"Oh no," murmured Lindsay, leaning forward to stare at the column with guilty fascination. It was so macabre - and almost funny, if it hadn't been their friend whose tiny black and white image smiled up at them from a page full of ghosts.

"'New York City's crime lab mourns the loss of Dr. Sheldon Hawkes'," read Danny, in horrified awe. "'A brilliant career has been cut short by what can only be described as a tragic accident.'"

"No wonder his mother is upset," Stella whispered, half-afraid that Sheldon would hear her. "I'd be out of my mind. This is insane."

Mac was still reading. The obituary was full of over-blown praise, documenting Sheldon Hawkes' meteoric rise - graduating from college at eighteen, qualifying as a fully licensed surgeon by the age of twenty four... Doctor, medical examiner, crime scene investigator - everything was there. And yet, through every sentence ran a thick vein of sarcasm, subtle in its wording, implying another side to the story - one of ego, and ambition. It was the spiteful letter blown out of all proportion, and turned into a public spectacle.

"Damn. This creep is clever." Danny shook his head.

"'Diabolical' would be a better word," Mac commented grimly. Sheldon's frustration was almost tangible as he banged his fist on the window and snapped his cell phone shut with violent disgust. Taking a moment to gather himself, the doctor turned to face his friends.

"Apparently," he told them, in a voice that was eerily calm, "I fell down the stairs and broke my neck."

"Then you look surprisingly good, for a dead man," quipped Danny, before his better judgement could stop him. Sheldon's glare was withering.

"Not now, Danny," he warned. "Sense the tone, okay?"

"Sorry," muttered his friend. "I make jokes when I'm nervous. You know that."

Mac stepped in hurriedly. "I take it your mother has read the news too."

"Oh, no." Sheldon kept a tight rein on his temper. His whole body was tense by now, and twitching with suppressed emotion. "She didn't read it. Her sister called her early this morning and demanded to know why she hadn't been informed that her only nephew was now deceased. Since then, she's had - oh, I don't know - about fifty calls already, asking about funeral arrangements, and flowers, and... Mac, she's not a well woman. This is beyond spite. My family and friends think I'm dead. What on earth does that achieve?"

"He's toying with us." Stella's voice was equally controlled. Only a gleam in her eyes betrayed the fire within. It was a look that Mac knew all too well. God help the letter writer if any of them finally caught up with him. He was smashing through boundaries and reaching into areas of their lives that were so personal, his audacity took Mac's breath away.

"Sheldon. I'm truly sorry that this has happened. Believe me, I'll be contacting the New York Times myself, in order to get them to print a retraction. In the meantime, we have to get to the bottom of this, and quickly. These letters are growing more devious by the day. Clearly, their author feels that his power is growing. They need to be stopped, before his deeds escalate to the point where he does irreparable harm."

"Then you'd better look to yourself," sighed the doctor. "Because you and Lindsay are the only ones here who haven't had one yet..."

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Adam heaped a third spoonful of coffee into his mug, and two helpings of sugar. Disgusting, but necessary. He needed a jolt to his system, and caffeine was the only way to achieve that. Overwhelmed by a wave of conflicting thoughts and emotions, Adam's brain was refusing to co-operate any more, leaving him floundering, and stupefied. So, coffee. And a sugar rush. Upending the kettle, he pictured his thoughts floating away with the steam, rising upwards in ones and twos until, trapped by the ceiling, they huddled together, looking down on him and laughing at his dormant state of mind...

"Can I have one?" said an unexpected voice behind him.

He jumped, and the kettled jerked in his hand. Boiling water lurched out of the spout, missing his mug completely and seething across the countertop until it found the edge, where it paused for a few seconds, gaining momentum before it continued on its inevitable downward journey - towards the lab rat's feet.

Adam yelped, and leapt backwards.

"Don't startle me like that!" he complained, spinning around to see who had crept up on him so quietly.

Elsa stood in the doorway, looking penitent.

"Sorry. Are you okay?"

A simple question, with so many possible answers. Adam waved them all away and stuck with his usual, non-committal reply.

"I'm fine."

"I don't think so." She took another couple of steps into the room. Ducking away from her gaze, Adam searched around for a cloth to wipe up the mess. Elsa watched him for a while, disturbed by his reticence. "Adam. Is something going on with you? You're white as a sheet. And there are all kinds of rumours flying around the lab."

He stood up, and wrung the cloth out into the sink, taking care not to burn his hands. "What kind of rumours?"

"Jacob says you've been getting letters. Hate mail. Is that true?"

Instead of answering the question, Adam turned to her at last. His blue eyes were angry, and full of pain. "Jacob's got no right to be saying anything about me," muttered the lab rat. "Gossip is wicked - and so are the people who spread it."

Elsa jerked back as though she had been slapped in the face. At once, Adam reached out his hand. "Oh - no, Elsa. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean you..."

"Yes, you did. And you'd be right. Look at me, poking my nose in where clearly it's not wanted. I'll leave you in peace." And she turned to go. Adam grabbed her arm, so full of guilt that it almost choked him.

"Please! It's just... I can't really tell you anything about it, okay? Mac made me promise not to. But Elsa, thank you for caring enough to ask. It means a lot to me. Really."

"Really?" Her echo was small, but relieved.

Just at that moment, Stella came bursting into the room. "Oh - excuse me. I was just looking for Adam..."

"I'm okay, Stella." Adam gave her an apologetic smile. "Just needed some air for a moment. Well, you know, same air, different room..."

"Of course." Slipping past them, with the kettle firmly in her line of sight, Stella noticed the wet cloth and the suspicious damp patch on the floor. "Accident?"

With a softer grin, Adam stepped across the kitchen and lifted two more mugs down from the cabinet. "Don't know what you mean," he said, lightly. The colour was slowly returning to his cheeks by now. "Let me make your drink for you, all right? Elsa and I..."

Adam paused. All at once, he was painfully aware of a void behind him. Stella watched as he turned in dismay and stared at the empty space between himself and the doorway.

Elsa had gone.

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A/N: If reviews were Hallowe'en treats, I'd be in the middle of a serious sugar rush right now! Which, loosely translated, means THANK YOU for so many lovely comments about the last few chapters. Hope you enjoyed the update. More tomorrow...

Oh - and thanks must also go to the ever-so-omniscient Wikipedia for confirming the factual details of Sheldon Hawkes' career.