AN: To answer why I haven't been able to write anything—I've lost someone. What more is there to say?
Chapter Ten: One Thing Right
One hour had passed since Brennan confronted Booth about Parker. Fifty-six minutes had slowly ticked by since an uttered word filled the car. Adding fuel to an already tension-filled fire, no sooner than when Booth and Brennan trudged weary and battle-worn into F.B.I. headquarters, Dr. Riley came barreling into them. "There's someone alive!" he breathed out hastily. His wispy hair had drifted sideways, giving him the appearance of a comb-over. On any other day Booth would have chuckled. Instead, Booth froze in his tracks and Brennan frowned, not quite sure if she heard Riley's frantic statements.
"Who's alive?" Brennan demanded.
"Epps is keeping someone alive," Riley explained as he pulled at Brennan's arm. He led them quickly back into the morgue, clarifying, "After you found the gravel imbedded, there was another identical "air" pocket in her skull. It wasn't gravel and it sure as hell wasn't space. It was a note—a riddle." Coming down the stairs Booth and Brennan could hear the cacophony of raised voices and frantic brainstorming. Riley finished, "I found it fifteen minutes ago. I've never seen my morgue room so filled. We have Deputy Director Saroyan, field agents who worked the case, cryptologists—"
"Why the hurry?" Booth managed before pushing his way to the autopsy table, feeling idiotic that he had to ask the question in the first place. He knew full well why—Epps was baiting them with a live victim. He had the dreading feeling that the sudden full-throttle mission initiative in the Epps case was due to a severely strict timeline, and the price would be yet another life. The million dollar question was: how much time did they have left? Cam caught sight of Brennan and helped her to the edge of the table, where the offending note lay. Cam whispered harshly, "I really wish like hell you have some idea what this means. We have two hours before another woman is killed." Brennan felt a flood of anxiety and real fear fill her system. 2 hours? And no one knows what Epps means? Brennan quickly pulled on latex gloves and requested, "Give me the note."
The roar of voices lowered to curious and anticipating murmurs. Booth stilled as Brennan read aloud: "Hello, my name is Parker. Ask me how to solve this case." Brennan swallowed as Booth paled, and as recollections invaded her thoughts. Epps wasn't talking about Parker then…can it be as easy now? Brennan continued reading as her mind put the pieces together subconsciously, "You have until noontime 10/10/07 to save Miss Schnee Hitze Regen-Schneeregen."
"Please tell me you know what the hell he's saying," Booth grit out, fighting tooth and nail not to suffer another collapse. Parker. This bastard is evil in its purest form. It's a goddamn miracle I haven't shot someone or myself yet. And now…someone's gonna die in two hours of we don't do at least one thing right.
"Please, Tempe…" Booth pleaded quietly. The room became silent as a small hesitant grin graced Brennan's face. Cam nodded, "You know what it is, don't you?"
Booth felt cautioned hope loosen his rock-bottom hopelessness as Brennan turned directly to him and announced confidently, "I know where to go."
Booth smiled grimly, "I think it's about time you drove."
Speeding down the grittiest streets in DC, Brennan explained to Booth, "It's a little bit different from last time, but in a way it's better. We don't have to travel all the way to Virginia. He didn't use the name 'Parker' because of your son—he's talking about the Parkertown district west of where your latest victim was found."
Booth stopped relaying information to following squad cars and asked slowly, "Wait, I never told you about Parkertown? As far as I'm concerned, I don't even know if Parkertown existed in whatever reality you dropped in from."
Brennan did a double take and sputtered, "You finally believe me?"
"No. Yes. No. Hell, I don't know. Now isn't the best time to discuss this. How do you know where to go, and where we are heading, please," Booth replied stoically.
"I did some late night reading—I thought that since the last time we had to catch Epps location mattered, it might again. So all I did was find specifically where your Jane Doe was found. The kindergarten playground wasn't only to fit his sick motives, but the dumpsite district—Parkertown—would be near where he is."
Booth looked at her steadily. "Where we're going—could it be his hideout? Could he be that stupid?"
Brennan sped around a corner, thanking pure luck that the streets were familiar. In past cases with Booth—in a time and a place where she was a partner with him—she'd visited the area many a time to solve another faceless victim's identity—whether they were slain prostitutes or runaways. They were the type of people found in this part of town. It would be logical that Epps would feel at home here. Going back to Booth's question, she answered, "Not stupid. Just over confident. And the girl's name isn't a real name. It's all German for 'rain, snow, sleet, and heat' and not necessarily in that order."
Booth jumped on the connection immediately. "It's the postman's creed or whatever. Neither rain, nor sleet or snow or heat of day…Jesus, Brennan. I think I know where the girl's at."
"The old post office. Yeah, this neighborhood exists where things are normal," Brennan stressed. But Booth was no longer listening. Brennan, with alarm, noticed his hand tightening around his gun holster. For the first time in a long while, he looked calm. Just as calm and peaceful before a hurricane destroyed everything in its path.
Keeping far ahead of backup, Booth and Brennan crept their way into the abandoned building. Booth's gun was already drawn, and his eyes scanned the darkness of the dank and rotting structure with deadly precision. Brennan whispered, "Where the hell are the rest of the agents?"
Booth, without looking at Brennan, hushed, "So we don't alarm anybody that might be here. The goal is to nail Epps, not give him a warning and time to disappear."
"But what if—"
"Shush. I think I hear something," Booth froze after cutting off Brennan. They strained their ears, and sure enough, a small and lonely wailing moan rose from above the rafters. Booth and Brennan strained their necks up, and with horror, Booth caught sight of a limp body swinging upside down. She was a dirty blonde no older than eighteen, and two things were for certain—she was injured, and she was terrified. Another wail escaped from a bloodied gag and Booth copied into his radio, "We have sight of the girl. She's alive and strung up from the ceiling. We're going to need backup in here now. Epps isn't here, we would have seen him by now…"
Booth ventured around the corner, trying to find a way to get to the teen. Brennan saw movement flicker in the darkness, and her eyes widened as a pipe was suddenly wielded like a baseball bat towards the back of Booth's head.
"Booth!" she called out just as Howard Epps leapt from a cubbyhole suspended above Booth's body. Instinctively, he ducked, and the pipe missed smashing into his skull. Instead, it clipped the side of his head, and the blood flowed out of Brennan's heart as she watched Booth sink to the cold floor, eliciting a gurgled moan. Brennan rushed to Booth's side, heedless of Epps now towering over her "partner's" motionless form, a pipe aimed to end the agent's life in a single blow. Brennan kicked out at Epps' back, hard where the kidneys would have been. She heard the rush of air as pain rocked his core, and as realization set in.
"You!" Epps growled as he got to his feet. Not pausing for a second, Brennan ducked and kicked Epps' feet from under him. He crashed to the ground once more, but swung the pipe as he did so. It connected with Brennan's shoulder and she groaned, biting back an expletive. Epps jumped to his feet again in almost surreal quickness, and lifted the pipe over his head to inflict mortal damage upon Brennan's bones. She rolled away as the metal crunched into the floor and got to a crouched position, ready for Epps' next attack.
Except, he had disappeared.
Brennan wiped the sweat and grime off her face as she carefully searched the darkness of the abandoned post office. She saw flashlights and heard the voices of backup, and she knew that Epps was long gone. Standing shakily, she crept over to Booth as she called in their location.
She shook him, and urged, "Come on, Booth, you're okay. Snap out of it…" Booth blinked and struggled to sit up. His hand went to his head and he cringed as he felt a split scalp.
"He got away, didn't he?" Booth asked, wheezing. There was a hopeless, defeated quality in Booth's voice, and Brennan's heart broke all over again.
"Well," she admitted, "we did one thing right. The girl is safe."
Booth sighed. "It's not enough."
Brennan nodded as she helped him to his feet. "I know, Booth. I know."
