AN: Thank you so much for the positive feedback for the last chapter! It was one of those ones I wrote and tweaked and changed several times to get right. I'm glad the work paid off!
On my profile page, I now have an update schedule for my ongoing fics, this one included. I will now be posting this story weekly on Wednesdays until completed, starting next week (we're looking at about 20 chapters from my outline). This is so I have time for my new story (see the end notes). Enjoy!
Shocker: I still don't own Bones. I also don't own anything by Shakespeare.
Hodgins unfolded the map on the hood of Booth's SUV, smoothing the creases and revealing a block of land outlined in red.
"Given the proportions of the trace minerals and chemicals found in the sample, I was able to focus on this half of the park," he explained, gesturing to the area.
"Hodgins, that's a huge area!" Booth blurted out. "We're losing daylight and you want us to cover five miles square?"
"Not exactly," he replied. "We're looking in particular for the Cicuta douglasii or Western water hemlock plant. It's not indigenous to Virginia, as a rule, but more important, it grows only in wet places."
"Like near this stream," Brennan said, gesturing to the water running through the park's centre.
Hodgins nodded. "Exactly. We only need to cover the banks of the stream. Given that around here lies a now abandoned and condemned house, I'd suggest that our killer likely used the house as a base of operations, should this be the right park."
"So we could be in the wrong place?" Booth asked.
"Unlikely," Angela chimed in. "Based on the percentages Hodgins gave me from his analysis, this area is the best fit by a significant margin."
Satisfied with this, Booth waved over the FBI technicians they'd called in as extra hands. After some debate, he sent them to the farthest point where the stream crossed the parkland. The Jeffersonian Team would work from the other end, with the teams converging centrally. The abandoned house in question fell within the Jeffersonian half of the stream, although it was at least two miles in. The team, now familiarized with the appearance of the plant, broke in half, each taking a different side of the stream. Booth and Angela seemed to be on the same wavelength, the two of them pointedly choosing to work with Brennan. Brennan wasn't oblivious to their protectiveness, and while part of her felt annoyed at the thought that she was too emotional to perform at her job, she knew this would reassure them both. From a practical perspective, Angela had a keen eye that would prove invaluable for sorting through the plant life in efficient fashion, and Booth of course was as perceptive as anyone she knew.
The first mile was covered quickly, the banks sullied by trash and pollution from exploring visitors. It wasn't conducive to covertly growing a toxic plant for the purposes of an elaborate murder. Occasionally, the other team – Hodgins, Cam and Fisher – would flag them down, revealing that they, too, were having no luck.
"I really feel we should have immediately began at the house and branched outwards," Brennan said, her gloved hand gently teasing apart a cluster of marsh reeds.
"We'd be passing this area on the way though," Booth replied. "We're better to just eliminate it as we go."
"I suppose... Nothing here. Ange?"
"Nothing over here," her friend replied ten feet further upstream.
They moved on, Brennan contemplating her embarrassing and lengthy emotional outburst in her office. Angela, as usual, had been right: in talking to Booth, she was able to release one part of the painful puzzle she continued to struggle with. His points had all been sound and rational, appealing to her brain. The way he'd spoken though, the way he'd held her... those had reassured her heart.
Brennan was no stranger to disingenuous touches, physical contact that was without love and at times, without even a modicum of respect. Her decision in life to protect her metaphorical heart at all costs had created a divide between her sexual satisfaction and emotional bonding, and with it came the risk of choosing an inappropriate suitor not even worthy of a night's physical enjoyment. On a dig with her university, she'd nearly fallen victim to assault by a local mercenary and his crude desires; it was fortunate their guide and her professor had come to find her. Over time, she enforced a strict policy forbidding her physical mates from staying the night – for the protection of herself and the hearts of those prone to attachment. To a limited extent, she'd bent the rules for Sully, but had never been entirely comfortable.
With Booth, she'd always been comfortable with contact, in that she trusted him not to cause her harm. It was why his grab of her arm on that first case nine years ago had so offended her: she'd expected better. He was a person of feelings, his facial expressions and body language always giving him away. It was how she'd known that they weren't okay when she first returned. It was how she'd known, staring at the night sky in Maluku, that he was the only person she could dare to enter a relationship with that might not turn out a disaster like the rest. Now, it was the memory of his eyes and the way his body welcomed her inside her office that assured her that he was sincere. She had kissed him to verify that her interpretation of his body language was accurate and although she'd been inappropriately responsive, she did not regret her actions. Everything she'd needed to confirm was in the kisses they shared. No politeness, no awkwardness. Just love, the desperate kind they'd shared that first night, the threat of Broadsky looming over them.
Booth's not going to leave me. He forgives me, even if I don't.
And yet, she knew that she needed to process the rest of the fragmented thoughts and fears in her mind. Booth never liked it when she self-deprecated, and with her lack of forgiveness for her own actions came negativity that hurt him. That, too, was clearly displayed during their conversation. Her father... She couldn't hide forever. She needed to come to a final position and move forward. Dwelling on the past was futile and foolhardy, but she was beginning to accept the premise that past pains shaped present behaviour. How she would reconcile that influence with her feelings about the present, she wasn't certain.
"Bren? What about this one?"
She startled, glancing over at Angela's find. Work, Temperance. That's what you're here to do. After studying the plant carefully, she shook her head.
"Close, but not hemlock. This is water parsnip. The base at the stem and the single compound leaves give it away. Hemlock has thrice compounded leaves and a larger base."
"Got it."
From up ahead, Booth shook his head in frustration. "Are you sure this stuff needs to grow by the stream?"
"Absolutely. It would be difficult to cultivate to begin with. One would need to ensure survival of the plant for the distillation of the toxins," she replied.
Across the stream, Hodgins shook his head, her colleague equally frustrated with their lack of success. It'll be by the house, she thought. It was the most logical means of tracking the plant and locating it again quickly. It was also an area deep within the parkland, where one could take measures to deter wildlife from grazing.
"This is rather late in the year for water hemlock to blossom," she mused aloud.
Booth glanced over. "What does that mean?"
"Well, granted, a cultivated growth could have been planted late, but hemlock generally blooms by July in nature. It's early October." Frowning, she kneeled beside the next patch for inspection. "It's possible that our killer has been planning this for a long time. At the very least, he took the time to nurture the hemlock. One, maybe two months."
"Kind of like his month of imprisonment for Violet Richter?"
Brennan nodded, dismissing her latest area. "Nothing here. And yes, Booth. Exactly like that. He seems to enjoy lengthier processes as part of his kills."
"Kinda makes that sand starvation more likely, doesn't it?" Angela asked.
Brennan nodded. "Absolutely."
The sun was beginning to set as the search came within sight of the house. We need more time, Brennan thought. The other team wasn't yet in sight, although this didn't surprise her. They were often very inefficient at their jobs.
"We may need light soon," she advised Booth.
"Yeah, I was thinking we might. Damn it." His phone in hand, he began scrolling through his contacts.
She glanced across the stream, where Cam and Hodgins seemed to be arguing over something. Fisher, for his part, was watching them with a bemused expression. She opened her mouth to call them across but fell mute as she heard it.
Someone was shouting.
Tilting her head, she listened carefully, trying to determine the direction of the noise. As Booth began to speak she waved her arm angrily, pressing her finger to her lips. Had she imagined it?
The second shout was louder, its source clear: the abandoned house.
Dropping her kit, she stormed towards the house, the dying light perhaps an even greater disadvantage. Transporting an injured person would be difficult due to the terrain, let alone lack of visibility. A third call rang out as Booth rushed up beside her, weapon drawn.
"I go first," he muttered.
"Someone needs –"
"Help? Like that's never been a trap?" Booth interrupted.
He has a point. She fell slightly behind him, wishing that she had a weapon of her own. They circled around the perimeter, Booth peering through filthy windows, attempting to catch a glimpse of the mystery shouter.
"Do you see anything?"
"Of course not. There's no light."
"Damn it." Booth shook his head, readying himself at the rear door. "Do not enter until I say it's clear, got it?"
"Okay." She wasn't about to argue with him.
With a deep breath, Booth broke down the door, scanning in all directions. The fading light afforded some visibility now, and with it, she was able to make out a figure on the floor in the farthest corner.
"Help!" the figure pleaded, coughing violently.
She pulled her flashlight from her pocket, casting its powerful beam inside the house. Her eyes widened as she recognized the person calling for aid – and his predicament.
"Mr. Laroche?"
"Director guy?" Booth asked, moving closer.
"Yes!" Ignoring her promise to Booth, she strode inside and dropped beside him. "How long have you been here?"
"Bones, what did I say?"
"Booth, he's buried alive!"
Her light swung, revealing the full weight of the predicament for her partner. She could hear him exhale loudly as the director groaned and coughed again. Sand, just as Shakespeare described, surrounded the man to just below his chin. But this makes no sense. The floor of this house is asphalt, and beneath it would be concrete. She offered water to the man and he swallowed several gulps in quick succession.
"Upstairs is clear," Booth announced as he joined her. "Do you remember how you got here?"
The director shook his head. "No, I was working in my office and... I woke up here."
From the doorway, Angela's voice rang out. "The others are on their way over here. What's going on?"
"Director's buried in sand," Booth replied.
Brennan's hands pushed sand aside, immediately confirming her suspicions. "Booth, we're going to need some assistance."
"What is it?"
"He's not just buried beneath sand," she explained, directing her light. "He's been sealed in with concrete underneath."
"Can't you do this in less painful fashion?" Francis Laroche complained.
Booth rubbed his temples, fighting the burgeoning migraine triggered by the excavation crew's assorted noisy tools. Whoever this killer was, Booth wanted to string him upside down outside a construction site for three days as punishment.
Given the presence of a living person in the concrete, using standard industrial x-ray techniques was simply impossible; it would be tremendously risky to Francis Laroche's already compromised health. Instead, they'd had to make a wide berth around the man, using his descriptions of positioning beneath the surface and his height to estimate where to safely begin etching at the slab. Luckily for them, the killer hadn't buried him entirely in concrete; that layer only extended two feet, enough to ensure the man wouldn't fight his way free. The remainder of the pit was filled with dirt and debris.
It was Cam who'd pointed out that even the two feet of tight compression could be creating internal injuries that may prove fatal, which meant Booth had to take his statement during the rescue. As expected, the slimy bastard was highly uncooperative at first. Bones had suddenly marched over and informed him that he was likely to lose a testicle if the concrete extended far enough, which strangely got the guy talking. Then again, if some asshole took out my family jewels, I'd want him to pay too.
"How much longer?" he shouted at Hodgins.
"Five minutes, give or take. Then we transport him to the ER."
Booth gestured to the large Tube O' Theatre Nut being removed from the earth. "What, like that?"
"Yes, like that," Cam interjected. "If there are any projectiles jutting into him, the concrete may be the only thing preventing fatal wounds. Same goes for the compression injuries. It's best to finish the job outside the ER so immediate treatment is available."
"Yeesh! We have a truck for him or something?"
"Flatbed," Cam replied. "It brought the generator and lights in."
Booth sighed, taking in the somewhat chaotic scene. This was definitely one of the weirder moments of his career. Aside from a time frame for the act (somewhere in the last eight hours), they had very little to work with. Laroche had arrived in his office, coffee in hand, and remembered nothing until he awoke trapped.
"This guy was smart," Hodgins noted. "He ensured the conditions for curing the concrete were incredibly optimal. The proportions used, the control of moisture and temperature... this stuff hardened faster than usual."
"So he's in construction?"
"Or knows how to Google," Angela replied. "Took me five minutes to find out the details on my phone."
"Where's Bones?"
"Collecting water hemlock samples and ordering around the FBI techs," Angela replied.
"Hmm. That's good – means she's back to her usual self," Booth quipped.
"Seriously!?" Laroche shouted over the din. "You're strapping me to a bloody truck?"
"I hate theatre," Booth grumbled.
"Uh, Dr. Hodgins?" The group swung around, catching sight of a young FBI technician who looked as if he'd been chewed out for several long minutes at least. "Dr. Brennan requires your expertise."
"I'll go with you," Booth volunteered.
They found her a good fifty metres north of the house, crouched near the stream with a Maglite in hand. Noticing their approach, she rose to her feet, looking incredibly irate.
"Hodgins, I'm glad to see you. Apparently none of these people has any comprehension of how to carefully preserve a plant and the artificially fertilized soil without destroying the integrity of the layers."
"No worries, Dr. B. I'm on it."
"Artificially fertilized?" Booth asked as Hodgins took his partner's place.
"Yes. The killer clearly encouraged the growth of the hemlock with a professional blend of fertilized soil. Superficially, it's similar to that used by the Jeffersonian in its landscaping endeavours."
"Can we trace it?"
"Absolutely," Hodgins chimed in from the ground. "I recognize this stuff. There's a plant food blended into the manure and soil composite. Should be able to identify the brand name by chemical composition and manure sourcing. Whether that will give you a narrow range of buyers, I can't say."
"So not a smoking gun, then?"
"Sorry, Booth. More like a strong supporting piece of evidence. This stuff's pretty popular with the college cannabis cultivators... not that I know anything about that," Hodgins added quickly.
"Of course you don't," Booth said, rolling his eyes.
Brennan gestured to the house. "Given that there are no bones for me to examine at this time, perhaps I should return home and be with Christine?"
Booth frowned. "Not alone, you don't."
"Booth –"
"Bones, this guy buried someone to their neck in sand and concrete and left him to die slowly. He threatened the lab. For all we know, he's watched us at some point today. Please, indulge me: give me twenty to clear the scene and we'll go together."
She sighed and Booth knew her innate stubbornness would trigger an argument by default. After a long moment, she nodded slowly, much to his surprise. He kissed the top of her head in gratitude, smiling as she giggled and quietly murmured his name in protest.
"Hey Booth? We've got something here you'll want to see."
Booth and Brennan made their way downstream, following the FBI technician back to the house. Finally released from his pit, the director was being strapped to the flatbed truck in his concrete hula hoop.
"When we aimed the lights inside to facilitate the move, we spotted it on the walls. Looks like red paint, best we can tell," the tech explained, ushering them inside.
Booth followed the technician's gestures, taking in the words on the wall. For all of his loathing of Shakespeare, this was a quote he recognized himself.
"Back to Hamlet. Why?"
Brennan shook her head. "I don't know... What I do know is that our killer has planned every detail. He's picked his next victim already."
"He's telling us this isn't random," Booth said.
"No. This is his story. We need to figure out the ending before he stages it."
The wall continued to menace them with its ominous truth: Though this be madness, yet there is method in it.
Method to the madness? Well, maybe from a killer's warped mind, it's logical. Poor Brennan. Hamlet is so personal for her, too.
Speaking of Brennan, it seems she's got a bit of her own spin on her chat with Booth, although she's getting there. We'll poke inside her brain a little more next chapter, where Fisher has a key insight.
The observant will have noticed that I've started a new fic this week, inspired by the mix tape scene in The Ghost In The Machine. The Mixed Tape is a musical journey through B&B, from a decidedly Booth POV. I'm not generally a first person writer, but there may be a few vignettes and one-shots in the series that go that way. Expect angst, fluff, perhaps smut? There's also an element of, shall we say, Choose Your Own Adventure to it? Check it out.
Reviews are, as always, greatly appreciated!
