She stirs –her vision cloudy and distorted and the pain coursing through her body takes time to register. She groans –the side of her face numb and pressed down against the cold tiled floor. She opens her eyes –the bright light of the lightbulb shining above her blinds and dulls her already blurred vision. She whimpers –it feels like her head was hit with a brick multiple times. She cries out –it feels like her body is full of lead; she can't seem to move her arms or legs. She's slowly and gradually gaining consciousness –the side of her tight and swelling face laid flat against the concrete. She coughs up blood and she remains too weak to sit up; she stays put, she stays and listens in as Tyler rants and moves throughout the basement. His words are blended together; he's rambling and she hears things being slammed down and pushed around.
"I killed Trent," he's talking to her as he clears off the strap-down chair; he's shouting, but he doesn't know she's conscious, he thinks he's talking to an unconscious woman, "I snuck out of the house while you were sleeping and killed him. I used you as my alibi. You never suspected a thing Erin and that's because I was just that good!" He unstraps the arm restraints before moving to unlatch the head strap that holds the head securely against the seat, "I attacked him to defend your honor, to defend the pregnant woman, to defend the future mother's honor," he speaks with such confidence and calmness that it would creep anyone out; he's talking about killing people in the same voice that one would talk about the weather, Tyler moves to unstrap the leg restraints, "He verbally disrespected you. It's only right that I took out his vocal cords. Due to his rude talking, that's an imperfection Erin."
She doesn't respond –the longer she lays there, the more she starts to register her surroundings and what happened in the last thirty minutes. Her arms are spread wide and she slowly pulls them towards her –they retract in slowly to ease the aching pain coursing through every part of her body that impact was made with, there's definitely going to be bruising. Lindsay groans –it hurts to move, but she does it anyway to bring her hands closer towards her face. Tyler remains shouting, setting things down loudly; he approaches the shelf of jars and grabs the one with Erin's name written across the front, "Perfection is such an important thing. Lucy Grant; my first Indianapolis girl, yeah I took out her teeth when I found out she had teeth implants," he unscrews the lid off the jar, "I didn't know which teeth were real and which were fake and I didn't have the time to figure it out so I just took all of them," he says it with such nonchalance, "I take what I see as their imperfection and I make them perfect. I make them whole and then I leave their bodies peacefully resting in a garden or a park with the most beautiful pink roses anyone could imagine. I do all of that for them." The opened jar is slammed down next to the chair.
She lifts her head –it's the first time she does so since falling down the stairs. She lifts it before immediately lowering it back down to the ground. It was straining. And it really hurt. She coughs up a few more droplets of blood that stains her teeth before trying to lift her head again. It was a fruitless attempt because the side of her face that made such a sharp impact with the ground was starting to swell up, bruise and discolor. She remains lying against the ground –her hands patting themselves around her body, looking for other signs of injury. And she feels it. She feels a wet substance soaking up the front of her shirt and the inner thigh area of her leggings. It feels like her heart stops, "No," her groan comes out as a shortness of breath. She's laying face-down on her large stomach and uses what little energy she has left to roll over onto her back; it's the most she can do to relieve the pressure and the weight off her pregnant belly. The blood that was once settled beneath her is now stained and embedded into the fabric of her sweater and the material clung to her legs. The material covering her inner thigh was stained with blood and while she wanted to cry and scream and just raise hell, now wasn't the time.
She's lying on her back –her hair spread wildly around her head. One side of her face feels normal while the other side feels like someone used it as a punching bag. She can see Tyler now; he's holding her cell phone, typing a message onto the cracked screen, "You know Shelby Ward, that cop," he continues his ranting and raving as his fingers aggressively press down against the touchscreen, "I didn't even want her. She was a rookie cop. She was getting too close. And she was being nosey. It was like the icing on the cake when I found out she got a nose job, ha!" he laughs loudly, shoving her cell phone into his pocket, "Oh, just FYI, I know that you always tell your husband where you're going so you don't have to worry about that. I sent him a message, pretending to be you I said you weren't feeling too well and you went home to get in bed and get some well-deserved and much needed rest. After all, you're making a baby."
She stays quiet –lying on her back and reaching out for the wooden railing. She grabs it and uses it to sit herself up –it hurts a lot, but she fights through the pain. She needs to get out of here. Sitting in an upright position, the bottom stair pressed against her back and holding her up. She's too weak to move. Her vision is starting to even out and clear up with each second that passes, but her head still remains dazed and she's trying to gather her thoughts. Tyler isn't worried. As he prepares the room, he keeps an eye on her. Even if she didn't take that fall down the stairs, he would still be faster than her. Her current state made it difficult for her to run and climb stairs faster than a physically fit man. Tyler goes over to the wooden cabinet and opens it, "Where were we? Ah, yes, after killing a cop, I knew I needed to leave. I didn't want go too far, but I needed to go far enough, which is how I ended up here, in the beautiful city of Chicago," he pulls out each instrument needed –a scalpel, scissors, and a black sharpie marker, "I wanted to stop. I always want to stop. I know that what I'm doing is wrong, but it's like an itch that I can't scratch; it's like the only way I can scratch that itch is by killing."
She hears her phone ping –her head instinctively turns into the direction. She sees Tyler reach into his pocket and pull out her cellular device. He reads it; Voight is ordering for her to come in. Instead of responding again, Tyler throws the phone onto the countertop just as it starts to vibrate; he's calling her. And if it wasn't for her throbbing face, she would smile. Jay's not going to give up. He'll keep calling and texting. If he gets too worried, he'll have Mouse trace her phone. It's only a certain amount of time before her lack of responses has him completely out of his mind and concerned. She just needed to last until then…her baby needed to be okay and healthy until then. Erin leans her head back against the railing and releases a trembling breath as Tyler continues to talk –he continues to rant as if she's not even in the room, "Then we have Michelle Danvers, she was my first girl here; she was a recovering alcoholic so it was only right that after she broke her sobriety, I take her tongue. And then I found out her lips had Botox, it was just too many imperfections for one person to have; two weeks, that was her time."
She looks down to her leggings –she's spotting blood, there's vaginal bleeding. She needs a hospital. She needs a doctor. Erin is controlling her breathing; she's practicing the labored breaths she learned in child-birthing class. It's a calming tactic to control her racing heart. Erin reaches for the railing and uses as much strength as possible to holster herself up and sit upon the bottom stair. One step at a time, that's all she needs to do. After sitting upon the bottom stair, she's forced to collect herself –control her labored breaths, check on the amount of spotting blood and rub the ache in her lower back. Meanwhile, Tyler is still ranting as he cleans off each instrument pulled from the cabinet, "Okay, so we went over Trent, Michelle, Shelby and Lucy and now we're onto Claire. Sweet Claire, she was so close to perfection, I mean, she was the closest person to perfection that has ever existed, but then she had to go and dye her hair brunette and add extensions so, I scalped off every strand of hair from her imperfect head."
She pulls onto the railing and lifts herself to move and sit on top of the second stair from the bottom. There's a dull ache in her lower back, it's one that doesn't need addressing anytime soon. It can wait because there is suddenly a sharp burst of pain spreading through her loins. It's agonizing. She wants to suppress the scream; she tries so hard, uses every fiber in her being to do so, but is soon forced to spread her mouth wide and scream. Her hand wraps around the railing and instead of using it to pull herself up to the next step, she uses it to squeeze tight and try to release some of the pain. Tyler doesn't even look her way. He hears her screaming and he continues to prep the chair, the tools and the jar while continuing his rant, "And then up next we have Ms. Linda Foster, I usually don't date women older than myself but I figured I didn't have any luck with women younger than me so older I went," her screams increase in volume, forcing him to speak even louder, "She was in the middle of a divorce, or so I thought. And after sleeping together, she and her husband decided to try and work things out. That was just my luck, huh?" He turns to look in her direction. Her screams have quieted.
She's sweating. The pain that was once shooting through her stomach has now settled. The lower back pain remains. She feels pressure in her lower abdomen mixed with abdominal pain. She wasn't a doctor and she had no idea what was going on, but she needed to get out of here and get to a hospital. The more time that passes without help, the higher the chance her baby may not make it out of here. She could already be gone, but it was a thought that Erin refused to believe. Her daughter couldn't have been gone. Breathing loudly to get through the abdominal pain, she blinks through the tears welling in her eyes. Her teeth tear into her bottom lip as another sharp pain shoots through her abdomen, meanwhile, Tyler is still venting, "Amanda Scott was my last. As you so intelligently investigated and discovered that I took her breasts because they weren't real," his eyes glance over towards the jar with Amanda written across the front, "I don't choose to do this. It's innate. I was born to do this. It's a personality trait, an addiction and a coping mechanism. It's everything. I want to date and the time it takes me to kill each one of them varies depending on when I find out their imperfections. I want the perfect woman. That's not asking for too much. I date and the second I find out an imperfection, I kill them."
She screams again; this one is much louder than the last. Her nails dig into her hair. The pain, it's too much. She thinks she's losing the baby. She thinks she's having a late-term miscarriage and the thought breaks her heart. It breaks every single part of her being. She can't lose this little girl. Erin almost went off the hinges after Nadia's death; she barely crawled out of the hole she fell in. If this baby dies, they'll be no rescuing her. They'll be no reason, no purpose to do anything. She has to get out of here. If her baby doesn't make it, she at least needs to know that she tried absolutely everything in her power to give her daughter a fighting chance. She's screaming as the abdominal pain and the pelvic pressure courses through her body. Tyler remains talking, his voice rising in volume to drown out her screams, "I assume you now know that I was the one who tried to take Kim's tattoo. I'm also the one to kill Gregory…now that was exhilarating. The rush," his head goes back and when he raises it, he's smiling, "Dr. Charles was right about one thing; I'm rash, unpredictable and I do enjoy taking my fair share of chances. I just think Gregory's my favorite, it wasn't planned until the last minute and I was in a building full of correctional and police officers. Who wouldn't get an adrenaline rush from that?"
The pain in her abdomen increases in magnitude. She doesn't know where –if there's possibly any place- to put her hands. She needs something to squeeze, something to bite down on and hit. Her vision is clear –it's no longer blurred and cloudy. The pain lasts longer this time, forcing her to slide her hand beneath her shirt to clench her stomach. She grabs it tightly. She shuts her eyes close and she leans forward. It hurts so much. She needs to get out of here. The pain starts to settle again and once it's gone for good, she needs to make a run for it. It's her best chance. Jay isn't here. Voight isn't here. Kim isn't here. No one's here but her and Tyler. The pain in her stomach settles down, the pressure in her pelvic area and the ache in her lower back remains present though. Lindsay's on the third stair and the second she silently counts to three and turns to run, she feels his hand –his killer hand- wrap around the back of her neck.
"Please," she begs and he finally witnesses a side of her that he has never seen.
Tyler doesn't hesitate to pull her back to the ground. She's back where she initially landed; she's sitting beside the pool of blood she left after her tumble down the stairs. Tyler looks at her, her plea completely forgotten, and grabs her legs. She screams and squirms, screams and squirms as he drags her towards the restraining chair; her body sliding through the blood pool causing for the blood to lead a long trail of smeared blood behind her, "Tyler, please," the pain starts coming back. Her body is weak as she screams out loud, thrashing her arms in an attempt to reach for something to grab. She needs something to squeeze. Erin is in pain; she's spotting, experiencing abdominal pain, pelvic pressure, and back pain and now on top of that, she has a headache.
He stops dragging her; he drops her legs and lowers down to be eye leveled with the screaming woman. And with the calmest expression and voice, he asks, "Do you think you're able to stand and walk? It's just a couple of feet." She doesn't answer and instead pushes him away. Her hands make contact with his face and she starts hitting him. She hits him until he stands back up.
"Leave me alone!"
He immediately steps towards her, "What?" Tyler begins casually pacing back and forth in front of her, "You think I like this! You think I'm okay with this? I'm not! You want to know what kills me?!" He slides onto his knees and cups her red and sweaty face with his hands, "What is killing me Erin is the fact that I can't stop thinking about you. Knowing that I can't have you, that you're some forbidden fruit that hasn't even given me a second thought, it's insulting."
Her bottom lip trembles, "Please let me go."
Her body is in too much pain to focus on the amount of pressure his hand is currently pressing against the injured side of her face. His hands drop from her face and he sees her try to slide away. The chair behind her makes it impossible to go backwards so she goes towards the side. Erin's arm clenches around her stomach and she opens her mouth countless amount of times to tell him that she needs a hospital. She doesn't care about what happens to her; all she cares about is protecting her baby. Keeping her daughter safe and out of harm's way is her goal, it's her wish and as of right now –this current moment- it's her purpose. Tyler doesn't listen though; he doesn't want to listen because all he continues to do is talk over her. He leans forward to brush a strand of hair out of her face, but she instinctively turns her head away, "Don't touch me."
He ignores her demand and pushes the strand of hair behind her ear anyway, "I'm not all bad. It's not my fault. It took me killing all of these women for my case to go to a unit that is even remotely competent," he grabs the wooden stool and sets it beside the chair, "I didn't want to do this. I didn't want to do any of it, but I couldn't stop. And I liked the challenge of evading the law; I am the law and I avoided it," he's cocky and in complete denial, "My words held weight. I gave you a fake description and you all believed it. That's the fun part. The scary part is this urge is like a disease that won't go away. Killing is the only temporary cure for it."
"You're sick," she says in one breath.
"Don't you think I know that?" His voice remains even calmer; it's frightening how leveled and composed it is, "I cover up my disease with my confidence. I can only go so long without killing. It gives me a natural high. I'm confident, I'm poised, I'm together and I am a badass but then urges come and all of that starts to crumble and crash. It all starts to break so I have to kill again to get it back," he releases a loud breath of air as his eyes scan the row of filled jars, "I don't want to do this, but I have to though."
She grunts as she feels more pressure gather in her lower abdomen, "Why do you torture them?" Her words are strained as she speaks through the pain, "Why keep their body parts?"
"I like the sound of screams." The patience and the absolute serenity in his voice creeps her out.
However the pain remains, and increases in intensity, "Tyler, I really need-"
"I keep the body parts so I'll never forget them." He cuts her off and elaborates on his first answer, "They deserve to be remembered. They were just in the wrong place at the wrong time, and they happened to fall into the category in what I like to see in my perfect woman, until they disappointed me with their imperfections."
"I fell into that category, didn't I?"
His hand caresses the uninjured side of his face, "I tried to fight it Erin, but the urge was so high. I just need the right woman and maybe she can help me? Maybe she can tame the urge inside of me? And you did that for me…temporarily."
"Tyler, you need to get help," the pain in her abdomen passes and she's able to speak more assertively, "A love interest can't help you with what you're going through. You absolutely need to see a doctor. You want the urges to stop; a doctor can make that happen."
His hand remains against her cheek until she pushes it away, "I want it to stop without being locked away. They'll just lock me away and pump me with drugs."
"It's either that or you keep killing!" She shouts, watching as he angrily straightens his posture and kicks the nearest trashcan, "I can tell that you don't want to do this." The trashcan falls over.
His eyes are wide and watery for the first time, "I don't want to hurt you."
"You don't have to; we can walk out of here together and go down to the district."
"We can't do that Erin."
She nods, "Yes we can"
"Out of all the girls, I knew you the most. I worked with you. I saw you at your worst. I really got a chance to get to know you." He remarks, dragging the tray table over towards the restraining chair, "I think, maybe because of that, if I kill you I might be cured? It might go away indefinitely." He grabs each tool to neatly set it down onto the table.
"You don't know that."
"…but it's worth a try, right?" He looks down at her.
"No, why take the chance? You just told me that you don't want to kill."
"I don't, but I want to feel better."
"And I promise to help you feel better if you let me leave."
Lindsay leans forward to stretch her back and relieve pressure from the lower portion. The ache in her lower back comes in waves; the pain sometimes travels towards the front of her abdomen. She twists, turns and changes positions, but the pain doesn't subside or go away –not even a little. She has experienced backache during her pregnancy, but it was nothing like this. It was nothing as strong and sporadic as the pain she's feeling now. She leans her head back to rest against the side of the chair, her eyes tightly squeezed shut until she hears him speak, "Erin-"
She reopens them, "You're better than this. Be better," her head nods erratically, beads of sweat appearing on her forehead, "Sometimes we need to be the better person. And you can be it."
"I'm sorry." He shakes his head. He leans forward and makes himself eye-level with her imperfect orbs; he stares into them, into the imperfection that led to this moment and she sees the distance, the separation, between them. When she looks into his eyes, she no longer sees the joking, cocky and charming man she's known for almost a year; instead his confidence and the obvious lack of remorse and guilt dominantly shine through in a twisted look his eyes portray.
She swallows hard, "Tyler," her eyes water, "are you going to kill me?" Erin is leaning back against the seat, sweating profusely.
"I'm afraid so." His answer increases the rate her heart is beating and the abdominal ache, the pain, all comes crashing back in, "Your eyes…they're just another imperfection. I fell for your imperfection. You should have just stopped me sooner. You should have figured this out before my temporary cure wore off. This is you and your team's fault. The only reason I was even in that club that day was to scope you out; I wanted your team to work my case." Tyler lays his hand upon her shoulder and gives it a reassuring squeeze, "So, I'm sorry it has come to this. I'm sorry that I have to kill you. And I wasn't even going to, I was going to spare you, but the universe is against you right now, you snooped and you're flawed. You're flawed just like the rest of them were."
She's unable to process everything he's saying; she's in entirely too much pain to focus on what he's saying and what he's trying to do. Another wave of pain hits, this time sharper and harsher, forcing her arm to cradle her lower stomach. Her opposite hand comes to press down against it; the pain was so immense, it was a feeling she has never felt before in her life. Erin's stressed; she's on edge, and as her hand rubs around her expanded belly she realizes one thing, she's not feeling her baby kick. The baby usually kicks like crazy when Erin's stressed; it's painful, but right now Erin wished and prayed that the hardest kick would be hit against anywhere –the side of her stomach, her rib, absolutely anywhere- she needs a sign that her daughter is okay. Lindsay shifts and continues to move around, she's shaking and mentally freaking out; she feels no movement inside of her body. She feels nothing. And that nothingness makes her cry.
Overwhelming tears trickling down her cheeks, the deep breaths she's struggling to take and the hyperventilation she starts to experience has her face turning a dark shade of red. Erin is screaming out for her baby; she's praying for her daughter –her unnamed daughter- to be okay, to be healthy and most importantly alive. Erin cradles her stomach, her chin to her chest as she wheezes and cries out in pain and grief. She's so used to feeling something, whether it's movement, her daughter lying against one of her organs or a kick; she's so used to feeling it that the moment she doesn't, she feels lost and empty. This whole time Erin didn't feel alone, her daughter was with her, and she felt safe because of it. The idea of her daughter was a mental escape; it was a safe place for right now; her safety. She was physically locked in Tyler's basement, but mentally she was gone; her head thinking of life and a future with her daughter alive and well to see it. As her eyes glaze over, refusing to believe that it's a possibility she's experiencing a late term miscarriage, Tyler grabs both her arms and aggressively pulls her to her feet, "It's time."
She looks up to meet his eyes, "What about my baby? She's innocent," more pressure, she can feel being applied to her pelvic, "She did nothing wrong. Please Tyler, you can't hurt my baby." This pelvic pressure makes it feel like her baby is going to fall out, especially now that she's standing. It comes and goes and it sometimes feels like the pressure is being applied to her bladder –it gives her the feeling that she needs to urinate.
Tyler's hands are holding Erin up; her feet and ankles ready to give out at any second. He's averting his attention from her stomach to her eyes –contemplating and reasoning through the many possibilities on how he can proceed, "If I remove the baby, it won't survive."
"It won't; it's still early in my pregnancy," she agrees, hoping that she's getting through to him enough to convince him to take her to a hospital, "And she's not moving; I need to see a doctor Tyler. She's not kicking. She's not moving. She's not doing anything."
"I thought you didn't like it when she kicked."
"She's supposed to kick me! She's just a baby Tyler! My innocent," Erin cradles her stomach with both arms, "sweet baby does not deserve this!" Her shoulders shake as she cries loudly, "Please…I can't have a stillborn baby. I can't handle that."
One hand remains wrapped around her arm while the other cups her face, "You're almost nine months. It's a chance your baby will survive. I can scalp it out."
"I need a doctor. You don't touch my stomach or my baby." She pushes him away and stumbles back; her nose is runny and her eyes are filled with tears.
"…then I don't know what you want me to do?" His crazed eyes immediately avert in her direction, watching her take cautionary steps away from him, "I want to keep your baby alive, but you're going to die regardless. And your baby needs you to live."
"So don't kill me."
He clasps his hands together, frustrated, "Erin, you don't understand. I'm not doing this because I want to; I'm doing this because I have to. I'm sorry, but your baby is just collateral damage."
His mind is made up. He knows it and she surely knows it now. And with that, without another second of hesitation, she ignores the pain in her stomach and back and makes a dash towards the staircase. She doesn't get far –she didn't even expect to get far. Before she can even reach the first stair, Tyler grabs her; he lifts her up and holds her tight as she thrashes around wildly. Her hands flying in all sorts of directions, her legs kicking erratically and then suddenly she stops. She felt something inside of her give. It breaks. A trickle of liquid runs down her legs, leaving damp lines embedded into her leggings. She's held up in Tyler's arms as more liquid uncontrollably releases, soaking her pants. It's a gush of fluid –an extreme gush- that felt nothing like going to the bathroom. Before all of this, there was a popping sensation that was quickly followed by a rush of a warm substance that soaked through the fabric of her leggings. As he maneuvered her towards the chair a few extra drops –a little more leakage- flowed out at the slightest movement. This isn't the fault of her uncontrollable bladder; this is her amniotic sac –it broke. She's officially in labor, but it's early, she's not due for another month; Erin is in pre-term labor, and what frightens her more than giving birth at thirty-five weeks, is the fact that the baby that will be born may not even be alive.
Everyone remains at the precinct doing their jobs, except for Halstead; he can't seem to bring himself to put his cell phone down. He's been distracted and calling Erin consistently over the last hour, but she hasn't answered. He's been texting her, rotating between calling the house phone and her cell phone and even resorted to calling Tyler, hoping he would answer and be with Erin. No one picked up though. No one responded to any of his texts and calls. She could be at home asleep or lying in a ditch somewhere, the possibilities were endless and that's what scared Jay the most. As Halstead relays another message to his wife's voicemail, he listens in on the team's discussion of the case, Dawson being the current detective speaking at the moment, "Why would someone kill Gregory Bishop after framing him? They were going to get away with this. He was going to go down. This was almost the perfect crime."
Burgess took a seat behind her desk, "Maybe he knew that it wasn't over. Maybe he knew that Gregory's name might possibly be cleared so they decided to set up a suicide with a note having Gregory confess to all of those murders."
Jay is trying to pay attention and do his job, but the more times he left a voicemail on his wife's phone, the more antsy and nervous he grew. She received a package like them. She received a warning. She's supposed to be here by now. She wouldn't just go home; she wouldn't risk her and the baby's safety like that. Halstead rose from his seat and approached Mouse, "Hey, keep this between me and you right now," he leaned forward and whispered to his friend, "Can you trace Erin's cell phone and get me the location?" Mouse saw the look in his friend's eyes and immediately knew this was serious. He lowered the surveillance footage window and opened the program to trace Lindsay's phone. As Mouse conducted a phone trace, Jay tuned back into the conversation to hear Olinsky speak, "No one knew that Erin was looking into it. His lawyer didn't even know that. The only people who knew it besides our unit, is Tyler."
"Tyler?" Halstead repeated the name and stepped forward, earning the attention of everyone in the bullpen, "You know Erin asked me whether or not I thought he has psychopathic tendencies? She didn't think he was the killer, but she did think he had some qualities of a psychopath."
"And he's law enforcement," Ruzek chimed in.
Atwater added, "He has access to the jail."
Dawson whispers loud enough for the team to hear, "To our case…"
They were obviously all thinking the same thing, leading the discussion to the same conclusion. Neither wanted to say it aloud and no one wanted to be the one to imply it until they knew for sure. Voight was silent, thinking to himself and laying out all of the facts they've just stated –all were true. He bit his lower lip and walked down the aisle, "He was there when you," he nods in Olinsky's direction, "arrested Gregory Bishop and suddenly found evidence in plain sight."
Burgess nervously rose from her seat, "He knew about my tattoo. I broke things off with him the night before I was attacked."
"Let's quickly create a character profile on Detective West," Voight asserted, scanning around the room to see which detective is going to speak up first, "What do we know about him?"
"He's a cop. His parents died." Burgess lists the stated facts that she knew as Halstead continues to ring his wife's phone. Tracing her location was taking longer than expected.
Ruzek announced, "They died."
"Yes," Kim clarified, "they were murdered –strangled- he found their bodies."
Voight bites his lip and nods as he takes in the information, "Was the killer ever caught?"
"No."
"And where did Tyler go afterwards?" The sergeant continued his questioning.
"He went into foster care."
Adam, sitting upon his desk, ankle crossed over ankle, "How do you know this?" His arms are folded over his chest and his head tilted to the side in curiosity.
"All he talked about during our date was himself. It's like it was all he could talk about."
It wasn't much to go on, but it seemed to be enough. Eye contact was made in the silence of the bullpen. Whoever is doing this is playing some sort of cat and mouse game with all of them. His cunning maneuvers were all used to plan and thwart them and their investigation. Voight snapped his fingers in the direction of Atwater in order to gain his attention, "Call Detective West's district. See why they let him join my unit for this specific case."
"Hank, are you thinking what I'm thinking?" It's Olinsky who voices his concern, hoping that the sergeant was making the same assumptions.
"Yeah, we need to ask Tyler a few questions."
If their assumption is correct, he's toying with them. He torments the victims and toys with the detectives and the investigation. The unit is in pursuit, may be near identifying and capturing the perpetrator, only to have it thwarted by an escape or a false piece of evidence. Voight hears Atwater talking on the phone, he waits patiently, but the team, more so Burgess continues to talk about the possibility of Tyler being their killer, "He's confident. He's smooth. He's cocky. He's charming and he probably used that charm to manipulate me and Erin."
Voight steps towards her, "Erin."
"I keep calling her," Halstead interjects into the conversation.
"Give her another call," Hank turns to face him.
"She's not answering!" Jay shouts, the many looks in the room driving him crazy and putting his worries on edge, "She text me that she's heading home to rest!"
"Call her again!" Voight ordered, walking towards the detective, "Call her until she picks up!"
"Sarg," Atwater hangs up the desk phone and rises from his seat, "I just got off the phone with Tyler's sergeant. He said Detective West requested to work this case; he practically pleaded. The sergeant gave in because Tyler wouldn't leave it alone. He needed to be on this case."
"He's been throwing us off this whole time," Voight's closed fist slams down angrily against the corner of Erin's desk, "Let's suit up. We're going to pay Detective West a visit."
"Boss," Mouse shouts, eyes down on the notepad as he jots down an address, "I tracked her."
Voight is strapping on his vest, "Well, where the hell is she?!"
"Her phone says she's still at Tyler's," He runs over to Hank to hand him the written down address, "Here, it's a ten to fifteen minute drive."
Voight pockets the address before he and his team disappear down to the weapons locker. They're suited up, they're armed and now they're heading out the door, ready to bring Tyler in dead or alive. From what they know based off of the original character profile Dr. Charles provided them on a psychopathic killer, he'll probably be trying to maintain what little control he'll have the moment he's surrounded by detectives aiming weapons at him, ready to shoot. He'll probably deny everything or make excuses. He won't accept responsibility because he won't find any fault in his actions. Tyler sees no wrongdoing in his past actions and definitely not in his current ones as he roughly sets Erin down in the chair. She's too focused on her labor pains to notice him strapping her wrists down to the arms of the chair. A sharp pain hits, forcing a scream to erupt from her opened mouth, and her head thrashes from one side to the other –side to side, back and forth and he gets mad. He grips her chin, forcing her to keep her head still as he pulls a leather strap over her forehead to restrain it from moving. Her wrists are strapped to the arms of the chair and he's tightening the buckled restraint over her forehead. It forces her to keep still.
The contractions stop…at least for the moment. She's gathering and controlling her breath. The breathing she learned at her child birthing class was far from her mind. One tear drop, it was all her weak body could form and release, dropped from her eye and slowly trickled down her cheek. She's forced to watch him grab a pair of latex gloves and pull them over his hands. He's not crazy, but he's surely not in his right state of mind. He knows the difference between right and wrong; he knows this isn't right; he has even admitted it. Tyler stretches his fingers within the cheap pair of gloves as he reaches onto the tray for the black marker. It's the same marker he used to trace around Kim's tattoo, and it will be the same marker he'll use to trace around her eyes. He moves his stool closer to her head, "Alright…"
"Wait," her voice sounds broken as she pleads, "Please don't do this."
"I have your jar open and ready," he eyes the jar positioned beside him. Erin is unable to see it as he leans her chair back, "I've always said you have beautiful eyes," he twists the cap off the marker and sets it down onto the tray, "…that was until I found out you wear contacts." His hand caresses the side of her face as he presses the marker lightly against the skin beneath her eye, "I'm so glad this will all be over soon. I absolutely hate it when I have to fake being nice." He's making small talk as he outlines the area around her eyes.
Both eyes have a light trace of maker surrounding them. The outline is harder to see on the injured side of her face though; the bruising, the discoloring and the swelling make it nearly impossible to even see the resemblance the left side of her face has with the right side. The impact and the landing the side of her face had with the cemented ground had to be worse than what was suspected. Tyler didn't care though; in his head, she wouldn't have to live with that for long. He sets the marker down and grabs the scalpel, "Alright, now I need you to be completely still. If you want to look presentable when I leave you for your friends to find, you'll have to remain quiet and absolutely still. You wouldn't want me to cut your eyes out wrong."
It seemed everything was working against both of them right now. The second he finishes talking and brings the scalpel near the uninjured side of her face, she tilts her head as far back as the restraint allowed and released an overwhelming scream of agony; she's in pain. The contractions are back and it's more intense this time. Erin needs a doctor. This baby is coming whether they like it or not. She feels the pressure in her loins increase and she's probably near dilation, but she didn't have a doctor to check. Lindsay is unable to keep still because of the pain surging through her back, her lower abdomen and her pelvis. Tyler sits back and releases a breath of irritation, "You're not going to keep still with that baby still inside of you," he holds the scalpel tightly in one hand and lifts her sweater with the other, "I'm going to have to get the baby out first." He pulls off the gloves and tosses them over his shoulder, "I've never helped to deliver a baby before," the tips of his fingers apply gently to her stomach, he doesn't feel any movement from the baby, but since he's never done something like this before, he didn't know what to expect, "With your phone constantly ringing, I know we don't have the time to wait around and let you birth naturally so," he sets the scalpel down and walks over to the sink and begins washing his hands, "There's always a first time for everything. You're going to have to have a C-section and I'm going to be the one to give it to you."
"No," she utters through a quick breath, "Please, no. You're not a doctor, not a surgeon; you're not skilled in any way to perform surgery on me," she says in one breath before the next contraction hit. They're coming sooner, quicker and more often. They're close in time.
Tyler dries his hands on the hand towel before tossing it over onto the floor. He grabs a new pair of gloves and slides them on. The scalpel is lifted next as he approaches the chair. She's shaking her head. The contraction has passed, but it's only inevitable that the next one will come shortly after. With her tired breaths, she exclaims, "I don't have any pain medication. I need pain meds. I need fluids. You don't have the necessary equipment to perform a caesarian section! I need anesthesia. I need to be put to sleep. I need something to numb the pain!"
"You know," Tyler runs his hand through her hair, "Must I remind you, I enjoy the sound of screams. And I know you're angry Erin. Screaming can help you let the anger out. You see, my anger builds up like a pressure cooker," he brings the scalpel down to her abdomen, "And this is how I release it."