Sweet had suffered a minor breakdown when he saw the message under the car. Until that point he had convinced himself that his missing friends had simply gotten a room together somewhere and would be back by dinner. So, while Angela arranged for the bottle of pills to be sent to the Jeffersonian he had locked himself in an office and tried not to hyperventilate. It was here that Agent Barry found him a couple hours later. Sufficiently calm at that point, he left himself be taken into the interrogation room to hear Barry's take on the unexpected disappearance of Agent Booth and Dr. Brennan.
"It's a sudden and rash diversion from his typical methodology. He's going to be panicked and more likely to make mistakes," Sweets said, sliding the paper with a breakdown of what they knew from the night before.
"I wouldn't be so sure. He hasn't escalated in all this time, and I don't think he has now. He came to New York to dump the bodies and find new victims. That's been done. That the Joneses were alive and that Agent Booth and Dr. Brennan weren't taken from a campground isn't an issue for him. We – Booth – made it difficult for him to follow his set patterns. Rather than escalating I find it more likely to think he's evolving. That will keep us from getting complacent," Barry replied.
"Of course," Sweets said, mildly in awe. He'd never seen Barry at work like this. He was not a profiler, per se, except when Booth needed him to be, though he was certified within the Bureau and watching the master at work lifted some of the fear he'd been harboring.
He was aware of a falling out between the missing agents and Barry but was uncertain of the details. Barry had convinced him Booth wouldn't mind. Barry was the best.
Barry looked over what little they had and both psychologists – one an agent the other a doctor – fell into the sort of silence that breeds revelation. Brennan would have recognized it even if she wouldn't have acknowledged it.
A few locals came and went, Angela stopped by with coffee and bagels, but for the most part they were undisturbed.
A picture of a man emerged. Middle aged, once married now either divorced or widowed, a transient. He was capable of holding down longer jobs when needed, but liked the road. The child was an outlier, something more difficult to explain at first, but Barry had her falling into place as well. She was the last vestige of a life this man had lost. He had placed her upon a pedestal, and most likely felt that what he was doing he did for her.
It was possible he had mental problems, most likely schizophrenia, and suffered from paranoid delusions. The hearts he took and replaced were his children. He was protecting them, immortalizing them, preventing them from aging as he saw the child age.
In parlance, he was sick.
Just after five Angela returned, bringing dinner this time, and Hodgins via video phone.
"We have a name, guys," the entomologist said, though only a drooling baby face could be seen on the phone's screen.
"What did you find, Dr. Hodgins?" Barry asked, grinning as the baby was moved out of sight of the camera.
"The pills were a match for what was found in the victim's stomachs, more or less. Same chemical composition, different lot. We can't tie it directly to the crime as it is."
"Get on with it, Jack," Angela half shouted, falling into a chair.
"Anyway, Lazerpill had a few hundred thousand sample bottles like this one floating around when they left the states. About three weeks before they closed doors for good, guess what went missing? About a dozen sample boxes, or about twelve hundred bottles. And then, a week before, another two dozen disappeared. They did a rather thorough investigation, this stuff is pretty toxic. And this bottle was one from the missing box."
"Yes, Dr. Hodgins?" Barry asked, unsure exactly how Booth put up with these intelligent types.
"Robert Yates was the prime suspect, but they didn't have enough proof. They've never turned up on the black market, so the California PD really just sort of forgot about them. I double checked Booth's list of RV owners? He was one that he couldn't get a hold of."
"And how exactly did you get this information, Dr Hodgins?"
"I name-dropped, Agent Barry," he bit back, hanging up to the sound of Angela chuckling.
A small, high voice drifted down the hall into the bedroom, "O, wonder! How many goodly creatures are there here! How beauteous mankind is! O brave new world, that has such people in it!" The voice changed pitch, "'Tis new to thee."
The voice swelled, and fell, switched voices, tenors, tones. A single person, working through a play by themselves. It fell on the figures on the bed, waking them from the fitful, hungry sleep they'd just fallen into. They struggled to wakefulness, aware of nothing but the voice and how weak they felt.
Booth listened as the voice slipped into Prospero's ending soliloquy, clapping to herself in all the right places. It brought a smile, strained and painful, to his lips. There was an innocence to the voice that gave him hope. Maybe not for them, the hours had slowly chipped away his confidence that they would be found. He listed his head, turning so he could see the door. It was cracked open, and he could just make out movement in the hallway.
The voice was joined by another, but it was projecting like the girl's had been. He couldn't make out the words, nor the daughter's reply. He laid his head back down, and began work on the bonds of his hands again.
"Don't," came the whispered words from the woman beside him.
"What's wrong, Bones?"
She chuckled.
"Besides this. I don't work at these, we don't get out. I'm taking you to dinner tonight."
"There's no point." She sounded so defeated. He berated himself for his earlier thoughts that they wouldn't escape, that they were already as good as dead. If she had picked up on them, he didn't know what he would do. He had to be strong for her, for their child. It wasn't that he didn't think she was strong, she was stronger than he was, but it was his duty. His place to protect them.
"Of course there is. Come on, Bones. We'll get out of this, we just have to try."
"You usually brush in and save me. You're here. No brushing," she mumbled.
"It's sweep. I sweep in and save you. And I don't need to, we'll save each other."
"It's unlikely the baby will survive the night," she said suddenly after a few minutes of silence.
He jerked, both of them moving slightly on the bed. She grunted as his bound hands jabbed into her breast bone. He wanted to apologize, but the way she'd deadpanned the death of their child scared him. Her voice was emotionless. No tears, no pain, no grief, just the facts, ma'am, thank you.
"What do you mean? Of course it will, Bones. We'll get out of here and the baby will be fine."
"Booth, the drugs, the baby is speeding up the process. I...it's unlikely either the baby or I will make it. I just...I want you to know...I...," she whispered, slowly breaking into tears.
"I know, Bones. I know. But we'll be fine. You, the baby, all of us. Don't worry." He kissed the back of her head, the only place he could reach.
He felt sick, even as he said it. The thought of losing them both, of waking up and her not being there, it turned his stomach. He had to get them out, there was no other way. He would not watch them die.
He bit back a scream, not wanting the kidnapper to come back in, feed them more of the pills that were killing his partner and unborn child.
He sent up a quick prayer, and then another, and another.
To St. Joseph, for his child.
To St. Gerard, for Brennan.
To God.
Sunlight filtered through the trees, the light dappled on the grass below. Through the trees people milled, cars came and went, people shopped. The grocery store loomed over the tiny group of trees where a dozen men sat crouched. Agent Barry had his eyes plastered only on the large RV at the back of the parking lot. The others let their eyes scan over everybody. Their target had gone inside a little over three minutes before, but they were still waiting on confirmation to seize the vehicle.
The information had come in from an anonymous call to the tip line fifteen minutes before. Someone had whispered into the phone that he was going to be here, and then had hung up. The operator had been so confused she almost hadn't brought the information to them. The caller had had enough information though that a team had been sent out. And it had proved correct.
The RV sat gleaming in the sun, California plates catching the light and reflecting it back at them. And Angela's sketch had been dead on for the man who had walked inside.
But there had been no movement in the RV in the last three minutes. No one peeking through the windows, the machine hadn't moved, rocked, shifted or even looked suspicious. So they were waiting for confirmation on the registration before they moved.
With a squawk from the walkie-talkie they got it. Yates, California license and registration.
"Alright, let's move," Barry whispered, "According to David Jones they were kept in the back. We're going to move in and get them out. Get the kid if you can, but don't hurt her." They moved out, Barry making a quick call to the plain clothes inside to try and keep Yates busy.
They circled the RV, a few breaking off to take care of crowd control. Barry silently approached the door, two men flanking him, guns drawn. He could hear a crowd beginning to form behind him, but tuned it out. This was it.
There was a shout behind him. He half turned to see Yates being escorted out of the supermarket. So much for the element of surprise. He was cuffed, and being led by the plain clothes officer Barry had spoken to earlier. Yates was in an uproar. He was shouting at the top of his lungs, though Barry couldn't make out anything intelligible. Barry watched him get walked over to the police cruiser that was just pulling up and get placed inside.
Then he put Yates out of his mind, and turned back towards the RV.
He held up a hand, slowly lowering fingers as the other hand reached for the door.
Three. Two. One.
He yanked open the door and he moved inside, followed by a wave of other men. With well trained efficiency they moved through the RV, calling for Booth. For Dr. Brennan. There was no answer. On the kitchenette there were stacks of plastic molds, metal tools and cleaning materials. Opening a cupboard, Barry saw a complicated contraption that he could only assume was the machine listed on the warrant – the mold creator.
He made his way to the back, the now crowded vehicle being searched through by the rest of the team. He pushed back the curtain to find an empty bed.
"God dammit!" he shouted, storming out. He marched across the parking lot, and threw open the door of the cruiser. "Where are they, you asshole?" He was tempted to reach in and grab the man out of the backseat, but held his temper in check just enough to keep things slightly civil.
"I haven't any idea who the hell you're talking about! Why the hell are you searching my RV? That warrant is a joke! Go to hell!" Yates spat at him but missed. With a curse, Barry slammed the door.
No girl.
No Booth.
No Brennan.
Nothing at all.
He slammed his hand down on the top of car. He felt like it was over. He felt numb as he made his way back to the RV to finish carrying out the warrant.
The sun wasn't completely up yet. Brennan had fallen into a fitful sleep after her confession. That she was still alive to see the first pink bands in the sky out the tiny window cheered her more than she really wanted to admit. She thought, as she did every morning, whatever the circumstances, at what caused the change in color in the sky. The ocean was blue because the sky was blue, and the sky was blue because the light rays broke at just the right angle for the human eye to see a pure cerulean above their heads. Except at day break, and dusk. The light hit the sky at a different angle as it crept above the horizon. The light refracted at a different wavelength and the eye interpreted it as pinks and purples, deep red and oranges.
It was enough to keep Angela busy for a lifetime.
A slow peaceful waking was cut short by the sudden banging of the door. Booth attempted to sit upright, but was caught partially up by the bonds that held them together, and they both tumbled into a painful heap on the bed. The exertion left them both panting. The drugs, which came sporadically from the oily man with the singsong voice, were starting to affect muscle mass. Next would be the bones.
Her bones. The only constant in her life since she'd entered graduate school all those years before. This monster was going to affect her bones.
If she'd had the energy she would have screamed. As it was, keeping her eyes open was about the extent of her ability. Lack of exertion was prolonging their death, Booth, at least, wasn't using as many calories as he usually did and his body was compensating easily to the drugs consuming them instead.
She hoped that at the very least, if he got free, he wouldn't blame her for the loss of their child. She should have eaten more at lunch.
The door creaked open and a young girl walked in. Booth lifted his head to look at her, but Brennan just laid still, fighting the tears that threatened. The next round of pills would be her last.
The girl looked to be about eight, perhaps a little older. Her black hair was bushed silk straight down her back and held in place with a pink ribbon. She had bright green eyes that seemed to glow in the pale light that had begun filtering through the window.
"Daddy's gone," she whispered, biting her lip, "So I thought I might bring you breakfast. I'm not allowed to use the stove, so it's all cold. I got, um, apples, and um, cold pancakes from yesterday. And I brought some milk, and some gummy bears." She smiled brightly, and for half a moment Brennan forgot where she was and just smiled back at the girl. "My names Franny, by the way. Daddy wouldn't let the other people talk, and kept them locked up. But he went to the store, and he told me to bring you water. I thought you might like something else, too."
Brennan didn't know what to say, she gaped at the child like a fish out of water and the girl chuckled. She climbed up onto the bed beside them, ignoring their nakedness. Booth blushed several different shades of red and tried to get her to leave.
"I can't go, silly. If Daddy comes back and you're gone, he won't let me go to the library. And then I won't be able to get another book. So, you're just gonna have to let me feed you. Daddy won't know."
She'd cut up the apple into little pieces, and, wrapping each one in a torn piece of pancake fed her captives.
Brennan would have tried to talk to her, to convince her to let them go, but the girl hardly ever even stopped to breathe. She chatted constantly, about what she was currently reading (16th and 17th century plays), to her upcoming birthday (her 10th, which surprised Brennan greatly), to how she'd suggested putting them in this cabin rather than driving about in the RV, since it was ever so much more comfortable than the bed in the RV.
They ate everything, and Franny brought them some water, brushed Brennan's hair, and promised to come visit them again.
She skipped as she left the room.
Brennan lay in the early morning light after she'd left, the hollow ache gone from her belly, and hope falling around her.
And then Franny returned.
She was carrying a white bottle.
Brennan could just make out the name on the label.
Lazerpill.