So here comes the beginning of the epic conclusion to this third retelling of the third film of the beloved franchise, and it was so much harder than everything else. Detective Chapham is developed a little, and she begins to change in the event of the situation at hand - and Moreland has more in store for the group.

Chapter Twenty

Police Station Slaughter

Being brought straight to the station, Herbert was separated from his wife and their friends until they were let loose and their cuffs removed – for now – and brought into the briefing room for questioning by none other than Chapham herself. All four of them. Francesca was weeping uncontrollably, Dan's face in his legendary mask of pure rage, Heather fighting to keep herself composed as well, and Herbert was at his best as he had been all his life – and damn them all for taking my re-agent, notes and all...once again, all my life in the possession of those I despise. As a child, he'd been extremely stone-faced and ousted by his peers; his teachers called him gifted but unusual because of his curiosity and interest in dissection of the various animal subjects. Girls called him unmanly. He was never accepted much less taken seriously; on the surface, he gave no one the satisfaction, never thought he would find someone who accepted him for who he was.

Never did he ever think he would find someone like Heather Phillips. Heather West now, he thought with a small smile to her. She managed it briefly before turning her scowling face back to the woman before them who smirked with triumph that she had the four "conspirators" in her grasp now when her father failed.

"You're no better than your father, Detective," Herbert told her, deciding to have his fun with her, make it last. "He was a bloated, psychotic, murderous wife-beater. He deserved what he got when he attacked me in my own lab. And what are you?" People like her father who never went beyond their positions because of their volatile habits, horrible eating habits, I can go on forever...they never make a difference, never get taken seriously and take out their insecurities on others. She might not be the same in that area, but she's no better than he.

"You went to high school and graduated, but you never went anywhere, never made a difference. You're just like him because he made both you and your mother low-based. You weren't strong enough to be better than him, go anywhere, be anything you want because he told you that you were worthless." Lessons in psychology, thank you. From the corner of his eyes, Francesca was shaking her head frantically and mouthing "No!" Dan's face was schooled into believable shock and worry for him. And Heather reached out to take his hand into hers, which Chapham noticed and clenched her jaw, sensing something that others like her would view several levels of wrong.

Herbert was loving how he was making the middle-aged detective angrier. "I know I'm right. You love taking in criminals because you feel it's a misplaced sense of self-righteousness when the truth is you never will truly make the world a better place."

"Neither have you, you butcher," she spat, her hand going to her gun on her belt. He laughed at the show.

"It's funny; your father called me that once. He judged my work, and now you. Perhaps if we were in another place, I wouldn't hesitate to do the same to you, my dear detective."

"SHUT IT!" The weapon was out and pointed right at him, making his smile grow wider. "You're a madman and a murderer whom I will enjoy putting back behind bars for good this time. The same goes with your partner and your little...whore here." She regarded Heather with a look that made him explode as well as the filthy, degrading word for a woman who slept with a stranger for money.

He leaned forward in his chair at the long table. "Don't you ever call my wife that again, you great she-devil!" His left cheek was stinging in pain for the third time he could count, and he shrank back in his chair, curling into Heather in spite of his attempts to keep himself together.

"Don't you EVER speak to me like that again, West," Chapham seethed. "I run this show, and all four of you are going to prison for the rest of your miserable lives." Her eyes fell to Heather. "Including you, most of all, for aiding and abetting a murderer, including whoring yourself off to him and indulging in pleasure with him in his grotesque experimentation with dead bodies."

"They're married, Detective," Dan finally spoke up, making Herbert proud of him right away. "They love each other to death as much as I love this woman right next to me." He nodded to Francesca before leaning in and kissing her. "And yet you have us in here while our son is out there. You're too focused on us instead of a child out there who needs our help."

Chapham's face lit up at the mention of their son, but it wasn't the doting way. Herbert was sickened by this woman and knew she had to go, too. "Oh, trust me, Dr. Cain, when we find your son, he'll be taken to Social Services and placed in a better home while his degenerating parents rot here for the rest of their lives." Herbert's rage was fueled far greater than kerosene lit by a single match as the couple was handcuffed in the front of their bodies and taken out by the arms by a gruff-looking policeman to be placed in one of the holding cells.

~o~

This is it, Dan though, unable to look at his wife as they were taken from the interrogation room of the Boston Police Station and into one of the holding cells. He did not know whether or not they would be separated, but he did guarantee they would be parted from each other and placed in other parts of prison with their own genders, where he would never be able to see her much anymore. And their son ever again, if he was ever found. "I bet they don't care," he said bitterly under his breath. "They'll never care to find him. Did you see her face? She doesn't care about anyone but herself."

"I know." Francesca nodded brusquely. "I know, but I know they won't kill him. I refuse to believe our baby boy will die before we ever see him again."

Neither of them cared for the name of their officer "escort" who shoved them forward roughly. "Neither of you will see him again. What kind of kid needs parents who dabble in devilish lore with a lunatic?" Dan glared up at him.

"Do you have kids, Officer?" he snapped.

"Two. But I wouldn't sink myself to breaking the law around here and lose all I have. Look whose fault it is, having everything you want only to throw it all away."

His body was on fire; he was goddamned sorely mistaken! Nobody threw anything away, but no one would listen anyways. "Danny." He looked her way and stopped with her in time when she shared a kiss with him in front of their impatient escort. One last kiss. He didn't want it to end, but the officer broke it up.

"Now, come on, you two. Save it for lock-up."

But unfortunately – or maybe half fortunately – they never made it to anywhere near the holding cells in time, for there was a terrible succession of screams of terror, and the screeching sounds of dismemberment and animalistic snarls of hunger. "Damn it, what the hell's going on here? Wait here, you two." Idiot had to leave them right there to go around the corner to see what the commotion was. Dan and Fran watched him, seeing his body go rigid in a near catatonic form for a few seconds before jerking back to life. "Quickly, come on, let's get you to the cell fast, for your own protection."

Francesca scoffed and shook her head. "Protection from what, Officer? When those things out there could be what our friend used to make and eventually overcame it? Steel bars won't stop them forever." Moreland and his followers are here. They've been on our tail the whole time, and this is where it all ends tonight, Dan thought, elated but frightened at the same time. His eyes fell on the ring of keys at the man's belt and looked up at her, seeing her mouth twitching into one corner and the mischievous twinkle in her eyes, and knew what she was thinking. By the time the officer was in front of her first and was about to take her by the arm, she brought her leg up and connected her sneaker to the side of his knee. He doubled over and cried out in pain, reaching out to try and grab her before she brought it up again and kicked him in the face, finally throwing her whole body down onto him and tackling him onto the floor, pinning him down and headbutting him so he was out cold. Dan watched it all and whistled. Francesca was a strong woman, and he was very proud to have her. He knelt down and grabbed the keys to search for the right one and work on getting her wrists free first, then handing them to her so she could work on his and they could go back to their friends and that bitch – whatever she was doing to them now.

"What's the plan, baby?" she asked as they started running for the armory, wherever it was, so they could grab themselves some guns and eventually something for Herbert and Heather. Eventually, there it was for them to see, and it was guarded by a steel lock. Fortunately, the key was among those on the ring, and Dan got them inside. They were safe, for now, but their friends and enemy were still out there.

"For now, we arm and find the others...then we find our boy, kill those things and get as far away from here as we planned."

By the time they were done and had the guns loaded with more in packs, they paused to briefly look at the unconscious man on the floor. "But what about him?" she asked, putting her hand on his arm. Regarding the man and no time to think, Dan shook his head.

"In my experience, half of the police officers have family issues, so I don't think anyone will actually miss him, as much as I hate to say this because I have a kid myself," he told her with a little smile. "I love my family more than anything else in the world, would do anything to protect them."

~o~

"Have you ever actually been in love, Detective?" Heather asked, now that her husband had his fun and decided it was her turn. It was just the two of them against her now, since their friends were taken off elsewhere, and it made her fear for their well-beings greatly. Getting a rigid posture and a blank glare not much similar to Herbert's but gave her the answer all the same, Heather smirked at one corner of her mouth. "Didn't think so. You don't seem capable of it."

"And you think being with this 'doctor of death' is love?" Miranda Chapham spat, pushing a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. "Psychiatrists would call it Stockholm Syndrome." Stupid bitch, Heather thought, enraged. Stockholm Syndrome involves physical abuse and uses of past trauma whether it is true or not in order to get the victim to feel sympathy for their tormentor. And Herbert never gave an indication of hurting me.

"I do NOT have a psychological disorder like that, because this man might be unhinged as everyone says," she countered, daring to risk herself more than she was now, shifting her body forward, with Herbert's calculating and admirable gaze on her, occasionally darting back to the hostile detective, "but he's more man than your father was, or any other man in the world. Your father abused you and your mother, yet you take after him." She stood up from around the table and began to circle around, Chapham doing the same. Battle of the generations, I love this, she thought, the power surging through her body never feeling so good in her life.

"He and those other two you took away, as well as that little boy out there in need of warm, loving arms, are the only family I have since my parents blamed me for not saving the life of my sister, who died thirteen years ago, the night Herbert was arrested. But he had nothing to do with her murder."

Chapham's lips curled into a cruel smile. "Of course, I remember the case. Emily Phillips, sixteen years old, killed by a 're-animated zombie' brought back by the evil mad doctor Herbert West. Too bad her baby sister never recovered from the trauma if I'm right; death in front of such a young spirit can really damage the mind and drive her to do things she never thought she would."

Heather lost her temper then and struck out at the horrible, heartless woman, the sound of flesh on flesh sounding like a whiplash which left a reddish mark on Chapham's right cheek. "That's what you get for offending me, insulting my sister's memory, and for bruising my husband's pride," Heather declared, seeing the woman begin to get herself together, a shocked expression in place that she never saw the younger woman would ever fight her back. "Yes, Emily was only sixteen years old, and I loved her because she was more than my sister; she was my best friend. She made me realize no one deserves to die again, and this man brought me to that dream. He fulfilled the dream every doctor tried for a millennium to do; he cheated death. There's nothing he can't do." She turned to Herbert at the corner of her eye. "He's brilliant but misunderstood, and I love him."

Heather looked back when the detective sputtered. "You're as sick as he is," she spat. "You're sick and you need professional help. Locked in the institution for the rest of your miserable life."

Goddamn bitch, nobody is insane! It's a cynical word to cover up something nobody understands. But before she could open her mouth, the door broke open, and in came none other than – "Dan, Francesca, how did you guys get away?" she exclaimed, shocked but happy at the same time. "And what's going on out there?"

Francesca tossed her a long-range revolver as well as one to Herbert before readjusting her firearm. "Everyone's dead. They're here."

"Wait, all my men are dead?!" Chapham cried. "What the hell is going on out there?!" She turned her fire-filled eyes on Herbert. "More of your abominations came here to save their Maker?"

"They're NOT my creations!" Herbert shot back angrily. "I do not make monsters anymore. I've restored the subject to full reason."

"If you're not, then who is?" Chapham sneered.

"I am, Detective."

Her head jerked up at the sound of the voice on the overhead speakers somewhere, reserved only for announcements and orders to report. "Who's that?"

"Moreland," Herbert seethed. "Dr. Eric Moreland."

"Alive and well, Detective," the true mad doctor spoke; apparently, the cameras in the security room somewhere did not have sound for the viewer to hear, only to see activity. Eric must have thought it all the more fun for himself to see rather than hear. That bastard, Heather fumed silently, standing close to Herbert. "And I'm glad you and the prisoners – my dear old friends, you would say, turned enemies – enjoyed my work even though you have yet to see it. But that's not the end for the rest of you; this is just the beginning."

"Eric, stop this now!" Dan shouted even though the other man couldn't hear him. "We're done with your games, so tell us where Adrian is and let us go!"

Moreland laughed over the speakers, the sound a rattling wave of static. Unlike Dan, he was a good lip-reader so he responded. "I can't let any of you go, because then the fun would be over so soon. And right now, you are all surrounded, so there won't be any escape from me or my subjects. They're engineered now to obey me, thanks to the method I learned from good old Dr. Hill before Herbert did a rather nice job off with him."

"The lobotomy drill," Herbert whispered. "I knew it. So he could mind-control them," he told them. "He's not only corrupted my work, but he's also used the pompous plagiarist's old laser surgical drill. Nothing new." He laughed and shook his head. "And he talked about originality."

Chapham cleared her throat. "Are you saying that he's the one behind all of this?"

Moreland answered before Herbert could. "Indeed I have, Detective Chapham. And I must say, my old friend is correct on the fact you are no better a cop or detective than your father, rest him." She glared up at the unseen camera. "I lead you and your squad on endlessly, so you could bring them all here for what I would prefer to call the final act. Where it all ends here tonight. I'll be doing you all a very good favor."

"Do you call kidnapping an innocent child a 'good favor'?" Heather spat. Adrian, wherever you are, we'll find you, she silently prayed, as hopeless as it seemed. She tried to keep in mind they were going to find him somewhere here, wherever he was. "You're as lowdown as Dr. Hill and Warden Brando."

"Now, Heather, that's not nice to talk about my uncle."

She gasped; there was a voice she had not heard since that night in the cemetery. "Warden Jacobs, you son of a bitch, I should have guessed you'd be here." And he was Brando's nephew?! "Y-you're Brando's nephew? First I meet a rogue lieutenant's daughter who doesn't like us one bit..." She winked at the angrily shaking older woman. "...and now I learn the man whom I trusted only to be backstabbed by is related to a man I loathed the moment I met him."

He chuckled. "He was right; you have such a resistant fire in you he sensed the moment he laid his eyes on you. And yes, I am his sister's son, his only living family member, you would say. Something Chapham there and I have in common with." She could just hear the smirk there, and for once, she didn't blame the detective for how she reacted.

"We're nothing alike. If I get this out to the FBI and bring them in, you'll be put in prison with these ones around me. And I'll see justice served entirely when I get your friend with you and his monsters in the Sefton ward."

Jacobs snorted. "Thanks, but I don't share prison cells with freaks like these. Those two killed my uncle and the inmates he supervised, and I'll see to it myself that they pay for it." He paused when there was a strangled cry and a horrible sound like eggs breaking, as well as a thud. He's dead, Heather realized; either Moreland or one of the re-animated killed him. But I suppose I should thank them just this once; he outlived his usefulness. Our enemies always turn on each other in the end. All was silent before Eric Moreland's voice came back.

"Too much revelations of family history and drama than I intended. Nobody's backstory matters to me tonight. And it wasn't just him who has a personal vendetta tonight to honor. BUT –" His tone had taken on one of the more sinister notes to make it all the more "fun" in his own way. Heather held her gun in one hand and reached behind her to take Herbert's free hand in her own. "– tonight I give you all the opportunity to reclaim your lives if you want to see the boy alive."

There was a pause before a familiar young, frightened voice was over the speakers. "Mommy, Daddy, Aunt Heather, Uncle Herbert, please help me!"

"Oh, God, ADRIAN!" Francesca wailed, about to surge for the door when her husband stopped her. "Dan, let me go! He needs us!"

"And I did not give you the 'go' signal yet, Francesca," Moreland drawled. "And I didn't give you the rules yet."

"What rules?" Chapham asked. "As an officer of the law, you've broken so many of them that you just have the nerve to give them to us in a sick little game of hide-and-seek?"

Eric laughed again. "Correction, it IS a form of hide-and-seek, but much more fun and, shall we say...life-threatening. I give all of you the time to search high and low for the boy in every room of this station, but you have only half an hour to find him. I suggest you split up single-file if you want to make it fast, arm yourselves as you are now. But this won't be suspense-free, for I have legions of my creations hiding in the darkest rooms and corners where you won't see them coming, and they will eat you alive and tear you apart if you don't act fast. By the time you find us, the child will be alive and unharmed.

"However," he finished, "if any of you don't reach the end before time is up...then I'll leave an even larger legion to tear you apart and feast on your flesh and bones. Too disfigured for the infamous Dr. West to bring you back. Let the game begin."

~o~

Alright, if it's a game he wants to play, Herbert thought as he checked his gun to see that all the chambers were filled, then it's a fight we will put on. However many of those rejects are out there, we'll fry them. "Well, we have no time to lose," he told everyone. "We have a young one to save and a monster to kill."

"We'll go." Dan nodded. "Please, be careful, you guys." He and Francesca quickly embraced both him and Heather much to the disgust of Chapham before going and running out the door. The station had two levels as well as a downstairs basement and holding cells, including the coroner's office below. They had several grounds to cover, so how were they all going to find Adrian and then reunite somewhere without any one of them getting eaten alive? Herbert had the upmost confidence they would all make it.

He looked down at Heather, his new wife and the love of his life, smiling down at her worried but still confident face. "We've been there before and we always make it," he promised her, leaning down and kissing her cheek.

"We split up like he said," she spoke.

He shook his head, his smile fading at once. "Heather, I can't bear to think of us apart in this. I can't bear the thought of what Moreland promised happening to you, too."

Chapham had the nerve to interrupt their perfect moment. "Excuse me, West, but we don't have time to lose." He shot his head up and glared at her.

"Would you shut up so I can bid my wife a proper farewell?" No, it won't be the end, he promised, turning his attention back to Heather and wrapping his arms around her, kissing her long and passionately, in the clichéd way that could be called "one last kiss"; he wanted it to last but knew deep down that it couldn't. She was his wife and science partner, his equal and everything, so to lose her for sure this time would mean the end of all he had begun to love and accept without fear. He released her, finding his face cupped in both her hands.

"I love you," she breathed.

Herbert nodded. "I know." He watched her go out the door with her weapon, leaving him alone with the Evil Queen herself. He chuckled at the Snow White reference. "So, Detective, who's going to lead the way out?"

She raised her pistol at him, and he chuckled. Guns raised at him were nothing compared to zombies trying to kill him. "You go first since you know more than I." Coward. He snorted and shook his head, leading the way out, pointing his weapon at every corner and opened door he could. His genius mind knew Moreland would not make this easy for them, that he wanted every one of them dead before they could blink. This was going to be far more advanced than the prison and the crypt, beginning at the morgue, too. Times had changed.

"Do you always let everyone do your work for you, Detective?" he asked, catching none of those beasts around yet. This was the first level, and they had one to go. "Your father was never afraid to go against the books, so I believe you must be smarter than that, given your...success as of late," he told her with a smirk, turning his head halfway around so she could see.

She scoffed. "That makes two of us then. None of us afraid to follow our guts. But not that I would be in your shoes when it comes to desecrating human remains for the 'name of science'. How would you explain your activities to me while we're on this scavenger hunt you and your friends got me involved in?"

Well, not that she'll sympathize any more than I should with her. "Dr. Hill and I should be obvious, though nobody needed to know it was far more personal than it was on the surface," he spoke, and just at the 'perfect timing', one of the expected re-animated – a rotting but otherwise still fresh motorcycle accident victim who hadn't been so lucky – jumped out and was about to grab at him when Chapham fired at it four times, blowing its head off right away, and it fell to the floor dead, plasma splattered everywhere. Herbert stared down at it, impressed. "Well, that was a good shot, for someone I profess to dislike as much as she dislikes me."

"Well, maybe I should say Dr. Carl Hill might not be a favorite despite his reputation, but I can see maybe his death was a justification. But that doesn't explain Dean Halsey and his daughter Megan, Cain's girlfriend."

"Oh, the dean was an accident, and I tried to save him. See..." They were continuing down past a few more see-through glass windows and opened doors. Nothing. "He didn't recognize my ability to see past the boundaries of medicine for the good of mankind, expelled Daniel and I. We knew we could prove him wrong and successfully revived a corpse, but it hadn't been fresh enough and was dead too long. It went mad and killed Dr. Halsey; we tried to save him, but he ended up no different than the last. I knew we couldn't give up." He hated revealing all of this to a woman who was no different than those who belittled him, but it seemed the more he let it out, the more he could see she was starting to understand him now. Trust was a long way to go now in these circumstances.

"He was taken into police custody, Dr. Hill – that pompous plagiarist," he spat, the memory fresher in his mind than ever, "given control of his examination. He came to me and tried to blackmail me so he could get credit for a discovery that wasn't his. He deserved what he got when I took his head off with the shovel and re-animated it for curiosity's sake." He smirked. "You could say that was where my playing with parts began."

She shook her head as she now came to his side. "Disgusting meddling with body parts. My father was just catching up on you both."

He glowered at her. "Detective, your grudge has clouded your judgment. You know that, deep down, he had his end coming, too, when I put the cloth to his mouth and simulated a heart attack. You should have been grateful that I took the life of you and your mother's tormentor. Just as you and the rest of society should thank me for the ends of Warden Brando and those inhuman men I shared cells with. I never killed for the sake of it, Detective," he told her, pausing to look her in the eyes. "And all of that with body parts I did, including Meg Halsey's heart, was to give my good friend his woman back. But like the others, she was a failure. Another lesson I learned in prison, and led me to the new method you saw."

Herbert watched her face's mix of emotions. He triumphantly smirked on the inside that he was finally getting to her, an officer of the law, daughter of Leslie Chapham. She took a few deep breaths and let it out slowly. "I suppose you're right," she said, "but that doesn't mean I'm relinquishing my morals and agreeing with you one hundred and ten percent. The world just isn't ready for this."

He allowed his smile to once again fully grace his face. "I knew you would see reason, and I confidently believe someday the world will accept us. That's exactly what Dr. Coburn told my wife before she was killed a second time."

Now they were finally at the part of the room where it had begun tonight: the bodies too maimed for words, parts scattered about, whole bodies strewn like boneless dolls, their own blood staining the walls and the floor redder than paint. "I stopped this part of my work that night," he spoke, "and you saw it in that released footage. It was Dr. Moreland. He killed Dr. Leslie Coburn."

She nodded. "I'm finally piecing it together, yes, but there is no way to prove that. No way to get enough evidence to acquit you and your friends. Which means all of you have to do is get out of here if we ever clean this mess up."

Herbert nodded back. "We've planned on that this whole time. For once, I'm offering you my thanks, Detective. For siding with us tonight."

I hope I didn't force Chapham's change of heart; I like to think that dire situations like this can really do that to you, no matter what happens. The "game" Moreland forces them to play is Saw-inspired, for those who are fans of that franchise. :) But now we got zombies in place of torture devices. So that leaves the question: who will live and WHO will die - and will they get to little Adrian in time?