Chapter Twenty-One

The boathouse was silent save for the gentle lapping of the ocean outside but it was by no means deserted. Everyone was there, from Sam to Hetty, sitting around the table as they kept watch over the interrogation room by means the monitoring screen before them. Marvin Kane sat calmly facing the camera with his hands folded in his lap and the same smile playing on his face that had been there since Hetty had cuffed him and given the order to search his house more than an hour ago. He couldn't have looked more at ease.

It was not a feeling shared by the four government employees watching him. Sam could feel his blood pressure rising as anger coursed through his veins mixing with the fear and confusion which had been there for some time. They were so close, so damn close, and while Hetty seemed to thinking giving everyone a moment to get their wits about them before commencing the interrogation was a good idea it was only serving to put him more on edge. They should be tarring this guy apart, ripping every secret he had out into the open and finding out what the hell he'd done to Callen, both this time and before. They should be breathing down his neck for a confession, baiting him until he snapped and gave them something to prove his partner was innocent...

"If we can get him to tell us what he did to Callen then we might be able to help him," said Nate suddenly, speaking for the first time since they'd entered Kane's cellar and cutting off Sam's train of thought. His voice sounded strong and a certain level of determination had returned to his eyes.

"And if he doesn't?" Kensi asked, voicing the same fear that had entered Sam's head at the psychologist's words.

"He will," Hetty cut in, effectively ending the discussion before Nate's newfound spark could be extinguished once more.

Sam looked around at his team and allowed the determination shinning in every one of their faces pushed some of the uncertainty from his mind even if he knew that like him, they were all wearing a mask. Hetty's hid the fear of losing her family, Nate's hid the guilt which was still weighing him down, Kensi's hid anger ready to burst from her at a moment's notice and his, well he wasn't completely sure. He shifted his injured shoulder uncomfortably, feeling a sharp pain beneath the bandage Hetty had applied upon their return to headquarters. There was so much they still didn't know...

"I can't sit here anymore," said Kensi, standing up abruptly, "He's been sitting there long enough, let's take a crack at him already!'

Hetty opened her mouth to reply but was cut off by the boathouse door, which swung open as Kensi spoke. "Detective Colby," she greeted, turning to him instead and sounding surprised, "You heard then."

The detective nodded stiffly as he entered the room, his face and eyes looking as tired and drawn as any member of the team. "Yeah, well actually the whole precinct heard, Bronstrum wasn't all that pleased when he found out you got him..."

"Well that's his loss, isn't it?" said Kensi coldly, but fell silent at a look from Hetty.

"So..." said Colby after a moment, breaking the strained silence which had fallen over them, "How's Callen?"

Sam sighed heavily and ran his good hand over his face at the reminder of his best friend's state. "Not so good," he admitted, working to keep his voice as even as possible, "The docs say he'll be fine but..." He let the sentence trail off, unable to say outright that everyone's worst fear had become reality.

The detective smiled wryly and shook his head. "Dammit," he said softly.

Silence overtook them again until Hetty followed Sam's lead and heaved a small sigh. "So why are you here, Detective?" she asked, "I would have thought you'd be with Mr. Callen at the hospital."

Colby moved towards the nearest chair and took a seat, resting his elbows on his knees before speaking. "Because I have to know," he replied softly, sadness lining every inch of his face, "Callen could never tell me, I've gone all these years without a clue in hell what happened to him... I just can't pass this up."

Sam nodded without really realizing it. He could understand what Colby felt, the overwhelming need to understand what his friend had gone through all those years ago, if only to be able to look back at the reaction and know why it happened. It must have been horrible watching Callen's world spiral out of control without any idea what caused it. It was painful enough watching it now...

"Very well," Hetty's voice cut into his thoughts, "I can't allow you to partake in the interrogation yourself..."

"No, no, I understand that," said Colby quickly, forcing a fake smile, "I just need to hear it, that's all."

The Operations Manager gave a single nod and stood up, turning to face the team. "Mr. Getz, if you could remain here with Detective Colby, I'd like a reading of Mr. Kane from the outside. Mr. Hanna, Miss Blye, come with me."

The short walk to the interrogation room door felt like it took an hour to complete and opening it Sam felt a surge of emotions the likes of which he'd never experienced before. In one moment he wanted to attack the man sitting before them and tare him limb from limb, he wanted to sit down and listen to whatever explanation would come, he wanted to run from the room and never look back, he wanted to scream at him, cuss him out, beat his head in, beg him to talk, never be forced to see his face again... He wanted to understand, he wanted to kill, he wanted to run... He wanted his best friend back.

But he let none of that show, not as he entered the room, not as he set down Hetty's chair across from Kane, and not as he and Kensi took their places standing silently in each corner behind their boss. No one said a word. Kane, for one, seemed curious and he watched calmly as Hetty settled herself into her seat, an infuriating and all knowing smirk playing at his lips much like the one that Callen –

But Sam stopped the thought there. Callen was not like this guy, whatever the old man was.

"Mr. Kane," said Hetty, her professional aura back in place and pulling Sam from his thoughts much to his relief, "Do you know why you're here?"

"Not particularly," the man replied calmly, "You see, you told me that you were conducting a survey of property values in the area, one orchestrated by the city and had the papers to prove it. "

It was Hetty's turn to smirk now, and she did so looking quite dangerous. "What I told you is irrelevant," she said in the same measured tone as before, "You invited me into your home, the blood was in plain sight – "

Kane scoffed. "You got yourself invited under false pretences," he argued pleasantly, "And if there was any blood it most certainly was not in plain sight."

"And yet, I saw it with no searching required," the Operations Manager sighed.

"Yes, but you certainly searched after you thought you saw it," said Kane coldly.

"Once reasonable cause had been established then yes, we did," Hetty nodded, "And what we found is the reason for this little discussion."

"And that would be what exactly?" the old man asked in a bored tone of voice.

"Bodies," Sam cut in, unable to remain silent any longer, "Those two boys you told us were 'out at friends'? We found them murdered in your cellar, they'd been shot in the chest. You wanna tell us how that happened on your watch?"

"Again," Kensi added, "Because it seems you failed to notice when Isaac Harwood was murdered as well."

"I told you last time," Kane sighed, still looking remarkably calm, "I take in children who have a tendency to – "

"Run away, yes we know," said Hetty, taking over the interrogation once more, "Very hard to keep track of, aren't they?"

"Very hard," Kane agreed.

"They're not necessarily good children, after all, some must be downright nasty – "

A humorous laugh burst from Kane at that moment, cutting Hetty off mid-sentence. "I'm not some whack job you can trick like that," he said, subduing his laugh to mere chuckles, "And do you know what, I've noticed I've not yet been offered a lawyer..."

Sam nearly growled out loud but managed to stop himself. If Kane lawyered up now they'd never get the answers they wanted out of him and they needed those answers. They needed them to finish the case, and more importantly they needed them to help Callen...

But Hetty seemed unconcerned. "Do you require one?" she asked calmly.

Sam braced himself mentally. This was it, the interrogation was over and they weren't going to get a thing out of it. How the hell was Hetty so calm?

But Kane surprised him. The smirk was back as the old man shook his head. "No," he said cheerfully, "I rather suspect it would be a waste of money anyway."

"It would," Hetty agreed softly.

Kane nodded. "That's what I thought." With an almost content sigh he leaned back in his chair and folded his hands behind his head. "I've been lucky, I suppose, that this has not happened sooner."

"Every run must come to an end, Mr. Kane," Hetty told him sagely, "And yours has."

"Is this the part where you offer me a deal?" Kane asked, tilting his head slightly to one side.

"No," Hetty replied coldly, "This is the part where you answer our every question."

As Kane gave his boss yet another cocky smile Sam found his heart beating harder than it should have been. The old man seemed to be giving himself up with very little fight, it was far too easy and it worried him. There was no reason for it. If Kane had kept his mouth shut he'd have had a chance of getting off. None of this made any sense. If it had been anyone else Sam would have said that it was just a slip up, but it wasn't, it couldn't be...It was almost as though Kane had steered the conversation to this point, and Hetty had let him.

But while he feared where this line of questioning may go, his need to know what had happened in that cellar was overwhelming so he kept his thoughts to himself and focused instead on the exchange before him.

"Ask then," said Kane softly, still smiling easily.

It was the smile which broke down Sam's resolve to stay silent and he spoke before he could stop himself, glaring at the man before him with the deepest of hatred. "Why are you so willing to give yourself up, Kane? Tell me that. What's in this for you?"

"Mr. Hanna..." said Hetty warningly, turning to face him.

"No, no," Kane laughed, "Mr. Hanna has a point. I would have to be some major kind of idiot to have been fooled into talking by your questions so far and while I have no doubt that you would have proven a great adversary as time went on and may well have broken me at some point I decided to save us all the trouble and end things on my terms." Leaning forward slightly he rested his elbows on his knees and gazed up at them calmly. "And truthfully," he continued, "I do enjoy causing people a certain level of pain and you three happen to know G Callen, I can see it in your faces, your little masks all cracked and hanging on desperately... I'd be lying if I told you I wasn't looking forward to your expression as my tale progresses. Besides all that I've been looking for a new challenge from some time now, perhaps prison will offer up more souls in need of... Modification..."

"What the hell does that mean?" Kensi snapped from her corner of the room, not even bothering to hide the anger in her voice.

"It means that people are frail creatures," Kane explained calmly, smiling up at Kensi as though they were two friends having a pleasant conversation about nothing, "Our minds break so very easily and once they do you're left with a sort of putty which can be shaped easily whatever way you'd like."

"So you like to hurt people," Sam cut across him, fighting to keep his voice even, "You're just some freak who likes to beat on children until they snap."

Kane chuckled softly. "Hardly," he scoffed, "What I do is an art. It takes time and patients and practice, it's certainly not the mindless violence of most the pigs you meet. It has purpose and cause. It has an objective."

It was Sam's turn to scoff now. "Bullshit," he snapped, "You like to hurt people, that's all there is to it."

"While I will not deny that I do take a certain pleasure from watching another human being writhing at my feet, it is not the sole reason that I do what I do," the old man told him evenly, "I'm not in it for the violence, I'm in it for the money."

"The money, Mr. Kane?" said Hetty, the calmness in her voice silencing both Sam and Kensi who had opened their respective mouths to say something.

Kane nodded. "Yes. There are a vast number of groups and individuals both in this country and abroad who are willing to pay very high prices for a specific type of child. One who can kill. One who does whatever if asked of them without question. One nobody will miss..."

"Child soldiers," Sam said softly, feeling his blood run cold as horrible visions of his best friend clutching a gun and fighting an enemy he didn't even know floated around his head.

"That's right," Kane confirmed lightly, "Of course not your run-of-the-mill, hop them up on something, give them a gun and see how long it takes them to blow up, child soldiers. The ones I produce are of a much higher quality, hence the price and the demand. Each one is broken down complete then built back up into the perfect little soldier, void of any emotion, unable to do anything with their lives but take orders and very hard to kill. They are an investment, most serve well into adulthood before the unfortunate side effect of insanity takes hold and they must be disposed of."

"You turn children into murderers?" said Kensi quietly, horror lining her face as she stared at the man before them, "For money?"

"I think it would be more accurate to say I turn children into robots," he said corrected thoughtfully, "Murderers do it for the fun, a truly successful child of mine does it because there is no other course left to them. It is what they are."

"How do you do it?" Hetty asked, her voice just as quiet as Kensi's.

"Why? Going to try and save your little friend Callen with this information?" Kane mocked, smirking once again.

"How?" Hetty repeated forcefully and the old man sighed.

"Fine," he said calmly, "My methods vary slightly from child to child depending on what will break them most easily. When a new child arrives those already in my care are given a gun and asked to kill the new arrival, should they fail the roles are reversed and the new arrival is given a shot. Should all the children fail they are subjected to as much physical and mental torture as I deem appropriate. Some snap under the physical pain and demand a chance to take the shot, they are the easiest but also tend to be the cheapest, the poorest quality. Some demand the shot out of fear before a hand has even been laid on them, they tend to give in to the transformation themselves. Boring, but ultimately effective. Some require mental tortures, watching their newfound friends being beaten and the likes. Callen was one of those." He paused and smiled at the looks ranging from shock to horror on the faces of the three people listening to his tale before continuing. "It has always been a great regret of mine that I did not finish the job with him. Callen would have been worth more than any child I'd created before. He had a natural darkness to him, a knack for violence which would have been perfect had I honed it right."

"You'd never have got it right, you old freak, Callen's too tough for you," Kensi hissed, her eyes flashing dangerously.

Sam's heart was in his throat now, his breathing as uneven as his partner's had been back in the cellar. Kane hadn't succeeded. There was no way he had. But even as he told himself that memories of the horrible people Callen had played while undercover worked their way into his head, murderers, abusive boyfriends, soulless killers-for-hire ... They had all done it, it was part of the job, but his partner was the best at by far.

"But I did hone it right," Kane laughed softly, pulling Sam from his thoughts, "Or at least well enough that he shot his own friend. I did not kill Isaac Harwood, nor did I kill the two boys you found in my cellar. Matthias killed them, and Callen killed Isaac. Took every shot himself, I just gave him the gun. That's murder and he knows it."

"You son-of-a-" Kensi started, taking a step forward furiously.

"But he got away from you," Sam cut across her, moving closer from his side of the room as well, "He was still too strong for you, even after everything!"

Kane was actually laughing, leaning back in his chair and laughing. "Yes, he did, didn't he? I'd have never have thought the boy had it in him to run, physically or mentally, but he was always a stubborn one. Made him more fun. Why do you think I asked for him back all those times?"

Sam could hear the blood rushing in his ears, Kensi was pale but anger seemed to resonate from her and Hetty had stood up sometime during Kane's last speech.

"We're done," the Operations Manager said softly, yet with a dangerous snap that ended all arguments before they began. She led Sam and Kensi towards the door purposefully pausing only when Kane spoke once more.

"The stomach wound should not be fatal, the ribs are certainly not, but his mind..." he smiled nastily, "I just have to wonder how long it will be before he takes his own life? Or worse, how long before he becomes me?"

It was the beeping which woke him, the rhythmic pattern prodding away at his senses until he was forced to acknowledge it. Even so, he couldn't find it within himself to care all that much even if each sharp ping sent pain radiating through his head. Maybe, if he listened long enough and let the pain take him over the silence would return and swallow him once more. He did not know where he was, nor did he care to find out, his sole thought was of how to disappear once more.

He was happy in his darkened world, without people or faces or names or memories. He was happy without anything at all, happy being nothing and surrounded by nothing. He was calm too, breath in, breath out, breath in, breath out. Over and over again, in time with the beeping. Easy. Controlled. Everything could be ignored, nothing mattered and even less was real. Only the darkness, warm and safe.

Another beep, slightly louder than the rest, cut through his head bringing with it another flash of pain and the rhythm changed, grew faster and louder. Callen groaned, his own voice catching him off guard, and turned away from the sound. There wasn't supposed to be pain here. The darkness was soft, it didn't hurt... But this did, this burned a path through his head as though it was on fire, made heat rise in his face, made shivers pass through his arms...

And the shiver made something move, in the crock of his elbow, like before, every time, a tweak, a slight pull... Fear flooded him, consumed him, twisting, curling and tarring at him from the inside. Light blinded him as his eyes tore open, pain exploded in his chest and he cried out, unable to control it. The beeping was a shrill whistle now, voices rang out around him, footsteps, shouting, screaming... He couldn't understand it, couldn't see for red and stars and burning light, couldn't hear for noise and pain filled voices, couldn't breathe for pain...

He twisted, fought as hands attempted to pin him down, chocked as the pain in his chest became unbearable and finally, finally, got one hand free. He clawed at his elbow viciously, dug and scratched and pulled at it desperately until he felt the needle come free, until he'd tossed it across the room with what little strength he had left, until he was sure the poison was no longer entering his veins. He couldn't do that again, not after last time.

"Agent Callen," came a voice from above him, distant and faded as though coming through a faulty old radio, "Agent Callen just lie still, I know you're in pain and a little bit scared, just relax, we're giving you something for the pain..."

We're just giving you something for the pain... Press here if you're in too much pain... It'll help with the pain... Take this, it'll stop ya feelin' anything... I just wanted the pain gone... It's not even workin' anymore... You're still hurting, aren't you? No matter how much you take..? You gotta stop this, you're killing yourself... Just wanted the pain to stop... It'll help with the pain... Press here if you're in too much pain... We're just giving you something for the pain...

"No!" He was shouting, or trying to but he couldn't get enough air, couldn't breathe in, couldn't breathe out. Everything hurt, there was fire everywhere but he wouldn't, couldn't, do that again. "No drugs... No..."

"It's alright, Agent Callen, it'll just take the edge off. Just relax for me..."

I just wanted the pain gone... It's not even workin' anymore...

"Everyone just shut up!" Too many voices, all of them talking, yelling, growing louder and louder, determined to be heard... Too loud. Too crowded. So many voices, so many thought and memories and some were real and some weren't and some never had been and never would be and the panic was returning and he couldn't breathe... And a needle pricked his skin... "NO!"

"Agent Callen!"

But he was falling, blackness swirling round and round as pain ripped his chest open with a strangled cry. The needle was sent flying, the voices screamed as one and then there was silence. Dark silence.

"Agent Callen?" The voice was tentative this time, quiet and unsure.

"I don't want it..." He was crying , from pain, from fear, from desperation and he couldn't stop it. "I don't want it..."

And at last they back off and the silence returned, cold and uninviting. The room became empty, the last of the voices faded away and the colours slowly returned. He was alone but he could see. He began to breathe again, one shaky attempt at a time, one tiny gulp of air, one miniscule dose of relief for the burning in his chest. The room became clearer and clearer, the feeling of the bed on which he lay, the blankets tangled around him from the twisting and fighting, the monitor beeping away, its rhythm slowing and evening out as each moment past. But he could not stay here.

He moved slowly, pulled tubes from his nose, electrodes from his skin pausing at small noises and whimpering with each larger motion. His stomach protested most as he slid his bare legs out of bed, his ribs took their turn and he stumbled to his feet and his wrists made their presence known each time he moved his hands. But he did not stop. A jacket (most likely Sam's) had been left on a chair, a pair of hospital pants lying on a table to one side and he managed to slip into both. As a fresh wave of fear washed over him he staggered to the door, took and moment to collect his thoughts as best he could and stepped out, vanishing into the casual stream of people as he'd done all his life.