A/N: Yes, Cube, the following chapters should be intense! We'd like to thank you all again for your wonderful comments, they make us grin perpetually and encourage us to be even more critical of what we write, so you will have the best possible time reading. Every chapter goes from Catherine to Magali and back a few times (just so you know how hard we're working for you ;) ). We like to stand for quality. Well now, the next bit holds a lot of information; we hope you'll get the picture of what this has all been about. Good reading!
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Chapter 21 – Square one
When she woke up, the first thing she did was move her arms and legs a little, just clench and relax her muscles; the first thing she thought was that she wasn't hurt. Yet. And the first thing she saw told her that she was back in the apartment. The same damned apartment she had tried to escape. He had been quicker, or she hadn't been fast enough; he had been smarter, or she hadn't been careful enough. Now, she was back at square one, with a handicap.
Her disease, the exhaustion due to too little hours of sleep, and the effects of the chemical product he had made her breathe in made her feel weak. She wondered if she would be able to get to her feet, if she wanted to. She repressed a sob. No, no way. She wouldn't let him have the satisfaction of seeing her break down. Whatever would happen next, she wouldn't cry, and she wouldn't scream. She wouldn't give him the joy of hearing her beg.
But would she even be able to?
A wave of discouragement suddenly washed through her. Usually, she was a bad loser, and never stopped until she was satisfied with herself. But there's always a moment when somehow, you're forced to stop, and this moment had come. She was tired of playing, and she was too tired to put up a fight. She considered staying still, ready to accept her defeat, but finally she rolled onto her side and was surprised to notice that she wasn't tied up yet. Obviously, he was waiting for her to wake up before he would begin. That was understandable. He wouldn't enjoy it that much if she wasn't conscious. She didn't have a lot of experience in torturing other people herself, but at some point, it had to become boring if nobody was howling with pain.
She raised her gaze, knowing that her eyes would meet his. She could feel him, although he hadn't talked yet. He was simply watching her with a smirk, his arms folded over his chest. The look of victory was stretched over his face. They stared at each other for a long moment, as a heavy silence settled between them. The winner, standing smugly, was savouring his vengeance, relishing in the delicious feeling of having this woman in his grip at last, while the loser, who tried to hide how terrified she was, was considering whether there was still hope, a way out. She realised that she had always known it; that she had been feeling it from the first time they had been introduced to each other. But she wasn't used to listen to her intuition. She never did. Worse, she made fun of those who did.
She had blamed herself for being such a sissy, then; jumping at each sound, turning around constantly to be sure that nobody was following her, seeing in everyone the man who had made her life a nightmare for two weeks.
Still without a word, he pulled up the leg of his pants and revealed an ugly scar. A not so old wound she was responsible for. Now she blamed herself for having been so stupid. His uneven steps. He was slightly limping. How could she not have thought of this? Of course his steps wouldn't match Delaney's. The injury she inflicted upon him had caused his walking manner to change. He'd been alone with her all this time… again.
"Look what you've done, bitch."
The harsh kick he gave her in the belly knocked the breath out of her for several long seconds. She curled up, her eyes filled with tears of pain. She knew it was only the beginning. She assumed that he had a plan to make her pay. The pain lessened slowly, but she anticipated a new blow. She raised again her watery eyes to him; he wasn't moving, and didn't look like he intended to.
Was he expecting her to say something now? Because even if she wanted to, she couldn't; her tongue felt dry and paralysed in her mouth. Finally, he drew closer a chair and took a seat on it, propping his elbows on his knees, looking at her. Watching her. Suddenly a smirk broke through his serious expression. An expression as though she was a bad child and he was thinking about the punishment he would give her.
"I guess you want to know everything now," he said, and suddenly his voice sounded so familiar.
How could she not have known that the whispers she'd heard for two weeks belonged to this man's voice? She remembered, and matched, and felt all hope slip away. This time, his intentions were different. If he was actually going to share his secrets with her now, there was no doubt in her mind he intended to kill her. She wouldn't see the sun set that evening, nor would she be able to finish her novel, nor would she ever talk to Angela again, to Booth. There were so many things she'd like to explain to them. She used to assume they had forever. Stupid.
He got comfortable in his chair and started to speak.
"I guess it all started with a woman I worked with. I fell in love with her, but she made my life miserable. I made my intentions clear, but she kept me on a leash and finally, ruined my career at the Narcotics department. My boss gave me a choice, y'see; resign or accept the mission nobody wanted. I had to do it. This made me angry, as y'll understand. And vindictive. Good word, huh? I like it. Vinnn…dictivvvve."
He laughed, the sound piercing the silence that was as present as screaming children, and she shook her head no.
--
"What's that, Rosie? Don't ya wanna hear the rest of the story? Y'should be interested, ya know. Stories are your second profession. Or… maybe you're just aware that when the story ends, so does your life, and everything you ever worked for has been for nothing. That's not so good a feeling, right? Naw, don't feel good at all. But I got to make you feel this way, because ya have to understand."
She stopped shaking her head and merely looked at him, trying to keep her head up. He loved taunting her. She looked so wonderfully helpless and defeated. He hated when she was all 'Dr Brennan', always trying to make a fool out of him. But who was the fool, now, uh?
"Yeah, good girl." He leaned towards her. "Good girl," he whispered menacingly and smiled when he saw her wince. Humiliation was so sweet. He sat back in his chair again. "You probably know what mission I'm speaking of here. I had a slight problem. Fell in love with the lovely Miss Williams. Persephone, yes. That Benson-boy was in my way both professionally and personally."
The son of a bitch. The bastard. He had taken from him all that he desired. Didn't even get half of pain that he deserved.
"Unfortunately for him, Michael found out that Greg Furgenson, or Matthew Delaney, as everybody knows me here, never went away on business trips. Instead I had meetings with people who were definitely not from 'round here, y'understand? 'Cause they were the feds. Now Michael, he made a big mistake. He told the big bosses 'bout his discoveries, and then them bastards decided they were up for a little game. They contacted me and ratted Michael out. They said I got to live if I got rid of Benson in return, as a test of my loyalty. They proposed me keeping them safe from the feds by losing evidence and informing them of fed plans concerning their business. Y'll understand I could do nothing but accept."
He clenched his jaw and relaxed it. The human survival mechanism was amazing. The bosses could have made him do anything. He simply didn't want to die yet.
"When I came back from the mission, sending Delaney on another business trip, my boss Morassi transferred me to Homicides, saying it's the only option for me if I wanna keep my job. Well I did wanna keep my job, but not the one Morassi was talkin' about. I still had to spy. I still had to revenge myself, so I involved the Bureau by placing a colleague's weapon on the scene. Hey, you should remember that. It's the first time we met after our two-week honeymoon, right?"
--
She probably would have spat at him if she didn't know it would have gained her another kick in the ribs. She had to spare her strength.He laughed and she could do nothing but look at him as he spoke, urging the energy to return to her, pressing her liver to filter the chloroform out of her system.
Despite the fact that she'd never liked him or regarded him as truly her partner, she felt so betrayed. Because in actuality, her own partner had betrayed her. Instead of protecting her, he was harming her, and planning on killing her. Where was the logic in that?
How did she come to lie here, on the couch that smelled like him because he'd slept here every night? What had gone wrong this time? If she believed in a higher power, she would be seriously questioning their motives by now. What was she supposed to learn from these horrible experiences? What did she do wrong every time she got away fine that would have her in danger again? Was it the fact that she refused to be a victim? Why her, what was she to learn from this? What was she supposed to learn, god damnit!
Her brow furrowed as she tried to keep focus on the man in front of her, as she tried not to feel so damn hot that she couldn't think. As she tried to force down the lump that restricted her throat, causing her to almost pass out. Her eyes rolled back in her head and she felt herself slip away into a suppressing, thick darkness that terrified her as much as the situation she would face if she stayed awake. There was simply no way to get comfortable. His words were hardly getting through to her anymore, until she suddenly felt great pressure on her shoulders. He was shaking her, calling her name. Of course. What would be his fun if she wasn't conscious? Her heart hammered loudly inside her chest, trying to escape the confined space it was trapped in under her ribs. The pounding hurt, but it didn't matter; she understood.
The shaking had startled her, but now she felt herself sink back into the black hole again. Cummings noticed, because he wrenched his hands under her arms and shoved her into a sitting position like a rag doll, stabilising her until she could sit up straight herself. He left her sight for a moment to open a window, and the cold wind soothed her flushed skin. She was slowly regaining consciousness.
But what was the point in staying conscious, anyway? There was no hope for her. She might be able to scream, but the people around here weren't exactly helpful. Rule number one was to mind your own business. No, it would definitely be a waste of energy. She wasn't sure how yet, but it was likely that she die today. Tonight, when it would all be over, the sun would set, and cast an orange glow over the city that was her home. Angela would find the sky beautiful that way, and Booth would notice it too from his favourite spot on the couch. Also Zack, Hodgins and Cam would get to see the sun set. They would be oblivious to the fact that her cold and lifeless body lay here and she would never enjoy the sight of such a beautiful sky again. She never really bothered to admire the sky, anyway. She always thought she had better things to do. Now, she regretted it.
Despite that she knew Booth simply wouldn't be able to come rescue her this time— how could he if he wasn't even able to walk— she still felt the pang of hope, of trust towards him. Yes, it was absolutely irrational, but she couldn't help it. Her emotions were taking over her head when it came to him, it seemed. It confused her. Was it a subconscious reflex supposed to help her fight for her life? But she hardly had time to think about what this meant, for Cummings cleared his throat and continued his story.
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"When Benson's body was found, the bosses weren't too pleased with me, 'cause the feds had been questioning their people, y'know. I had to freaking beg them to spare my life, which might not seem a lot to you, but it's all I have in this God-forsaken world. Anyways, I had to make it up to 'em. I had to make sure the evidence disappeared, ya know, or I would get one in the kneecap. They gave me thirteen days. On the fifth day I'm mad with fear and I decide to take the liberty of kidnapping the Forensic Anthropologist— that would be you, Dr Brennan— and blackmail the FBI into destroying the evidence."
He imagined how painful it was for her to remember; but it was so enjoyable for him to tell her this story she already knew. For all these days, he had been hoping that she was afraid of the dark, that the imaginary sound of his whispers kept her from sleeping, that her few dreams where horrible nightmares whose hero was he. Now, he had the proof that it had happened.
"Unfortunately though, I get 'somehow' shot in the leg and lose my bargain!"
At this point, he stood up straight from the chair and ran his hand over his face, then paced the room a couple of times. He was getting worked up again over this. He shouldn't be letting that happen. He considered causing her pain again, then realised that he was more mad at himself that he was at her. Shit, she was a woman. A scientist. A scientist, not even a cop. How could all her fucking doctorates help her mess up his plans?
"Anyways, I was able to take care of my leg myself. It would be stupid to go to a hospital and have the feds kicking in my door a few hours later, wouldn't it? Yeah yeah, I know what you think, and I agree: That Cummings guy isn't stupid at all."
She said nothing, and just kept staring at him with her watery eyes. He had liked it, at first, to see his power reflected in her clear orbs. Now, funnily, it had begun to become annoying.
"Ah, so now we get to the good part of the story. The one you're in," he winked at her. "Well, I can tell ya it wasn't that much fun to begin with. Naw, not for me. But then, then I got to see the benefits y'know. For the first time in quite some time, I'm in charge. I have power. Over you; strong, independent, confident… hot." He shrugged. "I just wanted to see if I could break ya. Think I did, don't ya?"
He paused, to see the effect it had had on her. She didn't dare talk, the bitch.
"Honestly, it feels good to be having this conversation with ya. We can exchange thoughts a bit this way. Maybe back then you thought that I was going to do you, but you shouldn't've been afraid of that. Didn't wanna dirty myself, you see. Still don't. So nothing there for you to worry about. Except the fact of course, that you're going to die. Yeah, I'd worry 'bout that if I were you." He snickered. "No, actually, I'd worry more 'bout what is going to happen before you die."
She didn't really react to that, but he knew that she was terrified inwardly. Her heart had to be pounding painfully in her chest. His, too. Of excitement.
"Anyways, where was I? Right. Well, while I had you safely secured in the warehouse I made sure to show my handsome face at the FBI on a regular basis. Didn't wanna arouse suspicion. You'll understand. I guess y'know the story from here. I get myself a spectacular find of evidence every time someone starts gettin' to have enough of me. Also keep doin' my best, try to get to the evidence to tamper with it a little, but you there cold-hearted scientist lady wouldn't let me. Yeah yeah, very clever of ya. But hey, not a problem I'm unable to handle. It's going to have to go another way, and that's fine with me, so I insist on the undercover mission. You've been fun, but trouble. And accidents tend to happen undercover more than in real life, where you're protected…"
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Protected... She had never doubted she was safe, never. Even after being betrayed by the son of a bitch Jamie Kenton. Even after being caught by the Gravedigger. She used to think she could take care of her own protection; that when she couldn't, there were people around her who could help her.
"Now you're probably wondering, and you're right to, why no one here recognised me. Another genius idea of mine. I tell 'em in advance that we're coming, that I don' want my girlfriend to know who I am 'cause of the trouble I'm in and tadaa, they call me Greg Furgenson, not Matthew Delaney. Everything goes well, I'm enjoying myself, but then you feel the need to start whining about uselessness and quitting. I had to come up with some mighty awesome evidence again, so I chose the car."
At this point she sat slumped on the couch, listening to him, her brow furrowed. This guy was crazy. How could he have done all the things that he did? Why did nobody stop him? His boss should have fired him in the first place. Cullen should have requested his file. She should have listened to her… her intuition. She should have told Booth everything. His gut-feelingwould have told him something was off, and she would have listened. Because the truth was, she always sought evidence to confirm what her partner guessed. He was never far off.
"And then what d'ya think? I'm in the freakin' shower and your mighty-annoying cell phone rings. All the sudden you want to go for a walk. Don't insult my intelligence by tellin' me you thought you had me tricked. Why the heck would a lab call to announce they're not finished yet? Yeah, yeah, yeah. So when your phone is unguarded for the briefest of moments, finally, I take a peek and guess what I see? You've been callin' that FBI-guy of yours. I figured, if it was the fed-guy calling, and you went out, wanting privacy, what else would ya been talkin' about but me, huh?"
Would they make sure her grave was next to her mother's? Would her dad be allowed to attend her funeral? How would her friends cope?
Jesus, Brennan, you're not even dead. Come on! You still have a chance. You can still fight. Don't surrender. Don't abandon your friends… your family. You can do this... you can at least try. You have nothing to lose now. You don't want to die without putting up a fight, do you?
She swallowed hard and started pushing her emotions, her fear, far away from her head. She needed to get a good view of the situation at hand, needed to observe Cummings. Maybe he would subconsciously show or tell her something she could use in her defence. Booth. Think like Booth. What could she tell from Cummings' body language, the tone of his voice?
"By this time I can see that there's a good chance you're onto me and my game-playin', so I decide not to let your bossy, stuck-up anthropologist-behind out of my sight. And damn right I was, for when I lie awake on my couch, merely pretending to be asleep, I hear little mouse-feet. In the state-of-mind that I was, I figured the mice would be asleep before you, and ya must be planning on trouble. I follow you, clever guy that I am, right? And see ya waitin' for the devil knows what, and I realise your little plan."
Ah. He was getting overjoyed with himself, he presumed victory was his. Overly confident. That could be a weakness. He obviously didn't expect her to put up a fight anymore. Good. She would let him think that for another while.
"Yeah yeah, but unprepared I wasn't, oh no. Chloroform's a boy's best friend. Yeah. I know you fight. You're a fighter, I get that; looking the way you do, the guys must be waiting in every alley for a chance to snatch you away and have a little fun. But of course, I did take into account that you're a fighter, like I said, and drugged you. See, this doesn't mean I'm a coward, it simplymeans I'm smart. Damn right I am. You're here, right? I got you again. Got you twice now, won't let ya get away this time. It's time for you to accept your defeat, sweetheart."
The tone of his voice. A slightly higher pitch. He was getting emotional. Not sad-emotional, but his heart was currently stronger than his head. Also good.
Would she be able to catch him off-guard? Would she be able to survive? Booth's face came out of nowhere in her mind, smiling at her, nodding his head proudly. Encouraging her. Yeah. She could do this. She could at least try.
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A/N: And? Is Cummings' side of the story clear now? We honestly don't mean to leave you with a cliffhanger, but we had to end the chapter here. To make it up to you, we promise that you'll be able to sleep soundly after reading the end of next week's chapter. Speaking of which, we do plan to have you biting your nails and on the edge of your seats evil laugh. How will Brennan escape this time? We leave it up to you to guess until next Sunday. Have a good week everyone!