Author's Note:
Gah! Another chapter! Can it be? Yes, well, it is. =D I can't apologize enough for taking so long, but it's been a busy few weeks. From here on out, though, it's not going to be so long between updates. I promise. lol
Oh, and thanks to all of you who voted for this story in the 2009 Fanfic awards! I was very, very flattered. It made my weekend, you have no idea.
Many thanks to Lily, who caught a TON of mistakes in this before I posted it. Be sure to thank her, because otherwise this chapter wouldn't have been worth reading. lol
Chapter Twenty-Five
"All Together Now"
Turning my key in the lock is probably the one of the hardest things I've ever forced myself to do. I know what's waiting for me on the other side of the door, but that only makes it worse. There are some times that I firmly believe ignorance is bliss, but cowering in my hallway isn't going to make the miserable wasteland on the other side of my front door disappear. Knowing what waits for me is the worst part, the rest can only get easier. I turn the key and the sound of the lock sliding back is the only thing I can hear in the otherwise deserted hallway. I swing the door open and I'm greeted by the coppery smell of the blood that's congealed on my floors and walls. Nausea creeps up on me and almost doubles me over, but I grit my teeth and walk inside.
It's not hard these days to get a rise out of me, but I guess it must be easier than I thought it would be. My knees are almost shaking as I walk through the carnage, and the breaths I take are labored. I stare at the photos one by one and my hate for this monster grows exponentially until it's something I've never convinced myself I was capable of feeling for another human being. I step around the pools of blood and push the crime scene pictures out of my way as I walk, knowing the images there better than I should. I see the outline of Frankie's body on my carpet and my eyes burn with tears that I refuse to let fall.
My bathroom, though, is what breaks the dam. I can't handle seeing the crusted blood on the white porcelain of my bathtub or the straight razor that's lying in the bottom of it. There's rope, I know, but I don't care. I'm not interested in sticking around any longer than I absolutely have to, and I know that Flack is going to get a call sooner rather than later. I can't do this alone.
"Flack," he answers on the third ring and I sigh in relief.
"Hey, it's me. I need a favor."
"Name it."
"I need you to come to my apartment," I say and take a long breath, letting it out slowly. "Come alone, and leave your temper at the door."
"I really, really don't like the sound of that," he says reluctantly. "What's going on, Stel? What's happened?"
"It's a really long story that I don't feel like going into right now, but I need you to meet me."
"But you're okay?"
"Okay is a bit relative right now," I say sarcastically and then realize that if I keep up the dry humor he's going to come barging through my front door with his gun drawn. The idea isn't nearly so appealing when it's my trigger-happy best friend as opposed to the cool and collected Mac Taylor, who is currently out buying us breakfast. I know I need to get back to him, so I thoroughly intend to leave Flack the hard stuff.
"No, listen, I'm fine," I correct, deciding to have mercy on his nerves, "But I really do need you here. Would you mind swinging by?"
"Yeah, give me a few."
With that I snap my phone shut and listen to the harsh echo that tears out into the still room. I barely have time to draw a breath before realizing that I should call Mac and let him know where I am. If he comes home and doesn't find the note I left him he'll lose his mind, and I would really rather prevent that. It rings for almost a minute before I hear the click of his phone being answered. I expect to hear his gruff voice berating me for not being patient, but I should know better than that by now. Instead I hear a voice that I don't recognize, faint and frightened over the other end of the line.
"Hello?" it asks, breathless against the mouthpiece. "Is anyone there?"
"Who is this?" I ask in reply. I look at the name on my screen and my heart takes a strong leap into my throat. "Mac?"
"They took him," the voice says and I hear a slight tremor. "They took Mac."
"Who took him?" I ask, suddenly ignorant of the vandalism of my apartment and pacing along the floor. The voice sounds young and male, but I don't recognize it.
"I don't know," he replies, "But they put us in the freezer. We can't get out."
"Where are you?" I say, reaching for my keys without a second thought. He gives me an address just a few blocks away from Mac's apartment, and I don't like that all this happened while I was still sleeping less than a mile away. I get his name and tell him to hold on just a few moments longer, until I can get to him. I tentatively disconnect the call, needing to call Flack and have him meet me. I need to change clothes, and I need to call for help. I need an ambulance to meet me at the address the boy gave me. I'm frozen in time while the world is still moving around me, the sounds and images blurring until I feel lost in the chaos. It's still too hard for me to find my place, but I know that's exactly what I have to do. Who has him? Is this Raphael? Of course he's the most logical solution, but I can't be sure. I have no idea where he would be keeping him, even if I am sure that it's Raphael who's responsible. I don't know where to start.
Normally strategizing isn't my strong suit, but now that's exactly what I have to do. I think of Mac, wherever he is, and wish I could plan eight hundred steps in the future like he seems to do. He always seems to know what to do and how to act, and in this exact moment I envy that of him. It's now painfully obvious that I'm only Stella Bonasera, the sometimes reckless and deeply impulsive leader of a team of NYPD's finest. I feel entirely ill-equipped to deal with the cards handed to me, but I don't have the luxury of a do-over. Steadying myself by clenching my fists and taking a long breath, I stand in the middle of my living room and make a plan of action.
"I'm going to call Flack," I say, tapping my fingernails against the case of my cell phone, "I'm going to tell him to meet me with an ambulance at the store to find out where Mac is. I'm going to get dressed, and I'm going to find him."
I stare down at the blood on my floor and my plan is suddenly less comforting. This time, when I speak out loud, I do so with more determination.
"I am going to find him."
Ten minutes later I'm out the door, phone in hand. Flack has agreed to meet me near Mac's apartment to talk to the boy who called me a few minutes ago. I've tried calling back, but the call wouldn't reach. I've ordered an ambulance to meet us, too, just in case they've spent too much time in the cold temperatures. On a whim I asked Flack to convene the rest of the team at my apartment, where I'll owe them the explanation of a lifetime. With Mac gone and Raphael behind it all, it's painfully obvious that I can no longer act without them. I'll need their help to put an end to this nightmare, and now I can only hope that they'll be willing to give it.
The street alongside the store is crowded with cars and one awkward ambulance, but the cab driver I've temporarily employed is persistent in getting around the obstacles and dropping me off precisely where I've asked. I hand him a stack of bills and them climb out without bothering with my change, finding a distraught woman fawning over two men in the back of an ambulance. Judging by their ages, the youngest is probably the one that called me. They're shivering under blankets and talking to Flack, but they all seem okay. I rush over to them and speak breathlessly, finding much more pent-up energy in myself than I'd expected.
"Are you the one I just talked to on the phone?" I ask the younger boy, who quickly nods his head. "Why do you have Mac's phone?"
"He s-s-snuck it to m-me before h-he locked us in the f-f-freezer," he stutters, meeting my eyes.
"Mac locked you in the freezer?"
"No, the other man did," the older man interjected, "Mac gave Charlie the phone so he could call help, but we couldn't get a call out. Yours must have come through at just the right second."
"Lucky for you guys," Flack comments, looking over at me. "What did this other guy look like?"
"A few inches under six feet," the man replies, "Dark hair, dark skin. I'd say he looked Italian, but who doesn't in this town?"
Flack scoffs. "You're telling me."
"His eyes w-w-were dark, too," the boy says, "But not like a c-color. It's like he s-saw everything and n-n-nothing all at once." He shivers again, and holds the blanket tighter around his narrow shoulders. "It really freaked me out."
I swallow hard. I know now that there's no one else it could be.
"Do you know where they went?"
"Out into the back alley," Flack answers, nodding his head in the intended direction, "But there's nothing there. Maybe some tire tracks, but those could be from just about anyone."
"That can't be all there is," I say incredulously, "There has to be more than that for us to go on."
"No," he replies solemnly, "I'm sorry Stel."
I walk into the street, hands fisted in my hair, and I hear Flack excusing himself to the two people in the back of the ambulance. Not long after that I hear his quick footsteps behind me, and then I feel his hands on my shoulders.
"What happened, Flack?" I ask softly. "What could have happened to him?"
"According to the kid, he was in picking up a few things when this other guy locks them inside and starts talking," he says, "It sounded like they knew each other, but Mac said they'd never met. They talk for a few minutes about nothing the kid understood, and then they talked about you." My head jerks in his direction, and he nods grimly. "They talked about a cop named Stella."
"What?" I stammer. "He said cop?"
"Yeah," Flack replies softly. "The kid said the other guy was talking about knowing everything."
"Oh, my God," I gasp, feeling the walls closing in faster than I can push them away. "He's been playing me this entire time." I look up at him, and he's watching me like he's waiting for me to break down. Honestly, I'm not too far off. "The phone calls, the break-ins at my apartment… the murder in the alley that night at the restaurant."
"Break-ins?" he asks suddenly. "What break-ins?"
"I'd convinced myself it was all in my imagination," I say softly. "Now I know better."
"That wasn't it, Stella," he says reluctantly, and somehow I get the feeling that I haven't heard the worst of it.
"What else could there be?" I ask.
"The kid said he kept talking about this cop, and how she was going to have to choose between him and Mac."
"Choose?" I ask, horrified. "What the hell does he mean?"
"I don't think I want to know," he says anxiously.
"Something tells me we won't have a choice."
-----
Back at my apartment, I hear the commotion before I get close enough to see anything. Flack isn't with me this time, but I know that there's a room full of people just a feet away who are all going to be demanding explanations. I lean against the wall just outside the door, as yet unwilling to propel myself through it. I hear Danny's loud cursing and semi-empty threats against the person who did this to me, and I hear Hawkes quietly posing theories. Lindsay sighs tiredly, and wonders aloud how I'm doing.
Not good, Lindsay, I think dejectedly. Not good.
Finally I walk through the door and all motion stops as they realize that I've joined them. Lindsay is kneeling down and tucking all the pictures into a paper folder that she'll later log into evidence, and it's not hard to notice the sympathy on her face. Danny's mouth is set in a grim line but his eyes are cool and direct, telling me without words that he's ready to start swinging as soon as I sound the bell. A few feet away is Hawkes, observing me with his warm doctor's eyes. Angell is here, too, watching over the rest of the group. Her hands are on her hips and her eyes are alert, surveying the damage. I appreciate them all more than I can say for being here, and I don't know exactly how to begin what I need to tell them. No words come as they all stare on, and I'm not sure what to do until Lindsay stands from the floor and walks directly over to me. I start to cast my eyes down, ashamed of keeping all this from one of the people I consider a close friend, but then her arms go around my neck in a fierce hug and I can't help but return it.
"Are you alright?" she asks against my ear.
"Yeah," I lie. "I'm fine."
She pulls away and gives me a wan smile that tells me there's no doubt in her mind that I'm not doing nearly as well as I proclaim. I tentatively meet the gazes of Angell, Danny, and Hawkes and find them all just as sympathetic. Something tells me that I should have told them everything from the beginning, and that I may have compromised all their trust in me out of silly pride.
"I'm sure you're all wondering what this is," I start, my voice even and slow. "I wish to God that I'd felt I could tell you before now, but for some reason I didn't. I'm sorry, but it's the way things turned out."
"Who did this, Stella?" Danny asks heatedly. "We want to get the son of a bitch."
I smile at his fervor, and try to keep the tears I feel building out of my voice.
"His name is Raphael Benevuto," I start, finding that it's easier to tell them than I thought. "I've been working undercover to catch him for the last few weeks. He killed James Corelli, and it's his fingerprints that were on the murder weapon."
"Undercover?" Hawkes asks, "For the NYPD?"
"Unofficially," I reply. "Some of his cases come back to us, but I've been working with a member of the Marine military police."
"Taylor," Danny supplies, fitting the pieces together.
"That's right. We've been getting closer to Raphael for weeks now, but now Mac's gone missing," I tell them. "I have every reason to believe that it's Raphael who has him, but we're not sure. He's our best lead at the moment… our only lead."
"What can we do?" Angell asks sternly. "Name it."
"I don't know where to start," I say, frustrated and I know it's the truth. "None of the evidence you get here will lead you back to him. He'll have sent one of his lackeys to do it for him, and he'll have a solid alibi. He's gotten too good at getting away with terrorizing people."
"Then what else is there?" Lindsay asks, "We don't even have enough to get a warrant against him. Could we question him?"
"He'd lawyer up faster than we could get him to talk," I reply, imagining him laughing at me through the two-way glass of our interrogation rooms. The vision makes me sick.
"I could bring him in for one of the other cases," Angell offers. "With a history like his, it wouldn't be hard to find something."
"No," I agreed, "It wouldn't."
"So what do we do?" Danny asks. "Just tell me where to go and I'm there."
"I have an idea," I say before realizing that I've barely thought it out. "But I'm not sure if it would work. I'd rather go alone, just in case it doesn't."
"Are you out of your mind, Stella?" Angell cries suddenly, taking the rest of us by surprise. "If you think a plan might not work, you take back-up. End of story. You don't go there alone and hope everything works out for the best. That's ridiculous."
"I don't want anyone else to get hurt," I say vehemently. "This is my mistake. No one else is going to pay for it."
"I'm not letting you go alone," Angell tells me and I see for just a second why she and Flack get along so well. They're both stubborn to a fault.
"I don't need your permission," I say, meeting her gaze head-on.
"I'll go with you," Lindsay interrupts and I see Danny open his mouth in rebuttal before quickly closing it. I start to turn her down, but something in her eyes stops me. "Please, let me. Danny and Sheldon are going to be busy enough cleaning this place up. Jess and I can make sure nothing else goes wrong."
"We'll all feel better if someone's with you," Hawkes says quietly, always the voice of calm reason. "And I'm sure Flack would too, as he's not here to speak up for himself."
"Don would be yelling and locking her up," Angell interjects, "Not figuring out who's going with her."
"In any case," Hawkes continues, "You need back-up, Stella. End of story."
"Okay," I say, looking over all their concerned faces. I realize that if it was anyone else on this team, I'd be just as adamant over their safety. "Okay."
"I'll go with Stella," Lindsay says, looking at Angell. "We'll go in her car, and you can hang back in case something happens and we need you."
Angell nods.
"Deal."
"I guess the good doctor and I will hold down the fort, so to speak," Danny observes and I spare him a smile. "Oh, no, don't feel sorry for me. There's dignity in hanging back."
"You just keep telling yourself that," Angell comments and Hawkes laughs.
We take a moment for Lindsay to collect her things and hand them to Danny, and then we're out the door, headed down to my car. My revolver is at my hip and Angell gives Lindsay her spare, just in case. Lindsay and I take the lead, and Angell is close behind in an unmarked sedan. The load is just as crowded as it always is, and the tension is palpable as we weave in and out of the unassuming traffic. I can't help the heavy thumping of my heart, and I think Lindsay knows it. Raphael's house is almost an hour away, and there's a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach that tells me we don't have much time to lose.
A/N: I wanted Angell to have a bigger part in the end of this story, partly in tribute because I'm very upset that they've killed her. =( I'm sad, and trying not to lose my ever-loving mind over the finale. Gah! I love finales, and yet I hate them. This means we have to wait until effing September to find out what happens. Am I wrong?