This is a reminder that this story is rated T for a reason. Be aware that this chapter may make you uncomfortable.

I don't own Bones.

Ooooooooooooooooooo

The last two weeks had been very eventful. Jeffrey Combs had died at City Hospital in Martinsburg, West Virginia. He had refused to admit he'd done anything wrong until the last few days of his life. When he'd finally realized that he probably was going to leave the hospital in a body bag he had the FBI agent who was detailed to watch him call Booth and ask him to come see him.

Driving up to Martinsburg, Lester had been cheerful and talking non-stop until Booth had finally reached his boiling point. "For the love of God, Lester, shut up for awhile."

Startled, Lester glanced over at Booth and then back at the road. "What's wrong with you? That bastard Combs is dying and he wants to confess. I don't know what you're so upset about."

Dreading the thought of being in the room with Combs, Booth responded, "Because the guy is dying and I have to talk to him. He may be a bastard and he may deserve what he gets, but he isn't going easy. Have you actually ever seen someone die? It's not roses and angels you know especially the way he's going."

Shrugging his shoulders, Lester remarked, "I was a Ranger, Booth. Of course I've seen guys die . . . If you want me to be sad because Combs is dying then forget it. I'm not sad. I'm happy. I'm delirious."

Staring at the scenery passing by, Booth cleared his throat. "I've seen plenty of guys die. I don't really need another face in my dreams at night."

Not sure what to say, Lester remained quiet for the rest of the trip to Martinsburg.

Oooooooooooooooooooooo

Walking into the hospital room, Lester felt his stomach heave. Shocked at the smell permeating the room, the agent looked at Combs and then at Booth. The stench was so bad, Lester knew he'd never smelled anything that bad before.

Booth, watching Lester's face, dryly commented, "Told you."

Taking small breaths, Lester stayed near the door while Booth stepped closer to the bed. Looking down at Combs' waxen face, Booth cleared his throat. "Okay, Combs. I'm here. What do you want?"

Combs, opening his eyes slowly, turned his head and stared at Booth. "You win."

Annoyed, Booth shook his head. "I win what?"

Laughing softly, Combs coughed. "If you go to my house and down in to the basemen . . . go to the north wall and move the bookcase. It's a door to my trophy room. I figure I'm not going to make it and I want the world to see what a bass ass I was. Shit, after they find out what I did, I'll make Ted Bundy look like a damn amateur."

Appalled at the man's ego, Booth ground his teeth. Finally able to speak, he asked the murderer, "That's what you want . . . fame?"

His eyes glassy with pain, Combs trembled and finally closed his eyes. "Yep. I want books written about me. I want the world to be afraid of me. I'll be famous."

Disgusted with Combs' motive, Booth shook with rage. "You'll be dead you asshole. No one will be afraid of you. They'll just shake their heads and call you a damn loser or a psycho."

With thought's of movies being made about him, Combs sighed with pleasure. "It's still fame Agent Booth. I'll still be famous. I was going to wait until I was old and write a book about what I did. I guess someone else will have to write it for me."

Outraged that such a man would not stand trial, Booth turned to leave. Pausing at the door, Booth turned back and flared his nostrils. "I hope you enjoy your stay in Hell, Combs. There's a special place there for people just like you."

Following Booth out of the room, Lester heard Combs laugh.

Ooooooooooooooooooooo

Booth had sent FBI techs to Combs' house. He'd also arranged for Hodgins to help his FBI techs. He knew that Hodgins loved stuff like that and that he would be in seventh heaven.

Tired but eager to wrap up his case, Booth had gone to Combs' house a couple of times to make sure that the trophy room was being dismantled properly, but he had been happy to let his techs do all of the heavy lifting. The pictures they had taken of the room and the trophies had been a little unnerving to look at, but Booth had studied each one. Once the trophies had been counted, it was determined that Combs was responsible for the deaths of 18 young ladies in Virginia, West Virginia and Maryland.

Staring at the picture of one of the victims, Hodgins remarked to Marcus, "Thank God Louise stopped that bastard."

Marcus, packing up some of the pictures that had been taped to the walls, replied, "Yeah. She was pretty brave. I wish she had managed to kill him and then walked away though. I would have liked to have shook her hand."

Nodding his head, Hodgins responded, "You can sort of still do that. Her funeral is going to be held in two days. I'm going to go. Do you want to go with me and Angela?"

Marcus thought it over and smiled. "Thanks, I sure would."

Oooooooooooooooooo

Booth, Brennan, Lester and Brian attended Louise's funeral. Her parents had been proud that their daughter had stopped a serial killer. They would have preferred that Louise had never met Jeffrey Combs, but she had died a hero and her parents could at least be proud of that.

Hodgins and Angela along with Marcus had also attended the funeral. They had wanted to show their respect to Louise. Hodgins had observed the very sad faces of Booth and Lester and knew that they had been the ones that had to deal with Combs. Hodgins was grateful that he didn't have to interact with cold hearted criminals. He wasn't sure that he could do that and maintain his humanity. After cases like this one, Hodgins realized that Booth might have a reason for being the way he was. He had to deal with the horrors that man did to each other and there was no way that Booth could walk away from all of that unaffected.

Ooooooooooooooooooo

So what did you think of my case? My story isn't over quite yet. Stay tuned.