Chapter 10: Stand Your Ground
For the first time in years, Gabe dreamed of the church.
Dream was too nice of a word for it, but nightmare was too harsh. The distorted, jumbled images of a cool, quiet building and endless rows of dark pews were unsettling at worst and hadn't truly scared him in a long time. He'd visited the place too much in real life to feel fear within it.
Gabe watched the sequence play out like a horribly edited video before him, jumping back and forth between different areas of the church until he came to stop just before the pulpit, right in front of the roughly hewn wooden cross hanging high up on the far wall. It was a small church, old and worn, and looked exactly like the sort of place people would leave an unwanted baby like him on a cold night.
Something was different though.
Gabe stood there for a second, trying to place what felt wrong. Was the moonlight pouring in through the stained windows too strong? Was it supposed to be this warm?
Fire flickered out of the corner of his eye, and Gabe turned to look over at the candles that sat on a long table to the left. All of them save for a few were lit, and the last few were being lit by a boy of about 11 with floppy hair and flannel sleeves so long that they threatened to catch on fire.
The candles had never been lit before, and there had never been a boy lighting them.
"You should light one," the boy said, voice soft and tremulous. Gabe couldn't make out any of his facial features since his head was bowed, but his hands were nimble and quick as they lit candle after candle, "Lighting candles with a friend is a good way to keep the dark at bay."
"You're my friend?" Gabe asked before he could stop himself.
A few flames danced wildly as the boy huffed out a quiet laugh over them.
"I get it. I don't have many friends either," he replied, seeming to deliberate between which candle to light out of the few that remained, "But you shouldn't be so disbelieving. You're not unlovable, and I'm no sinner."
Gabe shivered at the matter-of-fact tone the strange boy had spoken in. It sounded as if he'd been called a sinner many times, but who would call an innocent boy that?
"Who called you a sinner?"
"God," the boy said, still not looking up at him, before laughing. The giggle seemed too loud and out of place in the still church, but then, Gabe never really thought about the sanctity of this place much in his dreams, "Or rather, the people involved in these sorts of places."
He gestured to their otherwise empty surroundings with a lit match, twirling the flame in a circle too deft for a child to do before putting it out.
"They'd consider me a sinner for the things I can do."
The boy looked up, gesturing for him to come closer with a match in his hand. Flames illuminated his youthful face in harsh shadows and orange light, making it hard to pinpoint what was now so familiar about him. The distortion didn't lessen the easy sense of companionship between them, and it didn't twist the soft smile on his face.
Gabe stepped closer, hoping he could solve the mystery, and took the match the boy offered him.
"What sort of things can you do?" he asked, dipping the match into a nearby flame and stealing a sliver of fire for himself. His voice was calm with the unquestioning acceptance of strangeness that dreams brought.
"Oh, all sorts of things," the boy said nonchalantly, sliding over a bit so Gabe could stand in front of the unlit candles, "I fall asleep and see all the things that could come to be in my dreams. I see fire and blood, the dark and the monsters it holds."
"That sounds rough," Gabe said for lack of anything better to say. The moonlight was beginning to wan, flickering in and out as clouds passed through.
"It is. It's not my fault that I have them, but it happens anyway, and it's not all bad. Sometimes I see love. People aren't all bad," the boy said, toeing the floor with a worn sneaker, "You should hurry and light your candles before the dark comes."
Gabe had never been in the church when it was completely dark. The moon had always provided enough light to comfortably see by, but that had been where everything was all cut up and ordered illogically in the dream sequence. This time around, nothing was as it should be, and he had a feeling he should do as the boy said.
There were three candles left. Gabe held his match over the first, and outside, the moonlight momentarily strengthened before dimming again.
"Are you going to tell me your name?" he asked as he grabbed another match (the one he'd had dwindled too far down).
"No. You know who I am."
"I really don't," Gabe confessed as he lit the new match, "You do look familiar, but I can't really come up with a name. Sorry, kiddo."
"It's the dark," the boy said understandingly, not seeming to be hurt by Gabe's lack of knowledge regarding his identity, "Light the candles, and they'll lead the way back."
"Back where?"
The boy shrugged, making a vague hand gesture that made his sleeve flop comically.
"Just…back."
"You're a paragon of wisdom. Thank you for explaining things so concisely," Gabe snapped before frowning, "How do I even know the word paragon?"
"You probably picked it up from me," the boy remarked, tilting his head before looking up at the cross on the wall, "Strange, that you've visited this place so much. I never visited my tree."
That made warning bells ring in his head, but all Gabe could do while he was seized by the dream-like calm was light the second candle. The boy was right about the dark; it was creeping into the church, swamping the moonlight and stretching the shadows inward with every second it could greedily snatch from them.
"What does it matter how many times I've revisited this church?" he asked, quickly moving his match towards the last unlit candle.
"Because revisiting the past always hurts," the boy said, smiling just as the last candle was lit.
The smile hit Gabe like a freight train because he knew that smile. It was the fledgling version of the crooked grin he loved seeing so much from…
"Sam?"
…
Gabe gasped awake, sitting up so fast that his vision swam, blurring everything before him.
"Holy crap," he muttered, rubbing the sides of his face before raking his fingers through his hair. A cold sweat stuck to his skin and his heart raced from the intensity of the dream, even if he couldn't remember much of it. All he could recall was lighting candles with someone that he thought was Sam in the church he'd been left in as a kid.
That's just screwed up in all sorts of ways, he thought, flopping back onto his mattress and breathing deeply to get his heart under control.
He couldn't say he was too surprised though. After what Sam had told him yesterday, it only seemed logical that his subconscious would respond with something so bizarre.
A white-hot flare of anger lit up the inside of his chest just thinking about what Sam had revealed. Hearing Lisa's suspicions and forming his own hypotheses from what he'd seen while getting to know Sam was one thing, but to hear the sheer extent of Sam's messed up childhood…
The pillow smacked against the far wall before Gabe consciously realized he'd thrown it, bringing down an art print he'd bought solely to keep up appearances. He couldn't say he was sorry about the destruction though; not when it helped him cope a little.
Gabe knew life was unfair. Hell, he had intimate knowledge of the concept, but he still had the right to rage at the injustice of it all when someone so good and kind like Sam had been dealt such a shit hand at life.
He exhaled harshly, the sound loud in his largely empty apartment. The clean white atmosphere had never bothered him before, but ever since he'd brought Sam here, the place felt like a mausoleum when he was by himself.
"That's called being clingy," Gabe muttered to himself, but the words felt like a lie as soon as he'd said them.
He wasn't mad that he was getting closer to Sam, but the thing he was developing with him was something he'd never experienced before, and it quite frankly scared the crap out of him.
He'd never exposed so much of himself to someone before and didn't think he'd ever placed so much trust in a single person before. The people that were supposed to take care of him were apathetic at best, and cruel at worst, with only a few memorable moments where they'd proven themselves worthy of any sort of trust scattered far in between. And screw liking any of them; as a foster kid, he'd learned quickly how to form and detach bonds at will, his feelings ever-evolving and nebulous so they could accompany him whenever he moved.
Trust was a fragile thing for Gabe. Hard to earn, easy to break. But he'd placed a bit in Sam, and then more and more until the trust was unquestionable and unfaltering. Sam had done the same along the way, and now here they were, bound together by that trust and their messy pasts and the violence of the present and the uncertain, but possibly shared future they could have together.
Gabe wanted that future with Sam (and dammit, he couldn't deny it), but the nature of the path that led there wasn't one he'd ever traveled before. He was familiar with the paths he ran; the ones that took him away from cities and commitment and relationships deeper than casual hookups and professional work camaraderie.
For the first time in what was probably months, leaving Lawrence looked appealing. He could pack up the Beetle quickly; Gabe never unpacked it fully, and he knew what he could take with him and what he couldn't. He'd been here too long anyway. A year was the longest he'd ever been in a city, and the extended time was beginning to show. Things were getting too complicated too quickly, and Sam-
His chest burned so bad at the thought of leaving Sam that Gabe had to physically rub the spot over his heart. The thought was crystal clear in his head, a direct contradiction to everything Gabe ever held true about his nature.
I can't leave him. I just can't.
A large part of his heart was still confident that he could be with Sam and stay in Lawrence. Another part of him wanted to run far, far away, and sever the ties he had before they could grow stronger. It'd hurt because just imagining trying to leave Sam made his chest ache again, but surely, the sooner he left the less of himself he would leave behind.
To stay, or to go. Both desires were equally strong, and both decisions relied on one person.
"Get it together, Milton," Gabe said aloud, slamming a fist down onto the mattress as a sudden wash of frustration ran over him at his own infuriating thoughts, "You're not leaving Sam, and you're not just going to abandon the case."
The traitorous piece of his heart ceased its whining about leaving Lawrence, and Gabe got up with a grim smile. He had work to do.
The shower was hot enough to calm the rest of his awry thoughts, forcing them to settle down as he gulped deep breathes of warm air. Gabe really couldn't afford to explore any of this further, not when The Crucifier was still on the loose and the official people tasked with catching him was about to experience a bureaucratic shakedown that would set them back even further.
Gabe's lip curled distastefully as he performed the rest of his morning's ablutions. He'd worked with the FBI only twice in his career, and both times had left much to be desired. The agency held the view that P.I's were the equivalent of kids playing in sandboxes in the law enforcement world, barely a step above psychics and all he'd gotten from them was scorn and derision. He could only imagine how they'd treat the LPD. The department's reputation had taken a big hit when Yellow Eyes got away twenty years earlier, and they'd never quite recovered.
His phone rang somewhere in the apartment, ringtone muted by the distance. It was audible enough that he could make out 'Heat of the Moment' though.
Gabe threw his hairbrush down in frustration. He couldn't even brush his hair without getting interrupted by potential life or death matters these days.
"I don't know which one of you badass detective ladies are calling, but I don't want to hear it. You disappointed me greatly the other day," Gabe said, wedging the phone between his ear and shoulder as he rewrapped his slipping towel. He was still irked about not being able to sneak into the library, even if he logically knew it wasn't their fault.
"You know I still feel kind of bad about that, Gabe," Donna replied, sounding a little hurt, "But the Chief showed up, and you know how serious that is. You can't blame us forever!"
Gabe's frown softened a bit. It was hard to stay mad at Donna when she sounded like that.
"Jody made you call so I wouldn't immediately hang up, huh?"
There was a pause, and then Donna made a wishy-washy 'hmmm' noise that Gabe rolled his eyes at before walking back to the bathroom.
"What can I say? You two are a predictable duo," he said, feeling a little burst of satisfaction as always at having made a correct mini-deduction, "No less kickass of course, but very predictable."
"You know what happened that one time I played bad cop, Gabe. There's a reason why I'm the bubbly good cop that butters people up, dear!"
A shiver ran down Gabe's spine. He knew the incident Donna was referring too, and he didn't want a repeat of it. In the end, she'd gotten the criminal to crack, but it'd cost the LPD all the furniture in Interrogation Room #4.
"You make a good point," he said hurriedly as she laughed, "What can I do for you?"
"We actually have a chance to talk to Hoffman," Donna explained, "It's one of the last things we can do before the FBI starts reassigning tasks and whatnot. The thing is, Hoffman seems to be really…intimidated by women."
Gabe snorted, but he was already halfway back to his bedroom where his mad scientist whiteboard sat waiting as he responded.
"Well, that's not too much of a surprise, is it? The weird little thing he had with the librarians should've been a big indicator."
"Ugh, I try not to think about that," Donna groaned, "But it's not just women he has an issue with! He's also been giving the cops he gets assigned a hard time too. He doesn't seem to like anyone on the LPD."
There, in the far left middle. At some point, he'd stuck up a picture of Hoffman, as well as a little blurb. Gabe peered at it for a moment, taking in the sharp facial features, dark beady eyes, and baggy sweater vest. Hoffman was a grad student, generally disliked, with no close family and a reputation of being extremely studious.
But there was something else. According to the spidery cursive that most certainly wasn't his beneath the picture, he was also "a pretentious asshole."
"Huh," he muttered with a small smile, "When had Sam gotten around to doing that?"
"What was that dear?"
"Nothing," Gabe said smoothly, straightening up and running a hair through his still-damp hair, "Hoffman doesn't seem like he should be a hard nut to crack."
"Exactly! But he is, and it's a conundrum," Donna said, "It's clear he knows of something that might've made him a target, or at the very least has an idea of what it might be, but for whatever reason, he won't say."
Gabe took one last look at the photo he had. Hoffman's nose was turned up, giving off a sense of pretentiousness. In short, he looked if his most notable personality trait was petulancy. He should've cracked within 24 hours of being the LPD's new focus, but instead, he was being difficult.
Appearances can be deceiving. Just because he looks like a coward doesn't mean he can't make one final stand to guard his secrets, Battle of the Alamo style.
He wondered if Sam would've made that sort of stand with the secret he'd revealed yesterday, or if he could in the future with the others Gabe knew he harbored.
"And no one's been able to crack him?" he asked, not liking the direction his train of thought was taking him at all. He and Sam had too much trust in each other for Sam to do something like that. Right?
A sliver of unease began to take root in Gabe's mind. Sam had been incredibly forthcoming yesterday (which he was still secretly proud of), but what if he had a secret that he somehow felt was worse than that and had to be guarded at all costs? Something like the special vision he suspected he had, or maybe even something beyond that.
"Not even the FBI."
Luckily, Gabe was curious to a fault, and so his insatiable need to know overcame his quickly spiraling thoughts regarding secrets.
"The FBI tried to talk to him?"
Donna hummed, "And they failed. They've even threatened him with obstruction of justice, and he still hasn't given in. I'd almost be impressed if the situation wasn't so dire."
Gabe rubbed his face contemplatively. Resisting the LPD's attempts was one thing, but the FBI?
"What makes you think I'll be able to get through to him?" he asked, now realizing why she'd called.
There was a mumbled voice, and then Donna snapped, "Well, why don't you tell him that?" before handing the phone off.
"Gabe, to be quite frank with you, you're our last hope," Jody said, voice so rough that Gabe could practically hear the sleepless nights and dark undereye circles, "We know you've got a knack for persuasion, and I really don't care what anyone says at this point about you being on or off the case."
He was so used to hearing 'Milton' from Jody that hearing his first name, much less his standard nickname, caught him off guard.
"Are you sure about that, Jody? How will I get to him without being noticed?" he asked, weakly grasping at straws that he didn't really want to get ahold of.
"Don't worry about that. We'll handle it," she said cryptically, "Will you do it?"
Gabe didn't have to think it over very much. It had been a long time since he'd interviewed (or interrogated; this wasn't exactly a delicate witness he was dealing with here) someone that sounded so hard to unravel, and he was chomping at the bit for something that would let him feel as if he was actually taking a leap forward in the case instead of a baby step.
And if he would make for a good distraction from the white-hot anger that he felt towards how Sam had been raised and the itch to leave Lawrence, then that was just an added bonus.
"Count me in."
…
The LPD was waiting for Gabe when he arrived.
He picked out Jody, Donna, Garth, Zeke, and a handful of beat cops he didn't know all loitering in the most pathetic strip of dry grass that made up the tiny yard. Said yard was attached to an equally pathetic looking apartment complex crammed between two higher buildings, but the depressing visage was nothing new to Gabe, who was familiar with these sorts of places. This was a building that catered to students that didn't want to live in the official dorms, and as such didn't pay much attention to the things that their residents didn't care about.
Gabe approached cautiously, unsure of the type of welcome he would receive. Jody had said she would handle it, but there seemed to be many more cops here than a simple watch duty necessitated for a single person. Had the department learned of his presence? Or was this just overkill protection because of The Crucifier?
It'll be really embarrassing to have to scurry back home with my tail between my legs.
Garth spotted him first, raising his coffee cup in greeting as he beamed.
"Ah, there he is! The man of the hour!"
Heads turned to look at him, and none of them held hostile looks. Gabe breathed a silent sigh of relief before spreading his hands and grinning for the crowd. This was his workplace; the officers and detectives that made up the force, not the physical LPD headquarters downtown.
"I was told I could be of assistance, so of course I came! How are the fine ladies and gentlemen of the badge doing today?"
A chorus of various answers rose up, forming a general consensus of 'so-so'. Donna and Garth both one arm hugged him, dragging him forward into the cluster of officers.
"Glad to see you can be punctual, Milton," Jody said wryly in greeting.
"I can be punctual when the situation calls for it," he sniffed.
"So rarely ever?"
"Less grouchy greetings and more cordiality you two," Zeke suggested before Gabe could fire a retort back, "I think some of the younger ones are fearful you'll tear each other's heads off."
"As if," Jody scoffed as Gabe rolled his eyes, but they both held their tongues. Some of the fresh-faced cops did look a little wary of them, and while their less than typical work dynamic was semi well known in the department, the beat cops wouldn't be as aware of how they rolled.
"So, who came up with this little shindig?" Gabe asked, gesturing to the group. "There's no way all of you are assigned to watch over Hoffman."
He gaped at the nods he received because surprisingly, they were. Thinking of the possibility was one thing, but learning that the LPD had actually gone through with such an insane concept?
"There's always six people on the grounds at any given point," one of the young beat cops explained, "One with him, one outside his door, two at the main apartment doors, and two plainclothes officers loitering around the block. We're about to switch off, which is why there's so many of us here right now."
"And that's just the foot patrol," someone else remarked, "There's always a car parked on the block now, and the five-block radius around this building is also heavily patrolled."
"All that for one person?"
Jody nodded grimly, "As of now, the best operating theory we have is that The Crucifier will come after Hoffman in the immediate future, and the LPD should be there to intercept him."
Gabe ran a hand over his face, exhaling hard through his nose. It was a solid theory that he couldn't refute, mainly because he too believed that Hoffman was next, but the heavy-handed execution…the LPD was really banking on this theory working out by putting so much manpower behind it, and the fallout wouldn't be pretty if it fell through in any way.
"There aren't any other viable theories? Any evidence, or leads? Anything?" Gabe asked. He had to admit, he'd been gradually falling out of the communications loop ever since he'd been officially kicked off the case due to working with Sam, but surely they had come up with something on their own!
Judging by the assorted winces, toe scuffing, and neck scratching, they hadn't had the best luck.
"No forensics, no footage, no strong identifying factors from the few witness testimonies we have," Jody said, raking a hand through her cropped hair. The move was so uncharacteristic that Gabe thought he'd imagined her doing it before she repeated the motion again, "This guy is the definition of a phantom."
"Well, what about the taskforce?" Gabe asked. He was starting to get the feeling he was talking to a class that had utterly failed to prepare for the test at hand.
Donna winced, and a few people muttered darkly under their breaths.
"They've mostly just come up with a profile," she explained, "But I don't know how that'll hold up compared to the FBI's since we all know they'll just make their own."
Something that sounded suspiciously like "it's horseshit" floated above the mutters, and Gabe held back a laugh as Jody turned her eagle-eye onto the beat cops and quieted them with a single look.
"We do have some smaller leads," Garth interjected optimistically, "Like the graffiti! We've been exploring that as best as we can whenever we do our patrols. Except it all kind of pales in comparison when it's almost a certainty that Hoffman's going to be next."
"Besides, it's Chief's orders," Zeke suddenly said, his raspy voice quieting the others as he spoke. As one of the older cops there and a well-respected figure himself, he naturally drew their attention, "He listened to the taskforce's ideas, and the advice of a few others, and it all led to this."
"Wait, what?"
"I didn't know the task force recommended this!"
"So they're the ones that came up with this crazy shift plan! Why are we the ones guarding Hoffman, and they're nowhere in sight?"
Gabe's eyes bounced back and forth between the various outraged and angry cops. It seemed very few of them had known that the task force had recommended this course of action, and judging by Zeke's face, he'd thought they'd been aware.
Well, this is reminiscent of Bela's style. She always liked to foist the boring duties like long stakeouts to others when she could, so why not here and now?
"I wish they'd kept you on the case."
Gabe turned to face Garth, who was looking at him with woeful puppy dog eyes. He looked lost and confused, reflecting what Gabe realized was the mindset of a lot of these cops. They weren't trained detectives. They were just the little guys that kept the city's cogs going; the literal blue-collar workers of the LPD. None of them knew much about serial killers, but they were expected to somehow catch him when he showed up. Maybe one couldn't, but surely six to eight would do the trick!
The logic was so horrible that Gabe just knew that it had come from higher up on the food chain. Only the desk jockeys would endorse such an idea, and the worst part was that if it hadn't been The Crucifier, the excessive force idea might've worked.
Except we're dealing with the motherfucking Crucifier; the worst thing to hit Lawrence since Yellow Eyes. The LPD is basically hoping that they'll be the unmovable object that finally bests the unstoppable force in this situation.
Gabe suddenly got a bad feeling that the LPD wouldn't come out on top like they were hoping. It churned in the pit of his stomach, close enough to a gut feeling that he couldn't just shake it off as paranoia.
"Enough!"
The sharp clap of Jody's hands brought them back to business, her stern voice leaving no room for argument as she spoke.
"We have our assignments, and we know our duties. Nothing else matters right now. We are members of the LPD, and we will comport ourselves appropriately," she said, dark eyes flashing, "I know that this case has everyone stressed and worried and that there's no clear plan in place, but this isn't a normal, text-book scenario. Serial killers are a different brand of criminal, but that doesn't mean that we can't handle them. I refuse to let this turn out like the last serial killer we had."
Silence fell over the group. Everyone was more or less aware of the basics behind what had happened the last time, and no one wanted a repeat. More was at stake here than just Hoffman's life; the reputation of the LPD hung in the balance alongside the city of Lawrence.
It made Gabe recall what Sam had said the night before about the city's nature. Something about powder kegs, and serial killers being the worst sort of spark that made everything blow up.
I have to somehow make Hoffman realize that there is way more at stake here than the little bubble he's been living in.
"Everyone get to where you need to be. Gabe, Donna, with me," Jody ordered, clearly not needing anyone's opinion as she dismissed everyone.
No one questioned her. Gabe had seen enough of Jody in action to firmly believe that her legendary status in the department was credible. Besides, she had enough experience filled years under her belt that to go against her would be madness.
"Great speech, Jody. You really know how to boost morale amongst the ranks," he remarked, rushing to keep up with her stride as they approached the entrance of the apartment complex.
"It wasn't a speech," she said distractedly as she nodded approvingly at the new officers now beginning their guard shift, "Where's your shadow?"
It took Gabe an embarrassingly long moment to realize what she was referring to, but once he did, he had to fight to keep his cheeks from turning too pink.
"Oh! Uh, Sam's…busy," he said, his mouth for once not providing a suave answer like it usually did.
"Really? It just seems like he's always with you nowadays," Jody remarked as they strode towards the dingy elevator, boot heels clacking against the dull linoleum.
"You guys having relationship trouble?" Donna asked, forehead creased with concern as she fell into stride on Jody's left.
Relationship trouble?
"What-no! No, I don't have relationship-no, Donna," Gabe said, hands waving about before he made an X-motion as he said his final, decisive no.
Donna gave him a strange look, and he felt his face heat up with embarrassment before he took charge of his feelings and stamped them down so they wouldn't show so much. He was getting overly defensive for no reason whatsoever.
It's not really relationship problems if I'm the only one struggling to cope with the definition of our relationship right now, is it?
Gabe huffed out a frustrated breath, letting Jody's mini-rant about the way the patrols were set up wash over him. He liked the way things were progressing with Sam; he was much more receptive and open with him, and instead of meeting him at his level wholeheartedly like he thought he'd be, Gabe was instead feeling doubtful and hesitant. Sam had entrusted a big secret with him, but when the time came, would he be able to do the same?
Maybe it was just the gravity of Sam's past muddling his brain. He had to admit, some of the details that Sam had revealed were more horrifying and heartbreaking than he'd anticipated, and he hadn't exactly had optimistic hypotheses about how Sam's childhood had played out. Some of it even reminded him of his own childhood, like the near nomadic lifestyle and the lack of a strong sense of home.
For a moment, the shabby lobby melted around him, and Gabe thought of the church. The last time he'd physically gone there was almost two years ago, but he could see the worn pews and wooden cross as easily as if he'd gone just yesterday.
Could I tell him about this? About any of it?
"Milton!"
"Still present and aware, Jodinator," he said automatically, even as his mind came back down with a hard crash from the brief daydream he'd slipped into.
Jody's dark eyes appraised him for a second, too sharp for their own good, but before she could say anything, the elevator arrived.
"Took it long enough," she grumbled, and Gabe took the chance to shake his head hard to get all thoughts of churches and homes and roads of his mind.
Now's not the time for any of that, Milton. You got work to do!
The elevator doors slid shut with a shaky, ominous thud. Above them, the bar of fluorescent light flickered and buzzed its way through what sounded like its final hours of life, but Gabe easily put the less than stellar conditions out of his mind as he wedged himself in the back corner to make room for the detectives. He'd been in worse places than this.
"What do you think Hoffman's even hiding?" Gabe asked as they made the slow, torturous ride up.
"No clue, but whatever it is, it's important. Every impression we've gotten whenever we've talked to him is that whatever it is, he's willing to take this secret to his grave." Donna said grimly, her blond hair washed out in the pale lighting.
"You'll have your work cut out for you," Jody added, glancing back at him over her shoulder.
Gabe only nodded and rolled his shoulders, letting out a long, slow breath.
The power of persuasion was a special skill of his, second only to his innate ability to find lost things. Unlike the latter ability though, Gabe had put conscious effort into developing what had once only been a quicksilver tongue that had gotten him out of trouble as a kid. Now, he could soothe traumatized witnesses and carefully work information from them, or he could push every button a suspect had and play them like a fiddle, working the tune from them that he wanted to hear. Words had power, and Gabe was good with them.
It was this skill that let him be a successful nomadic P.I. His reputation for cracking the hardest nuts had preceded him, and many departments took him on simply for his ability to crack the toughest bastards the criminal underworld had to offer. Lawrence had taken him on in the beginning for this, but then they'd kept him on due to the high rate of unsolved cases they believed he could assist with.
The fourth floor smelled stale and, save for the officer standing guard outside of a door near the end of the hall, was empty. He tried to look as intimidating as possible as they approached, but it didn't exactly work considering he looked as if he was fresh out of the academy.
"I thought you were supposed to be inside with Hoffman, Jones?" Jody questioned, looking every bit like the stern senior detective as she crossed her arms and pursed her lips.
Jones gulped hard enough to make his prominent Adam's apple wobble, but his voice was surprisingly steady as he responded.
"I was ma'am, but Hoffman started on a rant about how he was tired of seeing my face, so Bertram and I decided we should switch so he wouldn't lose his cool again."
"Understandable," Jody said after a moment of thought, "You and your partner are dismissed. The shift is switching ahead of schedule."
"Thank you, ma'am," he said, clearly relieved to be gone as he knocked briskly on the door.
The group stepped inside, funneled down a narrow entrance hall that opened up into a small, sparsely decorated living room. Another officer, presumably Bertram, stood in the corner by the sole window, beefy arms crossed, and eyes squinted at Hoffman. Hoffman glared back from his seat on the couch.
"I don't want to talk to anyone else anymore. I already told you I have nothing to say," Hoffman snapped dismissively without looking over at them.
"I feel so welcomed," Gabe said before anyone else could respond, stepping forward slightly and shoving his hands casually into his pockets, "No wonder everyone thinks you're an asshole."
"Gabe!" Donna hissed from behind him, but he could hear Jody muttering at her to stay out of it. Jody had seen him in action like this more than Donna and knew that he had many methods to get what he wanted out of people.
Hoffman looked up at his with startled eyes, clearly caught off guard by the blunt response before his eyes narrowed.
"You-you can't talk to me like that!"
"I can talk to you however I want," Gabe responded, a slow grin spreading across his face, "I'm not a police officer, buckaroo. I'm the guy they call in for people like you."
All he'd needed was one look at Hoffman for him to determine that with him, he'd have to strike hard, fast, and with no mercy. Not only was the guy as problematic as he'd heard, but it was also clear that he believed his secret was safe from the LPD, his confidence appearing in his body language and his face.
Gabe would have to correct that idea.
A flicker of unease appeared on Hoffman's face, but he held firm as he turned his dark scowl at him.
"I don't care who you are, or who you think you are. I'm innocent in all of this."
"Perhaps you are innocent," Gabe remarked, shrugging a bit and strolling forward to put a foot on Hoffman's shitty coffee table and rest an arm on his knee. It was a blatant show of how little he cared for Hoffman in general, and he knew the man got the message when his pointy nose twitched. "Which would mean that The Crucifier, a killer that has exclusively targeted people that have somehow wronged him, has somehow just made a mistake this time around, and has no reason to target you, right?"
Hoffman didn't say anything immediately in response, and despite the cool temperature of the apartment, a bead of sweat ran down his temple.
Nervous already? And here I thought this might be an actual challenge.
Gabe made a contemplative sound before smiling and clapping his hands once.
"In that case, I should just tell the LPD to go home! I know these officers are tired of watching you, and the LPD can only expend so many resources," he said blasely, taking his foot off the table, "They do have a serial killer to catch, you know."
"But he is coming after me!" Hoffman hissed; words sharp with indignant fear. "You guys said so yourself! He broke into my apartment and ransacked the place!"
Gabe moved fluidly, practically materializing in his new seat on the coffee table. Hoffman cringed back from the sudden proximity, but Gabe continued to lean, pinning him with his eyes like a hawk would a mouse.
"And why would he do that?" he asked, voice light and curious to offset his intense gaze. "He took an article of clothing, but he didn't have to tear up the place for that. No…he ransacked the place for something else."
The little fact in the report had slipped him by, but now that he was face to face with Hoffman, it seemed obvious. The trashed state of Hoffman's place didn't match the single sweater vest The Crucifier had taken to put in the library. There wasn't much to trash in the place, which meant he hadn't done it to inspire fear. He'd been looking for something very important that Hoffman had.
And that something is the secret that Hoffman is so desperately hiding.
Something physical, and small enough to steal away. Gabe's mind wanted to run with the possibilities in the same way he liked to run with other things, but he stayed on the coffee table and focused on the suddenly less confident, but no less stubborn man before him.
"I don't have anything a deranged killer could possibly want," Hoffman said, face turned slightly away as he swallowed hard enough to make his protruding Adam's apple bob.
"Now, why do I find that so hard to believe?" Gabe asked softly before standing and twirling on his heel to face Jody and Donna. The other officers had long left the room, their replacements no doubt on their way up.
"I have to make a call. A friend of mine is expecting to hear from me," he said, acting as if Hoffman were of little importance to him. He knew it would dent the man's ego, which is what he needed to do now right now. Hoffman was so wrapped up in his own self-importance that if Gabe wanted to get anything out of him, he would have to take him down a few pegs. "I'll be right back."
He strode past before they could say a word, shutting the door briskly behind him as he pulled out his phone.
Dialing Sam felt like the most natural thing in the world now. Gabe had never bothered looking for a work partner before. He'd never felt the need when he loved being independent and roaming about the country, but Sam was an exception that he was glad he'd made.
"Hey, Gabe."
"Hey Sammo," Gabe said, unable to help the smile on his face as he toed the ground, "How are you? Feeling alright?"
"Oh, I'm fine," Sam said, sounding pleasantly surprised, "Just catching up on house chores. Is everything alright with you?"
"I'm fine," Gabe replied, only partially lying. He felt better than he had this morning, but the niggling sensation that he should just run still lingered in his mind, "Listen, I got a chance to interview Hoffman, and I think that whatever he did to offend the killer involves some type of physical object. The Crucifier has to be targeting him for some reason, but I just don't know what this guy could've done. So far, everyone else's offenses have been semi-serious, you know? But with the librarians, we don't really know much besides Wilkes's ex-husband being a gang member."
Gabe hated using Sam as a sounding board when in his opinion, the poor kid needed more than just a day off from all this madness, but he couldn't help it. Sam was just as smart as he was hot, and Sam didn't seem to mind.
"Huh…well, I think I might actually have some information that could help you out."
"Really? Have you been branching out on your own, my young pupil?" he teased.
"It's not like that! I just remembered an old rumor that went around campus, and I texted a couple of people to make sure I remembered it correctly. It's actually going around again with all the shit that's gone down, but that's not the point! The point is that considering the circumstances, it might actually have some truth to it."
"What's the rumor?"
There was a shuffling sound in the background like Sam had gotten up from his bed or the couch. Probably his bed considering how loud his couch springs were.
"So, get this. According to LU lore, the librarians have a master list of all the people they've kicked out. They have the right to kick out unruly students, but obviously, the Three Furies went above and beyond with who they kicked out," Sam started, "Supposedly, each librarian has a copy of this master list, which has the student's name and whatever transgression they committed. No one's ever seen this master list, and no one knows who started the rumor, so opinions are pretty split on whether or not it actually exists."
Every so often, Gabe's mind would take the puzzle pieces he'd been given and put them together so quickly that it left him light-headed. Sam had just given him the final puzzle piece, and with a rush, everything clicked in place for him.
"Sam, you're fucking brilliant. Absolutely brilliant," he breathed, "I've got to go, but I'll call you back!"
He hung up before Sam could get a word in edgewise and stepped back into the apartment with a renewed sense of vigor. Now that he had an idea of what Hoffman was guarding zo zealously, Gabe could focus his words and strike exactly where he needed to.
Jody and Donna looked up as he came in, and with a nod, they left the apartment. They knew the routine. Gabe noted with some amusement that Hoffman had apparently been supremely uncomfortable being left in their presence. He was practically curled up in the corner of the couch, unsure of what to do except to sneer at them.
The door shut with a thud of finality, echoing in the bland, forgettable apartment. Hoffman didn't look nearly as cocky now from his defensive position on the couch, and Gabe wondered if he sensed that his secret was in real danger now.
He'd been described in all sorts of ways when he got like this. It wasn't a consistent state of being, so he most likely looked different to different people, but he liked the description a detective in Miami had given him after he'd made a suspected pedophile confess to not only his crimes but also to where he'd buried the poor boys he'd killed.
"I'd sure hate to cross your path when you got that look on your face, Milton. You looked like an avenging angel in there."
Gabe strode forward to look out the sole window in the living room. The blinds were bent, and the view outside was dismal. Just an alley, and the neighboring building four or five feet away.
"You know, the nature of your relationship with Wilkes and Olsen really caught us all off guard," he started conversationally, "I have to admit, I really didn't expect Wilkes to have such a…prolific collection of sex toys."
Out of the corner of his eye, Gabe saw a flush rise above Hoffman's collar.
"I only saw a glimpse of Olsen's crime scene photos," he continued, "But boy, were they graphic! The Crucifier really went all out. I'm glad I didn't go in when I arrived on the scene, because that was just over the top, even for him."
That was a partial truth. Gabe actually hadn't seen any of the crime scene photos, but he'd picked up enough of the muttered details and gossip on the scene that he had a pretty solid mental image, and it was fairly graphic. He knew he'd have to get his hands on a copy of the report somehow, but a part of him really didn't want to see it in any more detail than necessary.
"There was blood everywhere. I'm sure you know this, but he drains his victims dry to get it-"
"Shut up!"
Bingo, Gabe thought, tamping down the desire to smirk in satisfaction.
"Oh, no one's told you? Have they been keeping the details from your innocent ears?" he asked casually, turning away from the window.
Hoffman flinched at the word 'innocent'; his response feeble at best.
"I-I have a weak stomach."
Gabe made a noncommittal, unsympathetic noise as he walked across the living room to stand near the small TV sitting on a clearly secondhand TV stand. He would've thought that one of the FBI agents would've gone bad cop on him and spilled some gory details, but maybe Hoffman's attitude had thrown them off their game.
"Your relationship with Wilkes and Olsen was unconventional, to say the least, but it made you close," he continued, crossing his arms loosely, "How did it start? Did you just want to keep your skin safe and your job intact, or were you really-?"
"What does it matter?" Hoffman snapped, a bitter spark lighting his words up. "They're dead, and whatever relationship we had doesn't pertain to the investigation!"
"Except it does," Gabe said, "When you mix work and play like that, you get caught up in people, and they start to trust you."
Hoffman's face paled dramatically, and Gabe pressed onward, refusing to let up on the soft spot he'd hit.
(Even if his words resonated uncomfortably with his own life.)
"What did they trust you with, Hoffman?" he asked, taking a step forward. "Whatever it was, The Crucifier thought you kept it here. It's why he targeted all three of you, and why Wilkes and Olsen are dead now. It's why you're the last man standing."
The couch suddenly seemed to swallow up Hoffman as he sank back into it. He was a reedy guy, and the bright morning light did him little favors. His face screwed up tight with restrained emotion for a moment before he bowed his head and hunched his shoulders.
"They may be dead, but I can't betray them," he whispered, voice as taut as his muscles, "They wouldn't want me to say anything."
"They're dead and gone," Gabe said, voice almost harsh, "What will it matter to them? Or do you want to join them in the grave?"
Hoffman looked up sharply at him, and Gabe scoffed.
"You're supposed to be the smart grad student, right? Don't tell me that you couldn't figure out that the reason you're on The Crucifier's list is that he feels that you wronged him somehow. And the way you wronged him is tied to this pointless secret you're guarding."
"It can't! No one's even supposed to know they exist-"
He cut himself off, but Gabe leaped upon the word slipup, refusing to give Hoffman even an inch of leeway.
"They? So, there's multiple of whatever it is."
"No, there's nothing at all."
"Each of you had a copy of whatever it was. Did you have to carry it around with you, or-"
"No! There's nothing!"
"Wilkes and Olsen probably carried theirs around, but not you. You left it somewhere-
Hoffman stood up quickly, every fiber of his being trembling as he pointed a shaking finger at Gabe. He had a few inches on him, but Gabe didn't feel threatened at all by the student. This was the desperate coward he'd pegged from the start, lashing out at anyone he felt got too close because he couldn't run or hide like he wanted to.
"There's…nothing," Hoffman finally managed to say after opening and shutting his mouth a few times.
Gabe looked at him coolly, his own stance calm and relaxed to counter Hoffman's tense figure. On the inside, he was practically ecstatic, because this was the breaking point he'd been working towards.
And the most delicate stage of all. If I push him the wrong way, he might clam up permanently, or do something drastic.
"Yes, there is," he said evenly, "And you're going to die for it for no reason. The Crucifier most likely has the copies that Wilkes and Olsen owned, so why are you trying to safeguard the one you have? He could do anything with the copies he has. He's left stuff for the LPD before. He could leave one of them for us if he wanted."
He was spouting pure bullshit at this point. Gabe had the suspicion that The Crucifier would do the exact opposite with this particular secret and its copies, but Hoffman didn't have to know that. The sole purpose of this seemingly logical reasoning he'd given was to poke holes in Hoffman's own thought process.
Judging by Hoffman's face, it was working. A myriad of expressions crossed his face before he stepped back a bit and clenched his raised hand in a fist.
"No one would ever understand our relationship, but it mattered to me," he said, shaking his fist at him as one would at the heavens when raging against God, "If you were in my position, wouldn't you do the same?"
It took an incredible effort not to react outwardly at the thought of Sam being murdered. Gabe had to swallow twice to free his throat from the intense emotion that seized him.
He wasn't sure what he would do (Sam dead? It was just too inconceivable), but he did know one thing. Between him and Dean, whoever had done it wouldn't last long.
Odd, that that's probably the one thing Dean and I would agree on.
"I would do whatever I could to make sure that the culprit was caught. I'd rather have that person caught, even if it cost me a secret," Gabe said, his voice as even as before, "Don't you think they'd want you to help catch The Crucifier?"
His final blow landed true, even if it took a moment for it to truly sink in. Victory came in the form of Hoffman slumping back onto the couch dramatically, his fist falling.
Gabe inhaled sharply once and straightened, but otherwise did nothing to react to the signs of defeat displayed. They weren't done yet, not until he got every last bit of information he needed.
"Olsen started it first, long before I even got to LU," he began, picking at the threadbare couch cushions, "But the list was purely a practical thing for her; a way to keep track of the true troublemakers. She hardly kicked anyone out, so it was just a small list of names. Then Wilkes was assigned to the library, and together they expanded upon it. Wilkes urged her to include more detail and kick out more people. They got close, and by the time I got there, it was a ridiculously long list."
Hoffman took a breath hard enough to rattle his lungs and grimaced.
"I stumbled across Olsen's copy accidentally. She'd left the flash drive that contained it plugged into her computer, and it was my first year working as an assistant in the library. I looked through it, and...God, it was ginormous. There were hundreds of names and accompanying records of all of their infractions. Some were serious, but most were petty. A lot had been kicked out of the library for stupid crap, but they kept track of it all. They'd even included what students said when they got kicked out, mostly the empty threats people make when they're angry."
"I clicked out of it before they found out, and I just tried to put it out of my mind. It didn't sit right with me, but it wasn't my business. Then I got…involved with them, and they gave me a copy. They said that I should carry it with me at all times, and not leave it just 'lying around'. It was a really big thing for them."
"Where is your copy?"
For some reason, Hoffman began to laugh. It had a hysterical edge to it, but it petered out quickly enough that Gabe didn't think it was anything more than just a side effect of the student finally revealing his secret. Sam had laughed like that a few times the night before when he'd truly started spilling his guts.
"They always put theirs in their purses, but I hated carrying it around," he explained, grinning as he shrugged. He'd reverted back to his old, pompous self. "So, I taped it to the underside of a drawer at the main circulation desk. How ironic is that? Bet The Crucifier never saw that coming."
The irony wasn't lost on Gabe, but he was too busy reveling in the fact that, with Sam's help, his deduction was right to really pay it much mind.
"I'll need a specific location, and then the LPD will go back to guarding you," he said, already pulling out his notebook.
"Sure, whatever," Hoffman said, relaxing against the couch. He then paused, visibly thinking for a long moment.
"Wait…who are you anyway?"
Gabe grinned. A bit of the avenging angel must've shone through because Hoffman flinched a bit and didn't look quite as haughty.
"Me? I'm Gabriel Milton, P.I and consultant for the LPD. Now, where's this flash drive?"
…
"Remember the Powell family murders?"
Gabe looked at Jody inquisitively. They were leaning against his Beetle, enjoying the warmth of the early spring sun on their faces. The wind had abated enough for a bit that if they tried hard enough, they could pretend it wasn't about 40 degrees tops outside. Donna had gone to pick up the coffee that acted as a thank-you for getting Hoffman to crack.
He hadn't told them about the specific flash drive that was still in the WM library though. It had been the one request Hoffman had asked of him, and when he'd gone to deny him, the student had only partially relented. If the LPD had possession of one of the flash drives, he should say that it'd been misplaced, but if they didn't, then Hoffman would allow him to reveal the one he was supposed to possess.
Gabe suspected it was Hoffman's last-ditch attempt to respect Wilke's and Olsen's wishes, but it mattered little to him what the reasoning was. The point was, the LPD did, in fact, have a flash drive in their possession (Wilke's apparently had more to offer in death than her sex toy collection) and were extremely disappointed that all this hullaballoo was made over what seemed to them was a moot point.
But for me, it means I have a flash-drive to retrieve.
The likelihood of him being put back on the case was unlikely now that the FBI was on the scene. This whole thing with Hoffman had been off the books and had only happened because enough members of the LPD had gotten sick of the way things were going and decided to collectively say fuck it. Gabe could get people to sneak him information, but that would take precious time that they couldn't afford. Jody and Donna could barely get him snippets as it was, and they were major figures in the case.
Therefore, Gabe would have to operate more than a little outside of the law with this one. Not only did this third flash drive fall into a moral gray zone (technically he hadn't lied about it so much as omitted key information), but it would also require breaking and entering into the hottest crime scene in Lawrence.
It wasn't the way he thought his day would go, but Gabe had very little personal scruples when it came to following a lead. He did his job well, and that meant doing whatever it took to solve the case.
"What about them? Those were what, six or seven months ago?" he asked, brow creasing in confusion.
Jody nodded, swinging one leg over the other to cross at her ankles. The lines on her face had relaxed enough that she looked more herself, and less like the stressed detective trying to keep the case on the right course.
"A whole family murdered. We were convinced that the guy the wife had been having an affair with had done it until you single-handedly exposed the husband's side gig selling coke and the equally secret business partner that had framed the wife's lover and was the real murderer."
"It would've been a decent frame-up job if he'd remembered to clean his car," Gabe said with a shrug, "For some reason, they always forget the clean their cars out."
Jody smiled faintly before her expressions shifted to something more serious.
"You've got the same look on your face as you did last time," she said, gesturing vaguely at him, "When you came out of the interrogation room after getting him to confess, you had that look, and later that day I caught you cleaning out the little desk we'd given you. You were going to book it that night, remember?"
Gabe froze. He did remember, but he didn't think Jody had been watching him so keenly today.
"I convinced you to stay by basically shitting on the department," she said with a wry grin, "Our crime rate is so high, and you're good at what you do, so could you stick around for just a few more months? It took a bit of cajoling, but it worked, and I got you to stay."
"It's…not like that this time," Gabe managed to say through his shock.
Jody nodded sagely, "No, it's not. You want to run for a different reason."
"How do you…no, I don't even want to know," he muttered, crossing his arms defensively and averting his gaze to the pavement.
A hand landed on his shoulder, grasping it lightly. Gabe looked at it curiously before looking at Jody, who looked out of her depth, but determined.
"You're no coward, Gabe. In fact, you're probably one of the bravest people I know, and that's saying something. However, you're also one of the stupidest dumbasses I know, which is why I'm saying this to you now."
Gabe managed to huff out a laugh, and Jody's lips quirked before she continued.
"Don't run. You'll regret it for the rest of your life if you do, and you won't ever be able to outrun that regret. Stay and stand your ground. It might be easier than it first seems."
She clapped his shoulder once firmly before leaving hurriedly to greet Donna, who had pulled up the coffee. Her uncharacteristic words of support had clearly embarrassed her, and she'd certainly overcompensate with stern words to make herself feel better.
Typical Jody, he thought fondly, shaking his head as he started after her, She did this the last time too.
Jody did have a point. The desire to just hop into his reliable Beetle and skedaddle was still there, but she was right when she said that he wouldn't be able to outrun the regret. Gabe had enough experience trying to outrun emotions to know that it was a hopeless task. They just stuck around, always keeping up with him no matter what sort of pace he set.
Gabe didn't quite understand what she meant when she'd said that staying might be easier than it seemed (because it really wasn't), but as he accepted his extravagant coffee drink from Donna and bore the brunt of Jody's gruffness, he decided that he'd figure it out later. Right now, he had a serial killer to catch and a crime to commit.
Oh, the joys of being a P.I.
AUTHOR'S NOTE
Finals are over for me! I'm proud to say that I did very well on all of them and got A's in every class this semester, even my dreaded math course. One semester down, and a gazillion more to go!
Anyway, as for where I've been before all this: basically school and life. In November, I did participate in NaNoWriMo using Reactivity. For those of you that don't know, it's basically a writing event where you write 50k in a month. I did it and won, and chapters 9-14 are the result of it! They need heavy editing cause I just wrote like a madman in November, but they are written and will be up this month since I'm on break.
Thank you for sticking with me! I can promise that Chapter 15 will contain the moment you all have been waiting for, and I am eager to post some more before I'm inevitably sucked back into college.