Hey guys :), I finally did it, here's the next chapter. Thank you soo much for your support, it means so much to me, I'm always unbelievable happy to receive a new review. Please enjoy and I'll try to be a bit quicker next time.
Neal silently listened to the noises coming from the living-room. He had heard his father opening at least five bottles in no time at all, so it couldn't be long now. It took him half an hour to prepare everything for the Fed's arrival, including a small good-bye note for Peter and a backpack full of stuff he didn't want them to see. Now he was sitting on his old bed, thoughtfully shifting the anklet in his hands. Hopefully this would work as expected!
Neal sighted, stood up and admired the Raphael once more. Even though it wasn't the most detailed painting, it felt so lively. It was one of the rare occasions when he was able to take a real close look at something so precious. He could almost sense the air of something meaningful, the presence of an outstanding artist, even though this piece of art was located in his crappy room right now. Neal felt somehow ashamed by the thought that Peter would see his former world. But this was part of his plan, so he had no other choice. And, after all, he would open-up somehow. So Peter would be satisified, wouldn't he? Neal silently grinned.
He went closer and wanted to carefully store the painting in the queue, when something caught his eye. At first, he couldn't really pinpoint what it was, but then his eyes widened. He had missed something while he did his forgery, something which was easy to miss. He turned on a small light next to his bed and aimed it at the painting. There were small dots all over the painting, nearly invisible black points!
Neal shook his head in disbelief. He felt more than certain that these weren't part of the photographs he had used to forge the painting and he doubted that the painter himself was responsible. So, what the hell…? He touched the surface carefully with his fingertips. The bulbs weren't traceable. Again, someone made a big effort to hide the dots as best es he or she could. But what where they meant for?
He observed the whole painting and excitement began to rise in him. After all, he never really understood why Keller wanted exactly this painting so badly and his feeling now told him that he, right now, found out why.
He jumped up, grabbed his forgery and started to copy the dots. When he almost finished his doings, he hesitated and then decided to leave some of them out, just in case he needed this advantage over Keller. You never knew… He felt confident that he had all of them in his mind now.
Deep in thoughts, he wondered what these dots were for. A code or Braille maybe? He shook his head. Mozzie would know, but there wasn't enough time for him to find it out right now. A loud rumble startled him, coming from the living-room!
Neal carefully stored the painting in the queue, the forgery in his old backpack and left the room. While slowly walking down the floor, he intently listened, but couldn't here anything but the faint snoring of his father.
He warily peeked into the living-room. As expected, his dad was lying on the floor, bottles all around him, sleeping like a baby. Well, a drunken baby. A wave of disgust rolled over him. This was hopefully the last time he had to see this man, this flat, his whole old life!
He slowly backed away, went into the bathroom and removed a loose tile. Behind it there were dozens and dozens bags of different drugs, in all colours and shapes. His father's treasure! He picked them all up and went back into the living-room. Neal desperately hoped that these little pills would bring his father behind bars for many years, despite being in possession of a valuable painting of course, just as a back-up.
A little tentative, he came closer and began distributing the pills all over his father, in his pockets and hands. James groaned a little, but didn't open his eyes. Neal touched his father's wallet, slowly removed it from his pocket and looked inside.
His breath caught and he had to stop himself from dropping it. There wasn't anything inside the wallet, but a photo of his mom, young and pretty, smiling. Her bright blue eyes were sparkling, her long, dark hair was shining in the bright sun. He could see the resemblance. He looked like a male counterpart of his mother. Neal then noticed a kink alongside the picture and with shaking hands tried to extract it from the wallet.
He unfolded it and instantly felt tears in his eyes. There they were, all together. A happy little family. He was standing in front of the couple, maybe two or three years old, with blue shorts and a blue and white striped shirt. And next to his mother there was his dad. Not the one who was lying in front of him, stretched out over the dirty carpet, smelling badly and looking like a homeless person.
No, the man in the photo looked full of life, happy and proud. There wasn't even a single hint that this man would beat him up daily and force him to be a criminal just a few years later. His gaze lay admiringly on the pretty woman next to him and his hand affectionally touched his little son's head.
Neal didn't feel able to avert his eyes. He had never seen a picture of his former life before, the life before his mother died. He knew that there had been problems before, but this looked like an entirely different world to him. Tears were running down his cheeks now and he clenched his fists. What did he do to deserve this change? Years and years in hell, without someone who cared, besides Mozzie.
Neal intensely watched his father's face and wiped his own one dry with the back of his hand. James looked almost peaceful in his sleep. Almost. The pain in his upper body reminded Neal that this man in front of him made his life miserable for so many years. No matter why he did it, Neal could never forgive him.
He had to leave this chapter of his life behind, for good. Without looking back. He wasn't responsible for his father's fate. So he finaly pushed the photo back into the wallet with a big lump in his throat and slipped it into his father's pocket. He determined stood up and left the room without a last glance back and sat down in his room to rewrite the letter to Peter. The short note didn't seem appropriate to him anymore and he once more couldn't stop himself from silently crying while writing. He then grabbed his backpack and, after a last reassuring look, he activated the anklet and left the bloody apartment and his former live as fast as he could.
Peter sat down on Neals's bed. He could feel the bare plank under the thin mattress and groaned. He thought juvie would have been the worst thing, but, as it seemed, the boy had spent most of his life in a prison, locked away in his own home. He regarded the locks at the doorframe, noticed blood splatters on the wall next to the bed and there were small parts missing in the walls, which looked like traces of former beatings. He felt anger rising up in him. How could a father do this to his only child? When the forensic unit arrived, he greeted them and stood up with a sight to leave the scenery.
When he reached his car, he decided to call his wife to tell her that it would take time for him to come home. Even though it was very late, he knew she would expect him to call. He told her what had happened.
"Oh hon, I'm so sorry. I hope he's all right.", she said afterward.
Peter felt a big lump in his throat. "I hope so, too."
Elizabeth paused for a moment. "You'll bring him home after you've found him, will you?", she asked softly.
"El... I can't promise. He's in big trouble right now. I'd like to help him, but this isn't a game anymore. I mean, he has stolen a painting out of the FBI building. I doubt that Hughes will be willing to compromise anymore. And first of all I have to find him. Hopefully healthy. This stupid kid. He's such a handfull and he really lived in hell, love. I'm not sure we can handle this!", he said tired.
El replied without hesitation and in a firm voice. "We can, Peter. This boy has never had a proper home in his life, as far as we know. And there's noone able to fight for him. He deserves our help and support. We won't give up, Peter. We just can't."
Peter smiled and felt the strength coming back. "You're right, babe. As always. I'll try my best, I promise!".
Back in his office, he found his whole team waiting for him, even though it was in the middle of the night right now. He knew that they cared, as well as he did! This wasn't their usual business, not at all.
He threw Jones and Dianna a thankful smile and went through towards the interrogation room. They now knew, thanks to the fingerprints, that this man inside was James Bennet, known for several minor crimes like shoplifting, drunken pub brawls and pickpocketing. Just a petty crook son of a bitch. No surprise after all, considering the cash cow under his sway.
Peter reached out to open the door, clenching his other fist and preparing for the upcoming interview, when Dianna stopped him and spoke to him hesitantly.
"Boss… you're sure that you want to do this? I mean, this is something personal to you, isn't it? There's a drunken asshole inside, but we have to be careful not to lose our temper. It's just…".
Peter interrupted her. "I appreciate what you're saying and yes, I'd like to treat him exactly like he treated Neal. But you know me. I'm able to control myself. And yes, this is something personal. So I have to do it on my own.", he said in a firm voice.
Dianna nodded reluctantly and went out of his way. Peter took a last deep breath and then entered the room.
"Hello James, nice to see you again", he said grimly and took place in front of the skanky man, who had his head lying on the table.
"Is it?", he replied tiredly und seemingly uninterested. He slowly sat up, smirking, yawning and stretching his neck. "Tell you what. It's really nice to meet the Fed who well…. fed my boy… got that?".
Peter eyed him with a ferocious look and didn't react.
"Well…whatever. See, I'm not feeling quite well right now. So, maybe we could continue talking another day? I mean, if you don't mind.", he said in a slippery tone, grinning shifty.
Peter raised his brows, bursting into a loud derisively laughter. "Mr. Bennet, I'm afraid you got something wrong. You won't go anywhere for a long time. You were in the possession of a painting worth at least a million dollar. And additionally we found enough drugs, forgeries and stolen stuff in your apartment to bring you behind bars for years and years. Not to mention the abuse of your son."
Neal's father snorted loudly. "This little bastard. He has always been a talented pain in the ass. Never listened to his father properly. I've had nothing but trouble with this kid."
Peter tried hard to calm down, but couldn't stop himself from replying harshly. "YOU were the one responsible for all of his scars and his fears, weren't you? Tell me, what the hell could a little boy do to deserve a father and a treatment like this?"
James met his gaze now. "A son should behave. He should follow his father's rules.", he answered lamely.
Peter leaned back in his chair. "What kind of rules?", he replied coldly.
James shrugged. "We needed money to survive. He had to contribute. In one way or another."
Peter stared at him in disgust and thumped the table. "You're a piece of shit, Mr. Bennet. You really are."
James grinned half-heartedly. "I guess you got somehow attached to my brat, didn't you? He's a talented conman, agent Burke, you better never forget that. He would do anything to protect himself and his little friend. I would be careful if I were you."
Peter felt boiling fury inside him, which he couldn't control anylonger. He knew that this was exactly what this asshole in front of him intended. Right at that moment, the door opened and Dianna entered, a plastic bag in her hand. She looked anxiously in his direction and Peter knew that she just needed an excuse to come inside and remind him of her former words.
"Got his stuff, Boss. I thought this could be interesting!", she said warily and handed him the bag. He nodded reassuringly and thanked her, but she didn't leave the room, but took place next to him. Maybe that wasn't a bad idea after all.
Peter opened the bag and pulled a black wallet out. Of course there wasn't any money, but he caught sight of picture, showing a young and very pretty woman. He pulled it out.
Mr. Bennet's eyes widened. "This is Not your business. Put it back, Fed. It's MY property.", he yelled, sounding very desperate now.
"Well, Mr. Bennet. Right now these are evidences and I've every right to do this."
He took a proper look at the photo and his heart missed a beat. He recognized little Neal in front of the young couple, looking innocent and … happy. And behind him, his father looked far more relaxed. He eyed his wife admiringly, who obviously was Neal's mother. He was the spitting image of that woman.
Peter raised his gaze to look at James, who focused on the tabletop now. He paused for a minute, then simply asked in a hoarse voice:
"What happened?"
Mr. Bennet remained quiet. He looked small now, broken.
"Tell me, Mr. Bennet. What was it?", Peter insisted.
James slowly looked up, his hands, still cuffed in front of him, were shaking now. He met Peter's gaze and all the agent could see was deep sadness.
"I…I messed it up.", his voice was shaking, too.
"You did what?", Peter asked, feeling confused.
"Never mind.", James concentrated on his hands again.
Peter thumped the tabletop again. "Oh come on, Bennet. You'll remain a piece of shit, no matter what, but at least I'll TRY to understand."
James flinched, but didn't move otherwise. "She…had been my world. I adored her. She made me a better person, agent Burke, she really did. I…I went to work and I… I even stopped drinking for a while. I tried. I really did. But I… sometimes lost my temper. I'm not proud of it." He threw him a glimpse and Peter waited for the man to continue.
"One day, after a really bad fight, I came home, drunk. And I…I…", he paused.
"You battered her?", Peter replied impatiently.
James nodded reluctantly.
"And Neal?" Now he shook his head.
"No, I mean, not yet. She protected him wherever she could. But that day… I went too far. She disappeared, told me she'd go, for good. Would only come back for Neal. The boy was sleeping in his bed. I tried to stop her, but I couldn't. She died in a dark alley, just behind our home. Someone tried to steal her wallet and she tried to defend herself. Got a bullet in her head, because of a hundred bucks. And Neal...he found her…" Peter looked at him appalled.
"He… what?". James rubbed his forehead now. He looked tired and old, collapsed in his chair.
"He was looking for her the next morning and… found her in that alley. I couldn't protect her. It was all my fault. And after that, I couldn't look at Neal anymore. I mean, you see it yourself. He looks like his mother. I tried, but…".
Peter felt the anger boiling again. "You TRIED? This poor boy found his mother, dead, the only one who was there for him, and all you can think of is treating him like shit, like a slave?"
James didn't react but looked even more miserably. Before Peter could go on, Dianna began to talk.
"Mr. Bennet. You couldn't save her and you didn't treat your son right, which he would have deserved. But what you can do is help us finding him. He needs our help.", she quickly said, throwing Peter a sideway glance. They both waited, all on edge.
James shrugged. "I can't. He would find and kill me.", he said softly.
Peter wanted to yell at him and leaned forward, but Dianna gently stopped him with her hand.
"Mr. Bennet. You owe him that. What would your wife say if she could be here?", she said insistently. James remained quiet for a few more seconds and Peter felt the strong urge to strike him in his ugly face. Then his counterpart began to speak in a small, wearily voice.
"Well… I suppose he's with Keller. Matthew Keller."
