TITLE : Repercussions
AUTHOR : Karen Gomes (pyrie@hotmail.com)
CATEGORY : Even though it might look otherwise, it's SBR all the way.
RATING : R
SPOILERS : Probably. Ooh, character death included . . . sorry!
DISCLAIMER : All of the known characters/premises/plots belong to their respective owners. So there.
SUMMARY : An old flame returns in Bailey's life, forcing Sam to confront her feelings for him. But, these feelings could have dire consequences.
NOTES : I've been having a few inspirational bursts of late, but haven't found time to actually type them up. Alas, I gave up my mad PS2-playing frenzy and decided to further develop my story. Hope everyone is enjoying it. Please read and review, I really enjoy feedback - be it positive or negative. (My sacrificial burnings have *nothing* to do with abrogating comments. evilgrin
Cheers! Gomes.
--------------- Repercussions (pt.9 ) ---------------
VCTF Headquarters, Atlanta
George knocked on Bailey's door. He was still sitting at his desk, but this time, staring into oblivion. "Boss?" George said softly, carefully advancing towards the desk. He didn't want to make any sudden movements for he knew how lunatic Bailey got whenever Sam was amiss. "Bailey?" George gently tapped him on his shoulder.
Bailey look up, his eyes mirrored an abyss, a deep void space that echoed emptiness. "Sam?" He said, rather bleakly.
George bit his lip. "I have two pieces good news, boss." He said, trying to sound cheery.
"Two pieces of good news would be having Sam safely in my arms and Jack's head on a pike." Bailey said, not bothering to make eye-contact with George.
George paused. "Okay, I have two pieces of semi-good news."
"Let's hear it." Bailey said, getting up to fix himself a drink.
George put his hand over Bailey's and shook his head. "Sam swore me to protect the bottle." He said, half jokingly. "Seriously though, drinking won't help you." Bailey glared at him and George was sure that he was going to get pummeled. "You wouldn't hurt the messenger, would you?"
"Try me." Bailey replied in a sotto voice.
George let out a nervous laughter and retracted his hand close to his body. He watched Bailey fall heavily on to his sofa. "Okay, good news number one : Ellen is safe. Unfortunately, we haven't been able to contact her, but four hours ago, an agent saw her coming out a Costume Shop on main street. . ." George looked at his paper, "Brouhaha Costumery." He raised his eyebrow. "We tried calling her cell, but to no avail."
"It's okay, we'll contact her later - as long as she's safe." Bailey said, leaning back on the couch, the vacant look still apparent on his face. "It's like a dream, George." Bailey didn't look up. "More like a nightmare, incredibly surreal. I expect to see her in front of me, laughing, smiling. . ." He brushed a hand through his hair. "What will I tell Angel?" Bailey finally looked up. "Or Chloe?!" His voice cracked.
"Calm down, boss." George patted his shoulder. "We'll find her in no time." He smiled reassuringly. "Which brings me to my second bout of good news." George walked to the door and motioned the Command Center with his head.
Bailey raised his eyebrow and followed obligingly.
***
Unknown Location, Atlanta
Sam awoke frightfully in motion. Everything was in darkness, but she could feel the bumps and movement of a car. Her vision blocked, her sense of hearing and smell was heightened; from what she could tell, it was an old car, with a crummy suspension and probably had a tendency to over-heat. She discreetly moved her hands, observing that they weren't tied or handcuffed. She reached for her blindfold but ceased when she heard a click right next to her ear. Time stood still.
After some rustling about, she finally heard a man speak. His voice wavered slightly, and she sensed a lot of tension lodged in his throat. "Keep it on." He said, trying to sound authoritative, but all attempts failed. "You wouldn't want to get shot, do you?" He asked her, rhetorically.
Sam didn't move again, and rested her hands in her lap. «Sounds like Art Behar. . . » She thought to herself. She smiled sadly to herself. «And all the while I was blaming Liz.» She let out a deep sigh realizing finally that Liz was probably a decoy, to fish out a leak in the bureau. She had glanced at the reports, and observed that all of the victims had been related to Bailey somehow. . . they had all been involved with him. Putting the pieces together - a little to late, mind you - she deducted that it must have been someone who had their lover taken away, either physically or emotionally. Behar fit the profile perfectly, for he had been on a rampage when he learnt that Bailey was seducing Ellen, despite them being divorced or almost. In Art's mind, reconciliation was just a breath away, but it was cut short when Bailey "took her away". Sam turned her head towards more rustling that was coming from the driver's side, beside her.
Another deep breath. "We'll be heading to the forest." Art said, and paused. "You will go there, and keep your blindfold on or . . ." He paused, "I will shoot." They drove in silence for another minute. "When we get to the woods, you will start digging where I instruct you to dig. You will ask no questions or I will shoot. If you try anything funny, I will shoot. If you try to escape, I will shoot."
Sam's brow furrowed under the blindfold. «He seemed mechanical . . . as if he had rehearsed what he was going to say.» She shrugged slightly; it was a pretty common trait, because the abductor wants to be in control, wants to appear dominant. If the voice quivers to much, or there's too much hesitation, their power decreases - not only in the victim's eyes, but in their eyes as well. And as tyrant, they are their worst enemy . . . their worst critic is themselves. The car finally pulled to a stop and Sam waited to be booted out of the door. She heard the driver side open, and then the back-seat door open as well. «An accomplice?» She questioned herself, frustrated that she didn't perceive the possibility. The passenger side opened, and Art's monotonous voice filled the air, as he muttered "get out" and yanked her by the arm. Through the blindfold, Sam could feel the cooling sun blinding her eyes. «Dusk. . . » She thought, worry creeping over her, engulfing every cell of her body. "Bailey." She whispered to herself, as a shovel was thrust into her hand. Hands guided her and pushed her down.
"Dig." Art instructed, though the agitation was apparent. Sam bent down and started digging blindly, not knowing where she was throwing the dirt. After about ten minutes, she stopped and leaned on the shovel. Her arms ached, she was hot and the blindfold was retaining the heat and sweat, causing severe discomfort and an itchiness she couldn't shake. She rubbed her eyes over the material and heard a gun cocked behind her. "Just itchy." She mumbled and dug some more. She stumbled as a foot made contact with her back and she heard a distant 'clink' far below her. «Shit, what fell?!» She asked herself. «A ring? Necklace?» She didn't dare check, for she could still feel the barrel watching over her like a hawk.
"Okay, now on your knees." Art said, placing two hands on her shoulders and forcing her down. "Give Malone my best." He said, though Sam oddly didn't detect any threat.
"You don't have to do this." Sam said, pleading for her life. "I have a daughter - her father's already been taken away. . . don't deny her a mother figure in her life. Don't deny me my baby." She whispered the last part, knowing that her attempts were futile. One of Art's hands was still on her shoulder when she heard the gunfire. It tensed for a few seconds, then let go, letting her fall to the ground.
"Ready made grave." A voice hissed.
***
VCTF Headquarters, Atlanta
"Okay Georgie, what do you have?" Bailey said, sitting down in Sam's chair. The rest of the team soon joined, following suit. Liz took Bailey's chair, Grace beside her, John across from George.
"Okay, well no one knows this but I rigged Sam's pager." George didn't take his eyes of his screen.
"You what?" John asked, sitting up. George vaguely pointed to the large screen that adorned the Command Center.
"When Sam dropped her pager last month, she asked me to repair it. So I added a small, undetectable tracking device, in case something happened to her." George said, a bit nervously. "I've been playing around with the program all afternoon, and I've finally got this baby to work."
Bailey got up. "Georgie, you're a genius!" He gave him a friendly kiss on the side of the head. He then proceeded to leave quickly, grabbing his jacket along the way. "John, meet me in the parking lot - we're going to bring Sam back. Grace, Liz, stay here in case we need you." Bailey paused. "George, I'll call you on the car phone as soon as we reach. Let's look busy, people."
John looked at Bailey leave then at George, grinning like an idiot. "Wow, Bailey must have been real happy to give you a kiss." John joked, off of George's un-amused look. "Just kidding, buddy." John leaned over the table, and grabbed George's face, pretending to kiss him passionately.
"Get off!" George laughed, batting John away. "Go on, Romeo - you can't keep Bailey waiting!"
"Damn, and all I wanted was some tongue action." John smirked and ran to the parking lot.
***
Highway 80, Atlanta
"Okay, we're on the highway, George, now what?" Bailey bellowed into the phone. He was speeding down the road, following George's directions. John sat idly in the seat, clutching the arm rests.
"On my map, Sam is displayed by a red blinking dot. To facilitate things, I added a tracking device in yours, Bailey. You are displayed by a blue blinking dot." George paused and typed a few commands on his keyboard. "Okay, so I added you to the map that Sam is on." George looked at the screen. "She's hasn't budged for the last fifteen minutes."
"She's probably tied up or held in some cabin." Bailey said, taking in the wooded area.
George paused. "Okay, take the next right - it should be a dirt road."
"Done. Now what?"
"Continue going, you're about one hundred feet away from her, boss." George said, watching the blue dot approach the red one.
Bailey and John got out of the car. "There's no cabin, Bailey." John said, as he withdrew his gun.
"Be vigilant, John." Bailey said, cocking his gun. "How am I doing, George?" Bailey called into his microphone.
"Seven steps forward . . . okay, stop!" George said. He narrowed his eyes, and shook his head. "You should be standing right on her. . ." His words trailed off.
Bailey's eyes grew wide. He glanced down at the soft dirt, kicking some up. Taking a deep breath, he fell to the floor and started digging with his hands. "Sam . . . oh God, Sam!" He picked up her pager. "No, no! She can't be here!"
John heard Bailey's voice and rushed over. He looked at his boss feverishly digging and knelt down to offer assistance. They finally came into contact with something. "Boss . . ." John brushed some dirt away as some golden hair, soiled by the brown dirt, came into view.
Bailey sat back on his heels. "This isn't how it's supposed to happen . . ." He said deftly. He bit his quivering lip as tears of grief fell to the moist ground.
--TBC--
AUTHOR : Karen Gomes (pyrie@hotmail.com)
CATEGORY : Even though it might look otherwise, it's SBR all the way.
RATING : R
SPOILERS : Probably. Ooh, character death included . . . sorry!
DISCLAIMER : All of the known characters/premises/plots belong to their respective owners. So there.
SUMMARY : An old flame returns in Bailey's life, forcing Sam to confront her feelings for him. But, these feelings could have dire consequences.
NOTES : I've been having a few inspirational bursts of late, but haven't found time to actually type them up. Alas, I gave up my mad PS2-playing frenzy and decided to further develop my story. Hope everyone is enjoying it. Please read and review, I really enjoy feedback - be it positive or negative. (My sacrificial burnings have *nothing* to do with abrogating comments. evilgrin
Cheers! Gomes.
--------------- Repercussions (pt.9 ) ---------------
VCTF Headquarters, Atlanta
George knocked on Bailey's door. He was still sitting at his desk, but this time, staring into oblivion. "Boss?" George said softly, carefully advancing towards the desk. He didn't want to make any sudden movements for he knew how lunatic Bailey got whenever Sam was amiss. "Bailey?" George gently tapped him on his shoulder.
Bailey look up, his eyes mirrored an abyss, a deep void space that echoed emptiness. "Sam?" He said, rather bleakly.
George bit his lip. "I have two pieces good news, boss." He said, trying to sound cheery.
"Two pieces of good news would be having Sam safely in my arms and Jack's head on a pike." Bailey said, not bothering to make eye-contact with George.
George paused. "Okay, I have two pieces of semi-good news."
"Let's hear it." Bailey said, getting up to fix himself a drink.
George put his hand over Bailey's and shook his head. "Sam swore me to protect the bottle." He said, half jokingly. "Seriously though, drinking won't help you." Bailey glared at him and George was sure that he was going to get pummeled. "You wouldn't hurt the messenger, would you?"
"Try me." Bailey replied in a sotto voice.
George let out a nervous laughter and retracted his hand close to his body. He watched Bailey fall heavily on to his sofa. "Okay, good news number one : Ellen is safe. Unfortunately, we haven't been able to contact her, but four hours ago, an agent saw her coming out a Costume Shop on main street. . ." George looked at his paper, "Brouhaha Costumery." He raised his eyebrow. "We tried calling her cell, but to no avail."
"It's okay, we'll contact her later - as long as she's safe." Bailey said, leaning back on the couch, the vacant look still apparent on his face. "It's like a dream, George." Bailey didn't look up. "More like a nightmare, incredibly surreal. I expect to see her in front of me, laughing, smiling. . ." He brushed a hand through his hair. "What will I tell Angel?" Bailey finally looked up. "Or Chloe?!" His voice cracked.
"Calm down, boss." George patted his shoulder. "We'll find her in no time." He smiled reassuringly. "Which brings me to my second bout of good news." George walked to the door and motioned the Command Center with his head.
Bailey raised his eyebrow and followed obligingly.
***
Unknown Location, Atlanta
Sam awoke frightfully in motion. Everything was in darkness, but she could feel the bumps and movement of a car. Her vision blocked, her sense of hearing and smell was heightened; from what she could tell, it was an old car, with a crummy suspension and probably had a tendency to over-heat. She discreetly moved her hands, observing that they weren't tied or handcuffed. She reached for her blindfold but ceased when she heard a click right next to her ear. Time stood still.
After some rustling about, she finally heard a man speak. His voice wavered slightly, and she sensed a lot of tension lodged in his throat. "Keep it on." He said, trying to sound authoritative, but all attempts failed. "You wouldn't want to get shot, do you?" He asked her, rhetorically.
Sam didn't move again, and rested her hands in her lap. «Sounds like Art Behar. . . » She thought to herself. She smiled sadly to herself. «And all the while I was blaming Liz.» She let out a deep sigh realizing finally that Liz was probably a decoy, to fish out a leak in the bureau. She had glanced at the reports, and observed that all of the victims had been related to Bailey somehow. . . they had all been involved with him. Putting the pieces together - a little to late, mind you - she deducted that it must have been someone who had their lover taken away, either physically or emotionally. Behar fit the profile perfectly, for he had been on a rampage when he learnt that Bailey was seducing Ellen, despite them being divorced or almost. In Art's mind, reconciliation was just a breath away, but it was cut short when Bailey "took her away". Sam turned her head towards more rustling that was coming from the driver's side, beside her.
Another deep breath. "We'll be heading to the forest." Art said, and paused. "You will go there, and keep your blindfold on or . . ." He paused, "I will shoot." They drove in silence for another minute. "When we get to the woods, you will start digging where I instruct you to dig. You will ask no questions or I will shoot. If you try anything funny, I will shoot. If you try to escape, I will shoot."
Sam's brow furrowed under the blindfold. «He seemed mechanical . . . as if he had rehearsed what he was going to say.» She shrugged slightly; it was a pretty common trait, because the abductor wants to be in control, wants to appear dominant. If the voice quivers to much, or there's too much hesitation, their power decreases - not only in the victim's eyes, but in their eyes as well. And as tyrant, they are their worst enemy . . . their worst critic is themselves. The car finally pulled to a stop and Sam waited to be booted out of the door. She heard the driver side open, and then the back-seat door open as well. «An accomplice?» She questioned herself, frustrated that she didn't perceive the possibility. The passenger side opened, and Art's monotonous voice filled the air, as he muttered "get out" and yanked her by the arm. Through the blindfold, Sam could feel the cooling sun blinding her eyes. «Dusk. . . » She thought, worry creeping over her, engulfing every cell of her body. "Bailey." She whispered to herself, as a shovel was thrust into her hand. Hands guided her and pushed her down.
"Dig." Art instructed, though the agitation was apparent. Sam bent down and started digging blindly, not knowing where she was throwing the dirt. After about ten minutes, she stopped and leaned on the shovel. Her arms ached, she was hot and the blindfold was retaining the heat and sweat, causing severe discomfort and an itchiness she couldn't shake. She rubbed her eyes over the material and heard a gun cocked behind her. "Just itchy." She mumbled and dug some more. She stumbled as a foot made contact with her back and she heard a distant 'clink' far below her. «Shit, what fell?!» She asked herself. «A ring? Necklace?» She didn't dare check, for she could still feel the barrel watching over her like a hawk.
"Okay, now on your knees." Art said, placing two hands on her shoulders and forcing her down. "Give Malone my best." He said, though Sam oddly didn't detect any threat.
"You don't have to do this." Sam said, pleading for her life. "I have a daughter - her father's already been taken away. . . don't deny her a mother figure in her life. Don't deny me my baby." She whispered the last part, knowing that her attempts were futile. One of Art's hands was still on her shoulder when she heard the gunfire. It tensed for a few seconds, then let go, letting her fall to the ground.
"Ready made grave." A voice hissed.
***
VCTF Headquarters, Atlanta
"Okay Georgie, what do you have?" Bailey said, sitting down in Sam's chair. The rest of the team soon joined, following suit. Liz took Bailey's chair, Grace beside her, John across from George.
"Okay, well no one knows this but I rigged Sam's pager." George didn't take his eyes of his screen.
"You what?" John asked, sitting up. George vaguely pointed to the large screen that adorned the Command Center.
"When Sam dropped her pager last month, she asked me to repair it. So I added a small, undetectable tracking device, in case something happened to her." George said, a bit nervously. "I've been playing around with the program all afternoon, and I've finally got this baby to work."
Bailey got up. "Georgie, you're a genius!" He gave him a friendly kiss on the side of the head. He then proceeded to leave quickly, grabbing his jacket along the way. "John, meet me in the parking lot - we're going to bring Sam back. Grace, Liz, stay here in case we need you." Bailey paused. "George, I'll call you on the car phone as soon as we reach. Let's look busy, people."
John looked at Bailey leave then at George, grinning like an idiot. "Wow, Bailey must have been real happy to give you a kiss." John joked, off of George's un-amused look. "Just kidding, buddy." John leaned over the table, and grabbed George's face, pretending to kiss him passionately.
"Get off!" George laughed, batting John away. "Go on, Romeo - you can't keep Bailey waiting!"
"Damn, and all I wanted was some tongue action." John smirked and ran to the parking lot.
***
Highway 80, Atlanta
"Okay, we're on the highway, George, now what?" Bailey bellowed into the phone. He was speeding down the road, following George's directions. John sat idly in the seat, clutching the arm rests.
"On my map, Sam is displayed by a red blinking dot. To facilitate things, I added a tracking device in yours, Bailey. You are displayed by a blue blinking dot." George paused and typed a few commands on his keyboard. "Okay, so I added you to the map that Sam is on." George looked at the screen. "She's hasn't budged for the last fifteen minutes."
"She's probably tied up or held in some cabin." Bailey said, taking in the wooded area.
George paused. "Okay, take the next right - it should be a dirt road."
"Done. Now what?"
"Continue going, you're about one hundred feet away from her, boss." George said, watching the blue dot approach the red one.
Bailey and John got out of the car. "There's no cabin, Bailey." John said, as he withdrew his gun.
"Be vigilant, John." Bailey said, cocking his gun. "How am I doing, George?" Bailey called into his microphone.
"Seven steps forward . . . okay, stop!" George said. He narrowed his eyes, and shook his head. "You should be standing right on her. . ." His words trailed off.
Bailey's eyes grew wide. He glanced down at the soft dirt, kicking some up. Taking a deep breath, he fell to the floor and started digging with his hands. "Sam . . . oh God, Sam!" He picked up her pager. "No, no! She can't be here!"
John heard Bailey's voice and rushed over. He looked at his boss feverishly digging and knelt down to offer assistance. They finally came into contact with something. "Boss . . ." John brushed some dirt away as some golden hair, soiled by the brown dirt, came into view.
Bailey sat back on his heels. "This isn't how it's supposed to happen . . ." He said deftly. He bit his quivering lip as tears of grief fell to the moist ground.
--TBC--