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.
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 : Thanks for everyone's support. grin It's much appreciated!
Cheers! Gomes.
--------------- Repercussions (pt.10 ) ---------------
Juniper Woods, Atlanta
John placed hand on Bailey's shoulder, as the older man rocked with anguish. "I can't believe she's gone, John."
John chewed on the inside of his cheek. He felt tears sting his own eyes. "I don't know what to say . . ."
Bailey tried to control his sobs. "Let's get her out." He motioned John to go to the other side, and both agents carefully lifted her as though she were still alive. They placed her on the ground softly, and the feathery dirt gently cascaded off the body. Bailey leaned down, and brushed the dirt off her face. He paused and his fist tightened into a ball. "That son of a bitch!" He stood up and paced wildly.
"What?" John asked, and bent down. "Art." He looked up at Bailey. "Art in a wig." John let out a relieved laugh. "Bastard. There goes are number one suspect."
"George." Bailey said, ignoring John. "Tell Grace and Liz to come to Juniper Woods, we have a body."
"What happened to Sam?" George asked worriedly over the microphone.
"She's not here . . . I thought - well it doesn't matter what I thought, all we know is that we found Art."
"Excellent, will you arrest him?" George asked, still oblivious to the event that just transpired. There was a long pause. "Boss?"
"Let's just say, Behar got what was coming to him."
***
VCTF, Atlanta
The team sat around the conference room; Bailey was still brooding, but his mood had lightened up a bit, knowing that Sam was still alive. He twisted the bag with the wig in his hand. "Okay, Gracie, what do you have?" He asked, as she walked in.
"Slightly different MO : the victim was shot in the chest, bruising the heart, but puncturing a lung.
"So if the MO doesn't match, can we assume that it was a vengeful motive?" Liz asked, looking at some files.
John shrugged. "Maybe one of the victims lovers . . . eye for an eye kind of deal."
Liz pointed to John, following his lead. "You take my lover, I'll take you out?"
Bailey sighed loudly. "I don't think so . . . it's more complicated than that."
"It sure seemed like cold blooded murder to me. Clip through the chest. Ba- da-bing." John mimicked a gun with his fingers and prodded George in the chest to make his point.
Thoughts of the 'Premature Burial' by Poe clouded Bailey's mind. "So if he didn't bleed to death, he suffocated under all that dirt." He stated.
"Not quite." Grace said, and pointed to George who brought up an image on the screen. An image of Art Behar taken from the scene of the crime appeared before them. "Heart was removed."
"Ba-da-bing." George imitated John, who just pouted.
"But you said that the bullet damaged the heart." Bailey said, getting up to observe the picture.
"Two theories as to why," Grace began, and put one finger up, "no trace of the bullet - my assumption is that it is still lodged in the heart, wherever it is." Bailey nodded. "Two, part of the lower ventricle was still settled in the body, where the bullet probably pierced and tore, leaving a delectable juicy piece that would make Hannibal Lector's mouth water."
"Lovely imagery, Grace." John grimaced.
"What can I say, I love my job." Grace laughed, off of everyone's disgusted looks. "I have to start working with a less-livelier crowd . . . my patients don't seem to mind."
"Don't count on it, they probably complain from the grave." John muttered.
Bailey tossed the evidence bag up and down, with a strange pensive look on his face.
"Penny for your thoughts?" Liz ventured.
"No . . . there's something I have to do." Bailey looked around. "Alone." He sighed. "Trust me, I'll be right back." He sped off to his office, slamming the door behind him.
"That was odd." John's brow furrowed.
"That was Bailey." Liz shrugged, and they all gathered around George, observing some more case photos and files.
Bailey sat at his desk, and opened the bag with gloved hands. He manipulated the wig, and finally checked the label. He threw the wig back into the bag - his suspicions confirmed. He opened his desk drawer and took out a blank pad of paper. «This was on Sam's desk.» He thought to himself, and flipped through. «She said she found it when she was stopped by the police,» Bailey closed his eyes and corrected himself, «by Jack.» He curled his lip. "Jack." He reached into another drawer and pulled out a portable black light. He read the first page.
"Home isn't where the heart is, it's right beside it."
Bailey rubbed his temples. He got up and ran to the door of his office. "Gracie!" He shouted.
Grace casually walked up. "We have intercom systems, you know." She said, sarcastically.
"It's so impersonal." Bailey retorted. "Did we retrieve any of the hearts?"
Grace narrowed her eyes. "Yeah, all of them except for Behar - why?"
"Just curious - where were they found?" Bailey pressed on.
Grace backed up slowly. "Let me make a call."
"Ten bucks they were found right beside the body." Bailey muttered under his breath; a statement heard by Grace.
"I'll take you up on it." She grinned and walked out, as a messenger brushed past her.
"Mr. Malone." He handed him a letter, the retreated to the entrance of the building.
Bailey eyed the boy distrustfully but proceeded to open the letter anyway. He nodded; two blank pieces of paper lay gently folded in his hand. Not caring about prints - they probably wouldn't find anything to begin with, he rushed to his desk and hurried to get the notes under the black light.
"Must I do everything, Malone? Just get my Samantha back. . ."
"Oh, you bastard!" Bailey tried to control his anger. He placed the second note under the black light, and a map soon surfaced. «That's not far from here . . . but should I believe him? Maybe it's just a trap . . .» He traced the essential part of the map, jotting down the easiest way to reach the warehouse that had been circled several times. He looked up as Grace opened the door, and walked to meet her half way. "Well."
Grace didn't say a word, and handed him a ten dollar bill. She shook her head, perplexed, and walked out of his office.
He closed the door and took off his shirt. Putting on a light sweater, he began to unbuckle his pants as Liz entered his office. He stopped and looked at her.
"Oh please, I've seen your pride before." She rolled her eyes and sat in his chair. She discreetly looked at the blank pieces of paper, when her eyes fell on the map. "Quitting your day job?"
He put on his jeans and finished off his ensemble with a black leather jacket. He struck an exaggerated pose, ignoring her question. "So?"
"You're styling." Liz exclaimed dramatically. "So, where you off to?"
Bailey shrugged, buying time. "A bar . . ."
"I'll join you - I could use a drink." Liz said, getting up. A smirk flashed across her face, before she redeemed her professional demeanor. "So . . . ready?"
Bailey closed his eyes, and took a deep intake of air. "You already know, so quit screwing with me."
"I don't want you to jeopardize your safety, or Sam's for that matter." Liz looked deep into his eyes. "Call back-up, take John - hell, take me along."
"No." Bailey gently pushed her back. "It's my past, my doings, my fault." He began to head towards the door, grabbing his motorcycle helmet along the way. "Let me fix it." He said and exited, leaving Liz feeling completely useless.
***
Undisclosed Location, Atlanta
Sam strained against her restraints. "Why didn't you just kill me, like all the others? Why change now?"
A figure stepped from the shadows and walked up to her. "Would you rather I have chosen the same fate as the others?"
Sam retreated inwardly. "So, what purpose do I serve?"
The figure just laughed and pulled out a needle. Sam watched as the needle was jabbed into her skin, and she suddenly felt the drugs beginning to work. She forced her eyes to stay open, but her eyelids felt leaded, and pulled her down, along with her head and the top of her spine. She lay there limp, as the shackles were removed, and she was then placed on a cold, operating table. "And now, we wait. If I know Malone, he'll come here alone to save his precious Samantha, the apple of his eye, the bitch that makes me sick!" The abductor spat out.
***
Shipshank Warehouse, Atlanta
Bailey pulled up to the warehouse and got off his bike. He pocketed his keys and drew his gun. Cocking it, he felt adrenaline course through his veins. A certain excitement floated above him, which only gave him comfort in knowing that Sam was alive. He felt it in every fiber in his body; he could feel her heart beating with his. "I'm here, love." He told her softly, as he gently opened the door to the abandoned warehouse. He walked towards the light, in the middle of the building which mirrored an eerie hangar for haunted planes. Chains suspended from the ceiling rose to an abysmal ebon, and the floors - covered with cheap wood over cement - creaked with every step taken.
He ran towards the table; there she lay, naked from the waist up, but illuminated by the soft glow of an overhead light. He grasped her hand, and caressed her face. His guard was down, but he couldn't leave her like this. He needed to feel her. He withdrew his hand, her face was like ice. He drank in her pale features, and almost feared her for dead once more. His hand slipped to her neck, where he detected a faint heartbeat. His own echoed in his ears, and he observed the syringe lying beside her - the contents not yet empty. He took off his jacket and covered her upper torso. His body jerked up when he felt the barrel of a gun pressed to the back of his head.
"The gun, Malone." He dropped the gun. "Now, move away from her."
"Sam, love, wake up." Bailey pleaded, ignoring the gun and the threats.
"NOW!" The figure knocked the gun lightly against Bailey's head.
"Sam, please. Let me see your eyes, your smile. Let me hear your voice. Let me feel you, one last time." A few tears cascaded down his cheeks, falling onto her pale cheeks. The gun came into contact with the back of his head, and Bailey stumbled forward.
"I should have finished her off."
"Sam?" Bailey still ignored the coercion, but kept pleading with the incapacitated love of his life. "I don't care if I die . . . I want you to be safe."
He lifted her up in his arms, so that she was leaning against him, in a sitting position. Her arms hung limply to his sides, hidden by the jacket that he draped around her shoulders. Her forehead was loosely pressed against the top of his shoulder.
The figure moved the gun past Bailey's ear, right in front of Sam's forehead. "You'll get your wish . . . you'll be the last person on earth to see her, to touch her."
Bailey heard the gun cock and closed his eyes forcefully, bracing himself for the pain to come. He knew what he was going to do : at the last minute, he would lean towards the gun, sheltering Sam from the bullet. The gun went off and Bailey held his breath. Time stood still . . .
---TBC---
AUTHOR : Karen Gomes (pyrie@hotmail.com)
CATEGORY : Even though it might look otherwise, it's SBR all the way.
RATING : R
SPOILERS : Probably.
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 : Thanks for everyone's support. grin It's much appreciated!
Cheers! Gomes.
--------------- Repercussions (pt.10 ) ---------------
Juniper Woods, Atlanta
John placed hand on Bailey's shoulder, as the older man rocked with anguish. "I can't believe she's gone, John."
John chewed on the inside of his cheek. He felt tears sting his own eyes. "I don't know what to say . . ."
Bailey tried to control his sobs. "Let's get her out." He motioned John to go to the other side, and both agents carefully lifted her as though she were still alive. They placed her on the ground softly, and the feathery dirt gently cascaded off the body. Bailey leaned down, and brushed the dirt off her face. He paused and his fist tightened into a ball. "That son of a bitch!" He stood up and paced wildly.
"What?" John asked, and bent down. "Art." He looked up at Bailey. "Art in a wig." John let out a relieved laugh. "Bastard. There goes are number one suspect."
"George." Bailey said, ignoring John. "Tell Grace and Liz to come to Juniper Woods, we have a body."
"What happened to Sam?" George asked worriedly over the microphone.
"She's not here . . . I thought - well it doesn't matter what I thought, all we know is that we found Art."
"Excellent, will you arrest him?" George asked, still oblivious to the event that just transpired. There was a long pause. "Boss?"
"Let's just say, Behar got what was coming to him."
***
VCTF, Atlanta
The team sat around the conference room; Bailey was still brooding, but his mood had lightened up a bit, knowing that Sam was still alive. He twisted the bag with the wig in his hand. "Okay, Gracie, what do you have?" He asked, as she walked in.
"Slightly different MO : the victim was shot in the chest, bruising the heart, but puncturing a lung.
"So if the MO doesn't match, can we assume that it was a vengeful motive?" Liz asked, looking at some files.
John shrugged. "Maybe one of the victims lovers . . . eye for an eye kind of deal."
Liz pointed to John, following his lead. "You take my lover, I'll take you out?"
Bailey sighed loudly. "I don't think so . . . it's more complicated than that."
"It sure seemed like cold blooded murder to me. Clip through the chest. Ba- da-bing." John mimicked a gun with his fingers and prodded George in the chest to make his point.
Thoughts of the 'Premature Burial' by Poe clouded Bailey's mind. "So if he didn't bleed to death, he suffocated under all that dirt." He stated.
"Not quite." Grace said, and pointed to George who brought up an image on the screen. An image of Art Behar taken from the scene of the crime appeared before them. "Heart was removed."
"Ba-da-bing." George imitated John, who just pouted.
"But you said that the bullet damaged the heart." Bailey said, getting up to observe the picture.
"Two theories as to why," Grace began, and put one finger up, "no trace of the bullet - my assumption is that it is still lodged in the heart, wherever it is." Bailey nodded. "Two, part of the lower ventricle was still settled in the body, where the bullet probably pierced and tore, leaving a delectable juicy piece that would make Hannibal Lector's mouth water."
"Lovely imagery, Grace." John grimaced.
"What can I say, I love my job." Grace laughed, off of everyone's disgusted looks. "I have to start working with a less-livelier crowd . . . my patients don't seem to mind."
"Don't count on it, they probably complain from the grave." John muttered.
Bailey tossed the evidence bag up and down, with a strange pensive look on his face.
"Penny for your thoughts?" Liz ventured.
"No . . . there's something I have to do." Bailey looked around. "Alone." He sighed. "Trust me, I'll be right back." He sped off to his office, slamming the door behind him.
"That was odd." John's brow furrowed.
"That was Bailey." Liz shrugged, and they all gathered around George, observing some more case photos and files.
Bailey sat at his desk, and opened the bag with gloved hands. He manipulated the wig, and finally checked the label. He threw the wig back into the bag - his suspicions confirmed. He opened his desk drawer and took out a blank pad of paper. «This was on Sam's desk.» He thought to himself, and flipped through. «She said she found it when she was stopped by the police,» Bailey closed his eyes and corrected himself, «by Jack.» He curled his lip. "Jack." He reached into another drawer and pulled out a portable black light. He read the first page.
"Home isn't where the heart is, it's right beside it."
Bailey rubbed his temples. He got up and ran to the door of his office. "Gracie!" He shouted.
Grace casually walked up. "We have intercom systems, you know." She said, sarcastically.
"It's so impersonal." Bailey retorted. "Did we retrieve any of the hearts?"
Grace narrowed her eyes. "Yeah, all of them except for Behar - why?"
"Just curious - where were they found?" Bailey pressed on.
Grace backed up slowly. "Let me make a call."
"Ten bucks they were found right beside the body." Bailey muttered under his breath; a statement heard by Grace.
"I'll take you up on it." She grinned and walked out, as a messenger brushed past her.
"Mr. Malone." He handed him a letter, the retreated to the entrance of the building.
Bailey eyed the boy distrustfully but proceeded to open the letter anyway. He nodded; two blank pieces of paper lay gently folded in his hand. Not caring about prints - they probably wouldn't find anything to begin with, he rushed to his desk and hurried to get the notes under the black light.
"Must I do everything, Malone? Just get my Samantha back. . ."
"Oh, you bastard!" Bailey tried to control his anger. He placed the second note under the black light, and a map soon surfaced. «That's not far from here . . . but should I believe him? Maybe it's just a trap . . .» He traced the essential part of the map, jotting down the easiest way to reach the warehouse that had been circled several times. He looked up as Grace opened the door, and walked to meet her half way. "Well."
Grace didn't say a word, and handed him a ten dollar bill. She shook her head, perplexed, and walked out of his office.
He closed the door and took off his shirt. Putting on a light sweater, he began to unbuckle his pants as Liz entered his office. He stopped and looked at her.
"Oh please, I've seen your pride before." She rolled her eyes and sat in his chair. She discreetly looked at the blank pieces of paper, when her eyes fell on the map. "Quitting your day job?"
He put on his jeans and finished off his ensemble with a black leather jacket. He struck an exaggerated pose, ignoring her question. "So?"
"You're styling." Liz exclaimed dramatically. "So, where you off to?"
Bailey shrugged, buying time. "A bar . . ."
"I'll join you - I could use a drink." Liz said, getting up. A smirk flashed across her face, before she redeemed her professional demeanor. "So . . . ready?"
Bailey closed his eyes, and took a deep intake of air. "You already know, so quit screwing with me."
"I don't want you to jeopardize your safety, or Sam's for that matter." Liz looked deep into his eyes. "Call back-up, take John - hell, take me along."
"No." Bailey gently pushed her back. "It's my past, my doings, my fault." He began to head towards the door, grabbing his motorcycle helmet along the way. "Let me fix it." He said and exited, leaving Liz feeling completely useless.
***
Undisclosed Location, Atlanta
Sam strained against her restraints. "Why didn't you just kill me, like all the others? Why change now?"
A figure stepped from the shadows and walked up to her. "Would you rather I have chosen the same fate as the others?"
Sam retreated inwardly. "So, what purpose do I serve?"
The figure just laughed and pulled out a needle. Sam watched as the needle was jabbed into her skin, and she suddenly felt the drugs beginning to work. She forced her eyes to stay open, but her eyelids felt leaded, and pulled her down, along with her head and the top of her spine. She lay there limp, as the shackles were removed, and she was then placed on a cold, operating table. "And now, we wait. If I know Malone, he'll come here alone to save his precious Samantha, the apple of his eye, the bitch that makes me sick!" The abductor spat out.
***
Shipshank Warehouse, Atlanta
Bailey pulled up to the warehouse and got off his bike. He pocketed his keys and drew his gun. Cocking it, he felt adrenaline course through his veins. A certain excitement floated above him, which only gave him comfort in knowing that Sam was alive. He felt it in every fiber in his body; he could feel her heart beating with his. "I'm here, love." He told her softly, as he gently opened the door to the abandoned warehouse. He walked towards the light, in the middle of the building which mirrored an eerie hangar for haunted planes. Chains suspended from the ceiling rose to an abysmal ebon, and the floors - covered with cheap wood over cement - creaked with every step taken.
He ran towards the table; there she lay, naked from the waist up, but illuminated by the soft glow of an overhead light. He grasped her hand, and caressed her face. His guard was down, but he couldn't leave her like this. He needed to feel her. He withdrew his hand, her face was like ice. He drank in her pale features, and almost feared her for dead once more. His hand slipped to her neck, where he detected a faint heartbeat. His own echoed in his ears, and he observed the syringe lying beside her - the contents not yet empty. He took off his jacket and covered her upper torso. His body jerked up when he felt the barrel of a gun pressed to the back of his head.
"The gun, Malone." He dropped the gun. "Now, move away from her."
"Sam, love, wake up." Bailey pleaded, ignoring the gun and the threats.
"NOW!" The figure knocked the gun lightly against Bailey's head.
"Sam, please. Let me see your eyes, your smile. Let me hear your voice. Let me feel you, one last time." A few tears cascaded down his cheeks, falling onto her pale cheeks. The gun came into contact with the back of his head, and Bailey stumbled forward.
"I should have finished her off."
"Sam?" Bailey still ignored the coercion, but kept pleading with the incapacitated love of his life. "I don't care if I die . . . I want you to be safe."
He lifted her up in his arms, so that she was leaning against him, in a sitting position. Her arms hung limply to his sides, hidden by the jacket that he draped around her shoulders. Her forehead was loosely pressed against the top of his shoulder.
The figure moved the gun past Bailey's ear, right in front of Sam's forehead. "You'll get your wish . . . you'll be the last person on earth to see her, to touch her."
Bailey heard the gun cock and closed his eyes forcefully, bracing himself for the pain to come. He knew what he was going to do : at the last minute, he would lean towards the gun, sheltering Sam from the bullet. The gun went off and Bailey held his breath. Time stood still . . .
---TBC---