*
67 hours missing
She could hear his footsteps outside the room, the shadows playing a pattern back and forth through the thin light streaming under the crack of the door.
She couldn't see the blood, she could only feel it. It was hard and dry in some places, already old and becoming a permanent fixture not only on her body, but in her mind and her soul. Her bound hands ran down her face, the sticky, cold, fresh blood oozing between her fingers and tasting bitter as it ran in her mouth.
The pain came in waves and bursts at various intervals. She couldn't tell night from day and all the hours and minutes seemed to merge together, a canvas of one existing time. She tried to remember people and faces and sounds that seemed so far away now.
Jack would come, she knew. He was nothing if not devoted. Devoted to his work, to her.
He would come.
Just not soon enough.
*
"I met her when she first came to New York."
Danny's voice broke above the silence, above the loud rain as it pelted the windshield. He didn't know what to think, his thoughts kept drifting to Samantha, to her beaten, bloody face. He kept thinking about her, alone with that man whose humanity had left him long ago, whose actions confirmed that humans were nothing more than animals to him and Samantha was at the mercy of his demented inner workings.
He didn't know what to say to Jack, whose face betrayed nothing less than a fear he wouldn't find her, that he'd fail her. He didn't know what to say because comfort seemed inadequate and dishonest. He couldn't promise a safe return he himself had trouble believing.
So he decided to simply talk about her. About the Samantha he'd known since she'd been an unsure young rookie, so far from home, slightly nervous about being in this big city she was grasping to comprehend.
"Before she joined our unit, I mean. She was thinking about joining up with the violent crimes unit."
Jack's attention was caught and he drew his gaze away from the window.
"And you talked her into joining Missing Persons?"
Danny's mouth lifted into a cocky smile.
"I like to pretend I had a hand in it, yes. I was her first friend. She's the only person I know who can quote Serpico, aside from me. And you want to know something else? She was afraid of you at first."
Jack's eyebrows went up in curiosity.
"Well, you can be intimidating. She wanted to impress you so much, make you proud. I think she did that."
"She did more than that."
He turned his gaze back to the window, tracing the drops of rain with his lonely eyes.
Danny uttered one last regretful sentence before they passed once more into an uneasy silence.
"I miss her."
*
He could feel her. She was so tangible and real to him that he wanted to wrap her in his grasp and never let go. He could feel her fear and her anxiety, her basic need to simply get out of here, escape. He could feel her hopelessness and it scared him.
There were pieces of her clinging to the walls and filling in those little holes in his heart that had started forming since the moment she'd disappeared.
Danny's hand hovered alertly over his gun, awaiting a noise, a movement, anything to indicate he'd need to use it, to fire, to dispel the deadly little object lying in wait in the dark barrel of his weapon. His feet shuffled along the wooden floorboards, his flashlight shooting thin beams across the room. His eyes settled on magazines and cigarette butts, an old television set. He silently thanked the omnipotent being in the sky above that he hadn't spoken to in ages as his hand ran across the search warrant in his pocket.
They could search this place up and down and he only hoped something worthwhile could be found.
Jack's clumsy hands finally rested on a tiny lamp and he switched it on, engulfing the room with an insubstantial light.
"Look for uh, anything...pictures, letters."
His hand stopped its rhythm on the wall.
"Blood."
Danny's head shot up briefly and he looked away again, intent on obtaining evidence that would find her, save her, take her away from the pit of hell she was thrust into.
Jack watched as Danny moved into the next room -- bedroom, most likely -- and moved further into the living room.
His eyes caught sight of something and he bent down, unsurely, hesitantly; his brain already foreshadowing what he knew would lead him to visions he'd only seen in nightmares. And there they were. Photographs. Photographs of him, of her, of them together and apart and functioning quite well in an existence they'd foolishly come to believe as normal and safe.
With every glance at these pictures, that normalcy he'd once believed in started to crack just as surely as the paint on the walls.
There were old photos and new photos and photos that caused his hands to shake. Photos of her bound again, bloody and half-alive, bruises marring what little skin he could see in the half-light. He kept a grip on the photos as his uneasy hands moved against his face, his eyes, willing the images away.
"Danny."
It was broken almost, a fragile shell of a voice he'd once commanded in easier times, better times. A voice he'd suddenly forgotten. A voice that had left him just as abruptly as she had and left no indication of ever returning to full capacity. Of ever returning at all.
Danny bent next to him, the beam of his flashlight wavering as he illuminated the pictures, focusing on the ones he'd been wishing all night he'd never see.
"Well, we've got our evidence, Jack. Now we just need to find the sonofabitch."
"If it was that easy, he wouldn't have left these here."
Jack pocketed the pictures and stood with trepidation, his balance slightly off.
Jack spun around, his hand resting on his head as he worked through the multitude of thoughts suddenly flowing through his weary mind.
"Okay, we know he had her here for a little while. She might've...I don't know...maybe she was able to leave something behind here. She might've known where he was going to take her and she could've left a clue here that would indicate--"
"That's a stretch, Jack."
"It's all we've got, Danny."
Danny conceded and the two began to search with a fury unmatched as of yet in their previous years together. There was a purpose to their movement, a passion in their steps. Her name loomed at the tips of their tongues, the base of their throats, the bottom of their hearts. They searched for a clue, a sign, a simple memento of her still-present life.
It seemed to them that the situation was growing ever more futile and the clock was counting down an imaginary end.
*
He pored over the old casefiles, his eyes straining in the dim light as he sat against the seat, ignoring the pounding rain and Danny's still form as his concentration was rooted solely to the evidence and photographs laying before him.
"Second victim was found 30 miles north of Westchester. Third victim was found in New Haven. His last victim was up in Everett, just north of Boston."
Danny swiveled his head against the cool glass, facing Jack's silhouette.
"There was a pattern there."
Jack nodded. "Whenever we had a serial killer like this, obviously we looked into their past, what might motivate their urges, anything to indicate a reason for it. I had a hunch his mother did something to him, like he had a personal vendetta against women. His mother was tall, had blonde hair, just like his victims. He liked to be in control, liked to exert his force over his victims before he killed them. It wasn't just for pleasure. It's like he was trying to make up for what he couldn't do as a kid."
"So each of the murders is a pattern moving up north--"
"He grew up in Rochester, New Hampshire."
Danny sat up straighter, his shoulders seemed to minutely raise, and a twinkle shone in his eyes.
"That's where he was going, Jack."
Jack looked up from the casefiles and met Danny's equally hopeful gaze. His hand brushed over the photo of Samantha laying almost purposefully atop the old folders.
"He never got to finish it, Danny. So that's where he's got Samantha."
The shrill ring of Jack's cellphone interrupted any further discussion.
"Yeah."
They spoke briefly until Jack covered the mouthpiece and turned to Danny.
"Martin said he just spoke to a buddy of his up in Brideport -- said he pulled a guy over for speeding last night. He matches Frank's description."
Danny nodded, listening as Jack instructed Martin and Vivian to meet them up in Rochester before hanging up. Jack's hands effortlessly dropped the phone into his coat pocket and his eyes shut tightly as he leaned against the sturdy seat.
The phone rang once more, piercing the air as a tense fog hung inside the car.
"Yeah."
"Jack, how are you?"
His free hand froze in midair as he halted his movement on the cold-induced fog smearing the window. It was a scratchy voice, painful on the ears as much as nails on a chalkboard. He hadn't heard it in years, hadn't thought in the darkest corners of his imagination that he ever would again. And yet that sound came forth from his closet of skeletons reminding him all too clearly of his past failures, of his future failure looming in front of him like an hourglass, the sands of time shifting and falling towards an inevitable end.
"What do you want, Frank?"
"Oh, I think you know, Jack. You always have. Now, tell me...do you miss her?"
His fingers tensed against the phone, his ear reddening as he pressed the device closely against his skin.
He held it together, faking a strength he could feel slowly slipping through his fingers like the sands of the hourglass; but his voice cracked a fraction of a degree as he spoke.
"Why her?"
"That's the million-dollar question, isn't it? Well, how about this: why not?"
"How do I know she's even still alive?"
The finality that mere thought provoked sent a chill up his spine, but he couldn't push it away.
"The fact is, you don't. You'll just have to take my word for it, Jack. I'm sure you've figured out by now where I am, haven't you? The trick is...getting here on time. I'll be waiting."
He waited for the click before flinging the phone on the ground before him, frustration eating at the little thread of sanity he was clinging to like a beacon of light.
"Dammit!" His hand smacked the side door and ran through his messy hair.
"Jack?"
"It's a four hour drive, Danny."
He wanted to ask, to know, to hear some semblance of reassurance or denial or anything that would allow him to hope they would find her or realize they wouldn't. But he knew better. It was dark in the car, dark outside, but he knew without seeing that Jack's face offered no room for argument. He turned the key in the ignition and sent a clumsy prayer to the sky above before backing out of the parking lot and driving towards what he hoped would be the end of this hellish journey.
*
72 hours missing
Martin hastily finished off the stale cup of coffee nesting precariously in his hand, tossing the empty styrofoam cup in the nearest trash can before climbing back into the car.
"Well?"
Vivian glanced over at his rain-soaked form as he slid against the seat.
"No luck."
"Now, what kind of car are we looking for?"
"A green Camaro with New York plates. My buddy in Bridgeport matched a picture we have of Frank to the guy he pulled over last night driving that car."
He sighed, rubbing a hand over his eyes.
"We checking with local police?"
"Danny's on that right now. Jack's asking around town -- seeing if there's any type of abandoned building around here where he could've taken Samantha."
"It's getting dark, Martin. We need to find her."
Martin looked across at his colleague and a pain rose up in his stomach. Vivian's eyes mirrored the same pain and an unspoken grief hung between them.
*
Danny pulled his coat up over his head, his best attempt at a hood against the pouring rain. He scanned the crowd until his eyes rested upon Jack's form. The man was teetering on the edge. He seemed to be completely oblivious to the fact that it was raining, as he was standing completely exposed in it.
He gestured Jack under a nearby store roof and puffed a breath of cold air as he spoke.
"I talked to the locals -- one of them said he saw a green Camaro about an hour ago heading out past Portland Street down by the railroad."
Jack glanced around for a moment. The sun was beginning to dip behind the evening clouds, the sky erupting into a watercolor of vibrant oranges and yellows and dim hues of red. Something told him this night would bring one of two outcomes, but his mind wouldn't allow him to dwell on either right now.
"All right, let's get surveillance set up down there."
*
74 hours missing
His thoughts inevitably drifted to her. They always did when he had time to think. When he was alone. When voices and people stopped invading the spaces of his existence and he allowed himself a pause to simply see her, just her. Not old cases or unsolved cases or even cases that had happy endings. No; in the pauses that life seldom allowed him, he just thought of her. Of her face and her smile and her hair; her favorite movies and books and foods. He thought of everything that used to be her and was her and everything she fought to be, everything she wanted to be.
He dwelled on this because in those little pauses, in the space and span of mere minutes, he sometimes thought of how he would be without her.
Of how he would be when he suddenly forgot her face and her smile and her hair; suddenly forgot which movies she liked most, which songs made her happiest, and which foods she liked best after a long day at the office.
He sometimes thought of that void she would leave if she were to one day just...disappear.
He thought of her whenever he could because he was afraid the time would come when he might forget.
Danny's breath framed the chilly windows as he raised the binoculars to his eyes, intensely focused on the building before him.
His breath suddenly caught and he whispered to Jack, whose mind was suddenly thrust back to reality.
"Jack, I think that's him."
Jack sat up straight, raising the walkie-talkie to his mouth, and waited. He raised the night vision binoculars to his eyes and confirmed it, speaking to the other agents scattered in various locations as he whispered to the device in his hand.
"Suspect's on the move. Everybody hold."
They watched as Frank LaMarca retrieved what appeared to be a large knife from a nearby shed. They had tracked him down to this small cabin by the railroad and the two hours spent staking him out had dragged on until now.
His figure retreated back into the cabin and Danny threw a questioning glance to Jack, a desperation barely suppresed beneath his pupils.
He spoke to the walkie-talkie again.
"Agent Taylor and I are moving in. All other agents hold back until I say."
They both steeled themselves, quietly exited the car, and bent low as they moved in the darkness, guns drawn before them and held tight between icy fingers. The ground was slippery beneath their feet as they reached the entrance.
Jack raised a free hand to bang on the door.
"FBI!"
He paused a moment before repeating his movement.
"FBI! Open up!"
He waited once more and glanced at Danny who nodded in agreement, before shooting the lock and moving in. The room was masked in darkness and they moved with ease as they were already adjusted to the dim light. Jack motioned for Danny to stop and he paused in the doorway, listening for footsteps.
He could barely make out a figure in front of him.
"Freeze!"
The figure moved towards him with deliberate, agonizingly slow steps. Half of his face briefly came into light, his steps halting on the edge of the room.
"Where is she, Frank?!"
The long blade of the knife glistened as it hit spots of the streetlight glowing behind him. Jack's heart sank a degree as he caught sight of blood. The air was rancid and dirty, the stench of dried blood and new blood and near-death lurking in the shadows.
"Tsk, tsk, Jack. Half the fun's in not knowing. But, my patience is growing thin. I think it's time to end this."
"The hell it is. Don't you move another inch!"
The corners of Frank's mouth lifted into an eerie half-smile as he ran the blade of the knife gently over the tips of his fingers, back and forth in a pattern, bits of his blood mixing with Samantha's.
"She's beautiful, Jack. Or...she was, anyway."
Jack's fingers tightened around the barrell, pinching the trigger, awaiting a release.
Frank ran a finger once more over the blade and let it rest at his side as he leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a raspy whisper.
"You know, Jack, she screamed for you."
He sensed Danny's movement as he bolted to Jack's side, rooting him to the spot. His finger shook on the trigger with an unmasked anger and his voice spat pure venom as he dripped the words from his mouth.
"I'm going to fucking kill you, Frank. Now, where is Samantha?!"
His voice was a perfect mix of controlled anger and desperation, his syllables coming in brief stoccatos as he leveled the gun at Frank's head.
Frank's free hand reached into his jacket as he spoke his final words. Danny moved forward, anticipating the worst.
"Time's up, Jack."
What happened next was a blur; a mass of images and sounds that hazed together. Frank's hands slowly brought up a gun as he fired off multiple shots and spun to the left, aiming at what the two agents finally realized was Samantha, bound and gagged and unconscious in the darkened corner.
Danny and Jack dove to the left and Jack whirled back as the impact of a bullet hit him in the shoulder. He whirled around and released the trigger he'd been barely restraining himself against, firing into the darkness until the shots ceased.
He shouted to the walkie-talkie, demanding an ambulance, and pushed aside the fire rising through his body as his muscles protested movement. His only concern was the huddled mass in the corner who had yet to speak or move.
A dozen lights illuminated the eerily quiet cabin as multiple cars pulled up. Jack caught sight of Danny who quickly stashed his gun back into its holster and knelt next to Samantha. His face was a mixture of shock and worry and panic at her stillness.
He brushed a lock of hair back from her eyes and whispered her name. Jack knelt next to the two and reached out a bloody hand to Samantha's soft, bruised skin, willing her to just look at him, even for a brief second; to assure him that he'd never again have to worry about that void in his life; that he'd never have to worry about forgetting her face or her voice.
The paramedics moved in and forced Jack away from the sight he'd been imagining in his mind since she'd disappeared. His mind grew foggy from the pain and he leaned against the stretcher, watching as Danny slipped his arms underneath Sam with an affectionate ease, tucking her battered body against his warm one, protecting her from the rain and cold.
It was the last sight he saw before slipping into a blissful, drug-induced stupor.
*
He thought of her again.
He always did.
It was the only thing that made sense right now.
The only thing that made sense ever.
His right arm moved with limited capacity, strung up in a sling. The pain was dim and minimal and he had to really think about it to even be aware of it.
Her face was pale and marred, her innocence shattered and broken. It pained him and broke him, but he tried to focus on what he knew, on what he had. She was here and alive and still beautiful. Her chest still rose and fell and she still had her eyes and smile and voice and everything that made her Samantha Spade.
His left hand moved to brush a few stray locks from her face, feathering gently over her bruised skin.
She moved against his hand and opened her eyes, blinking away the haze that came with morphine and pain.
"Jack?"
She sounded unsure and confused, too reluctant yet to believe it was true; to believe she was safe and he was here.
He leaned closer and brushed a kiss against her forehead.
"I'm here, Sam."
She blinked once, fatigue already overtaking her again.
"Did you--"
He continued stroking her hair, soothing away the nightmares...for now.
"We got him, Sam. He's dead."
Her eyes shut this time.
"You're safe, I promise."
Her breath evened out and he smiled. She was safe.
And in that pause, that moment...he loved her.
*
FIN
