Chapter 16

itsmeocean@hotmail.com

Homecoming

The headache pounded at his temples, screaming for more attention. Heavy lids drooped over tired eyes and all the drawings, blueprints, and scribbling were melting into one huge pool of black ink in his mind. But he knew he have to persevere on. Setting his last file aside, he buried his face in his hands and breathed in and out forcefully, trying to clear his mind of all the accumulated garbage.

Callie had not failed them. When the brothers crept out of the fire escape with those heavy files, she had the guard seated next to her on the lobby's sofa for waiting guests with his back facing away from the entrance, and thus, the brothers. Joe had winked at Callie as they sneaked out of the building while she rolled her eyes dully. The guard and her had switched roles- now, Callie was holding on to the box of tissue, offering a piece by a piece to the sobbing guard. It was only later when they learned that somehow, while Callie was confiding in the guard about her failed romance with Mr. Rajasamy, a green card holder from India, he was reminded of the traumatic experience of being left by the altar while his love ran away in her wedding dress with her best friend, another woman. The whole scene could be from a sitcom and Joe almost expected to see studio lights and cue signs prompting audience to laugh. Whatever it was, he was eternally grateful to Callie for brilliantly distracting the guard away from his screens and the brothers creeping out of the condominium block.

The eye of the tornado would be pleased to see the state the room was in- hardcover files strewn across the floor- some opened and some closed. Loose sheets of paper scattered around, and a few pieces were accidentally trampled on. Joe wasn't sure how they could return Lester Demoir's his precious work without him throwing an epileptic fit- maybe a card of apology might do the trick but Joe doubted it. Suddenly, his head felt even more weighted and, coupled that with the heady feeling of sudden rushes of oxygen to his brains, Joe wanted to vomit.

He gagged, swallowing down the puke. Was he falling sick? What if they couldn't find any matching sole print? What will it mean for Hallie? Seated with legs spread out on the floor and his back against the side of the bed frame, he lolled back his head to rest on the firm mattress for a while.  Elle had made herself comfortable on the bed as she perused her set of files. Looking up at her, his heart skipped a beat- the Casanova in him never rested and Elle- neat, unruffled Elle- was the most attractive when her raven hair was out of place as she pored over whatever she was doing with those gorgeous dark green eyes hiding behind her black-rimmed glasses. For a moment, just languidly gazing at her, his mind was minutely soothed by intellectual beauty.

She didn't even notice him looking at her and he was fine with that. When the migraine subsided a little, he went back to the file. With one hand flipping the pages, the other raised up the copy of the sole print which Frank had printed out for all of them. Squinting his eyes for better focus, he immediately regretted the action for his headache suddenly pounded harder.

C'mon. This is the last customer profile of mine. Got to match. Have to match. MATCH! MATCH! MATCH!

"ARGHH!" He roared when the last size twelve profile he had belonged to someone with normal feet. Flinging the file on the floor, fluttering up some sheets of paper with the stirred air currents, Joe forced himself to count to ten. Looking at Elle wouldn't help now- what was beauty without hope?

"I still have a few more sole prints to look at. You know, like the movies- it's never the first, not even the middle. It's always the last one you look at."

"Then jump right to the last one!" Joe looked up at her again, gesturing vehemently. "Just go right at it!"

"I'll gladly offer you a few more to look at but I won't. You can't concentrate."

"Damn right I can't!"

"Go to your room to join them and stop annoying me. I'll get the match for you." Elle finally peered at him from under her glasses jadedly. She was numbed to his antics just as he was sick of them. But who could understand? When rage bubbled and rationality so scarce in supply, who could understand just how terrible it felt to teeter at the edge of a violent bout of insanity?

No one understood the wreck he was and he felt like he was doing too good a job of taming the dragon's fiery breath stoked in his stomach. Ignoring the tightening of his chest, he stood up abruptly and stormed out of the room, trampling on some blueprints, no longer feeling contrite about messing up someone's hard work. Had he less control, he would have wanted to shred all the useless pieces to shreds.

And maybe, if Elle couldn't find anything in the final file, he would.

***

"I'm thinking it can't be a coincidence that the clinic Joe and Vanessa went to would receive such gruesome letters… I'll check it out later if you still can't the doctor. He relocated to Florida?"

"Yes, apparently, he's no longer working as an abortionist. Some would say…onscience, I say …ear." There was some static in the line and Frank had to strain his ears at parts and assumed the rest. Checking his phone quickly, he noticed that it was almost drained of battery juice.

"And the cabin?"

"Nothing useful showed up unless you have something for dust."

"Ok, dad. I got it all down. I'll call you back with my own findings soon. We don't seem to have much luck with the print and Biff told me the description the man gave himself when speaking to Joe could match a number of venomous snakes, some of which are not illegal to keep. We need to be more specific."

"Hmm… don't worry. Something will come up soon, it always do. Call me back, son, when you have something. I'll try the doctor again but I'll give you his home number just in case. He doesn't carry a mobile, only a pager. I'll give you that too."

"Thanks dad…" Frank pressed the mobile between his ears and shoulder as he hurriedly took a pen and scribbled down the numbers into his Palm. Bidding Fenton farewell, Frank disconnected the call as Callie tapped him on his arm, eyes shining with concern.

"So, what did you dad say?"

Frank sat down next to her on his bed, scrolling down the notes he had taken down in his precious digital PA.

"None of Joe's anger management class peers have any motives. They checked all four of them out- they have alibis. The therapist too was in some conference or some other important stuff. However, the very interesting bit they dug up was on the abortion clinic. Seems like their previous doctor- the one that Ness and Joe saw, had quit his job citing stress as a reason. Rumors had it that he received very weird, threatening letters with a personal agenda rather than belonging to any lobbyist groups with a penchant for using force to get what they want. Dad found out that the doctor is now practicing in Florida but no longer as an abortionist. He's now a gynecologist. Peter Masters. We'll have to talk to him."

Callie lifted up one side of her lips wryly. "You know I'm a pro-life. But I can't agree with those who resort to deadly violence to protest against the cause. It's like the pot calling the kettle black."

"I know." Frank squeezed her shoulder absentmindedly, saving his work.

"I mean, killing another never seemed right to my eyes for whatever reason- even capital punishment or in war. You kill someone, you judge him or her permanently and you are definitely not worthy of that. You take away their future- you take away their freewill. You play God and most undeservingly so. Do you think that's how the abductor feels like? God? Do you think he's addicted to the adrenaline of holding many lives in his hands with just one? You're the one who ran after serial killers before and took up many modules dealing mainly in criminal psychology. Tell me Frank. Why?" Callie looked up at him with searching hazel eyes.

"Why Hallie? Why any of us?"

"Why ask why? Frank will tell you none of us really know why they are doing this. We can build up profiles, seek out the roots to their insanity but we'll never really know what really drives them. We just hope we know enough to get them."

At the sound of Joe's voice, Frank jerked up with a shock. His grim-faced brother stood by the door, his hair all mussed up and his eyes gleaming dangerously. How did Joe so quietly open the door without them knowing? Frank was seeing his brother in a different light now- he was no longer the kid who simply charged into action like a bull in a cluttered china shop.

"Sometimes, when we do catch a glimpse in their warped logic, we fear for ourselves. To understand them would somehow mean we take on a little of them in our minds. In order to understand, we try to think like them, to even feel like them. In order to think like them, we become them for a while." Frank spoke lowly, recalling the last case he had- the man who went around killing seemingly without a motive or agenda. The bullet wound he received in his arm, chasing down the fiend, had healed but the mental scars it left behind hadn't. His friends teased him for being modest about his accomplishment but they didn't know the reason why he couldn't talk about it was not due to a humble nature. Frank wanted to rid the man's logic forever away from his mind before it festered into his mind and, at best, jaded him.

At worst, become a small part of him.

"He hates me, that's for sure. He talks about my intentions like it was personal to him. He sounded as if I have wronged him but I don't even know him. Maybe he was abandoned as a child and at some point in his life, thought of the aborted babies as being abandoned, just like he was." Joe let the door swing close by it self as he staggered over and lay down on his bed, pushing his hair up as he massaged his temples.

"Then he should be saving children, not kidnap them."

"Kidnap Hallie to punish me for ever having the intention. Kill her to teach me a lesson I'll never forget." Joe mumbled blandly, his eyes shone too bright as if aided by the onset of fever and great trauma. Frank went over and pressed the back of his hand against Joe's forehead.

"You're burning slightly. Maybe you should take a rest."

"That's what I'm doing, right? I'll be fine after a minute or two. Cal, do you have Panadol?"

"Yup, hang on." Callie searched through her wallet and drew out a small, round pill sealed up in plastic and aluminum foil. Frank frowned a little at his brother, worried about Joe's health now. It was true- when the spirit was sick, the body would fall apart.

Joe could not fall apart now. None of them could. He took the pill from Callie, popped it out of the seal and passed it to Joe who swallowed it without water.

"You'll get it stuck in your throat that way."

"It's down."

Shaking his head, Frank went to pour a glass of water for Joe from the electric kettle. "I gather you didn't get anything from your files?"

"Nope. I don't know. Have we hit a dead end? Did Dad or Biff come up with any..."

The door swung open then again and all eyes were on Elle who was flushing red from the exhilaration of a major discovery, holding up two pieces of paper in her hands.

The lethargy dissolved away, Joe jumped up and stumbled across the room to Elle at the entrance. Gripping Elle by her forearms, he stared hard at the diagrams she was holding up. Frank could see that one loose sheet was the sole print he printed- the other was a penciled drawing.

"Tell me I'm looking at a match." Joe breathed raggedly, his mouth gaping as he studied the drawings. Frank set the glass down and went over to join them.

"You are, buddy. And you'll never guess who it belongs to." Elle smiled grimly though there was a triumph glint flickering in her emerald eyes.

"Who?" Joe shook her arms- feverish eyes too impatient for further suspense.

"Donald Summers. The famous criminologist."