A/N: I'm not from London, so I don't really know what the climate is like.  Please, give me a break if I describe the weather wrong. 

IMPORTANT A/N:  In case you were wondering why they didn't know Christopher Burns killed their son (also read my comment to Velma-Kelly-online):

Chapter Twelve

Blood on His Hands

Part One

It had begun to drizzle like it usually did in dreary London; and Lester Christopher Barns cursed, knowing the rain would eventually freeze, becoming layers of snow.  He scanned the seasoned faces of the men beside him at the bar and winced.  What schmucks.  Here every night doin' nothin' but drinkin'.  He took another swing from his Vodka, disgusted with the old timers lingering around drinking until they were so plastered that they forgot they had had a sip and started their rounds all over again.

"Sam, another one," Barns demanded.

"Hey, Les," the bartender, Sam, called out, wiping a glass dry.  "I think you've had enough, buddy.  A doc shouldn't be drinking so much.  You don't want a malpractice on your hands, do you?"

"I's not that kinda doc-tour," Barns slurred, slamming his empty glass onto the polished countertop.  "Restearch inta the realm of…of…long-long…long-jet…longevity."

"Oh here we go," a man murmured a few stools down.

Sam shrugged, disinterested in hearing the ramble of bumbo-jumbo for the millionth time.  "I don't give a damn what kind of doctor you are, Les.  I still think you've had enough.  In fact, I know you have.  Once you can't talk straight even to babble on about your research, I know you're wasted.  Now beat it or I'll call Inspector Greene.  I'm sure he'd love to see you."

Barns grumbled.  On one very drunk evening he had confessed to the whole pub that he had slept with Inspector Henry Greene's exquisite wife.  Needless to say, when Greene got wind of it he was none-too-thrilled.  Barns slapped a few bills on the table, swaying slightly to the rhythm of his vision.  "Bloody hell," he muttered, staggering out into the frigid night air: it had began to snow.

He slid into his automobile, his hands fumbling with the key until he finally managed to slip it into the ignition.  Damn them all, he thought bitterly as he peeled out into the streets, not noticing the urgency to flip on his wipers.

He sped through the city, weaving from side to side.  A glare pierced through the window, causing his head to throb and his eyes to squint.  In a blur of seconds, his car was smashing into something large and metallic.  His intoxicated brain unable to register any movement, he was flung like a rag doll against the steering wheel, getting knocked out instantly.

Part Two

Groaning, he slowly grew aware of his surroundings.  He could hear the sound of tortured wailing, causing his head to split in two.  He brought his hand to his forehead and drew it back, perplexed at the sticky blood.  He glanced around him, stunned by the wreckage of his car.

Barns crawled out of his vehicle, stumbling into the cold and wincing.  He peered around him, his eyes falling on the slumped form of a sobbing man.  He was cradling something to his body.  Something small and…wearing clothes?  Jesus Christ, his mind screamed, gaping at the anguished man as he frantically ran a hand through a baby's blood-coated hair.

Barns watched in horror as the man threw his head up and screamed a sound that shook Barns to the core.  "Damn you," the man screeched.  "You should've taken me!"  He rested his head on the toddler's and began rocking the little child against his chest in sheer hopelessness and despair.  "You should have…taken…me." 

Jesus Christ, dear Lord, no!

Barns ran.

End Chapter Twelve

Spirita: I can only post so quickly!  I hope you enjoyed this chapter.  Velma-K-o: Your…enthusiasm is encouraging.  Also, it's great to hear that you found the chapter title (Missing Piece) fitting.  I thought so myself.  Anyway, now you see why they didn't know him?  He ran from the scene so they never saw him and he changed his name from Lester Christopher Barns to Christopher Burns. SierraSunshine: What can I say?  I love tossing in tension!  And I'm exciting that I keep getting such devoted fans!  LoveMR: I guess you can call me "The Twister."  /sigh/ I know, that was lame and I don't know why I said it!  Zeusfluff: A Child Called It is a story about an abused boy, but his mother only picks on him and not his brothers.  It's easy reading and kind of short.  I'm not saying you have to read it, but I think you may find it enjoyable.  TheChosenOne3:  That was quite an uplifting review.  I'm speechless.  No, wait, I can say thank you for the beautiful compliments: THANK YOU!