Chain of Darkness
Chapter Sixteen--
.
**********
A/N: Just wanted to thank my very loyal supporters, Orison, Cosmic Castaway, Mulderette, ace, ljae... Your reveiws just make my day and really encourage me to finish this! Here's the latest installmeant, enjoy!
**********
Faith grabbed an ice pack from the fridge and walked back into the firehouse's near-empty dining room. The ice was for Sully, but her head was aching from stress and she was tempted to press the cold bag against her own forehead. The mid-morning hour was bright and sunny, making her headache worse and painfully reminding her that she still had to remain awake the rest of the day. 'Save yourself, Faith' she advised herself, 'Today you're in for a long haul.'
The whole bunch of them, save Bosco, who hadn't returned, had left the hospital a short while ago when Ty's mother had finally shown up. Faith had called her as soon as possible, but she was out of town and had been hard to reach. When Faith broke the horrific news to her, she had cried profusely and promised to be on the next bus out of wherever the hell she was. Hours later, she had arrived, tears still streaming out of her eyes and a Bible clutched in her hands, ready to keep vigil by her son's bedside.
Kim and Jimmy had left a few minutes ago, eager to sleep the last few hours before work, exhaustion and a looming shift both calling them upstairs to the communal bunkroom. Doc stayed downstairs with Faith, promising to leave a bit later to bring Sully back to his apartment.
Faith didn't know why she was here, at the firehouse of all places, but she didn't want to go home now, there was no point with only a couple of hours before their next shift.
She tossed the pack to Sully. "Put this on your head," she ordered brusquely, still upset about the scene he and Bosco had made earlier.
She frowned. Bosco…could he ever keep his cool? She doubted it. This time he'd lost it, really lost it, and it worried her. She'd seen that fiery rage in his eyes before-he was well known for his temper-but this time an almost desperate vehemence had overpowered that look.
"Oww!" Sully was groaning loudly, protesting the ice that Doc had placed on the sizable lump.
"Oh, shut up!" Faith snapped. Now that she thought about it, Bosco wasn't so far off. If she weren't so distraught about poor Davis, she'd probably have done the same thing. Sully had been going downhill for a while, Ty taking the brunt of the workload, watching out for his partner, being so supportive. And what does he get? This? He didn't deserve this. Sully certainly needed a wake up call; maybe this was it.
"Me shut up?" Sully's words were slow and slightly slurred. "It was your damn partner that just beat me up!"
Faith felt her blood pressure rising. "You know what, Sully? You deserved that, every bit! Bosco was right, you are selfish!" she spat.
"Faith…" Doc warned, a pleading look on his face. He looked utterly worn out and another fight was the last thing any of them needed. Faith bit her tongue. Sully was too drunk anyway; in a few hours he wouldn't remember any of this. It was a lost cause.
"Go ahead home, Faith. He's not going anywhere," Doc remarked dryly, nodding his head at Sully, who was either falling asleep or passing out.
"You sure you'll be okay with him?" Faith murmured. Doc was really going out of his way to help out. Sully wasn't a good friend of his or anything, but then she realized the obvious. There was no way she could get Sully home-he was twice her size.
"I'll be fine; let him sleep it off some before I take him home."
"Thanks…I'm sorry 'bout all this…" Faith sighed and gave Doc a thin smile as she turned and left, needing to get away before she started to cry. The events of the last few hours just wouldn't leave her alone, plaguing her with horrifying veracity, reverberating madly through her.
Sights, sounds, scents; they were all coming back at once, her weariness only intensifying the nightmare.
She could still hear and see everything perfectly…the sound of herself gasping at Ty's motionless form, lying on that hospital gurney. The tubes running from every spot on his body; the large bandages covering his head and chest; the swish of air as a machine breathed for him; the icy cold of his limp hand as she took it…
Tears were welling up in her eyes, threatening to pour out and sting hot rivers onto her cheeks; the stress of everything reeking havoc on her emotions.
She slid into her car, pushing the key into the ignition forcefully before she lost control and began to sob quietly.
**********
Matt glared at the report, his eyes nearly burning a hole in the page. He scanned up and down the sheet again and again, rereading it, hoping he'd read it wrong or there was a clerical error, but nothing had altered.
How could this be?
Sam was equally distressed; his head buried in his hands. The reports had come with no phone calls, no shouts of joy from an overjoyed Crime Scene Investigator. Only a single sheet of off-white paper now stained permanently with the bad news.
Yes, DNA had been lifted from the car. The killer had been inside, had sat in the drivers seat and pummeled the vehicle into the unsuspecting officer. He'd left behind a few small pieces of himself, accidentally of course. They had been so thrilled to hear about the tiny flakes of dried skin on the seat, that single strand of hair. This was their break, Matt was so sure. But then came the cross analysis, checking the DNA against every documented criminal. The results were on that paper.
They still had nothing.
Oh, sure, now they had the flakes and the hair, each carefully preserved---the evidence to nail this guy. All they lacked was a positive match.
Matt shrugged. "I guess we shouldn't be so disappointed. It was a long shot anyway. Well, at least now we know one thing…"
"Hmmm?" Sam didn't bother to lift his head.
"We know it wasn't some sort of grudge from some retribution-crazed criminal. You know, someone they put away…"
"I wouldn't be so sure about that. Could be an older case, before DNA and blood tests. Could be a brother, a cousin or friend who felt he needed to get revenge, maybe of someone that got the death penalty. Who knows? People are so predictable sometimes, you think you have them, but then they surprise you. Bang, you're right back where you started from…am I making any sense at all?"
"Yeah, I know what you mean. Listen, short of throwing ourselves in front of this maniac and begging for pity, what's our next move?"
"Officer Davis. We need to talk to him…unfortunately, he's unconscious. I guess we keep pluggin' away at this, check everthing over again, hope we missed something." Sam sighed.
"This guy is…way too good. He makes me sick. The worst part is that if we don't get anything from Davis, we'll need another victim. It's a catch-22." Matt paused, drawing out the silence emphatically. "I hate this."
**********
He stared at the screen, not believing what he was hearing. The reporter went on and on in her mournful, but phony, seriousness.
"Now, at this time, the police haven't released a statement, but sources confirm that an Officer Davis was nearly killed by a hit-and-run driver earlier this morning. He remains in critical condition at Angel of Mercy Hospital…"
Her voice trailed off, her forced sincerity turning to another story, but he had stopped listening.
Davis was alive? How could that have happened? He had been so careful, so meticulous. There was no way; Davis was supposed to be dead, have no chance of survival. He'd made sure of that, taking his coat and hat and dumping him into that dumpster…
He didn't know what to think, what to do. His plan had been altered yet again, this time by those damn cops. All he knew now was the burning feeling of anger that quickly flushed over him.
He would make them pay for this…
**********
Bosco rotated the steering wheel, pulling the RMP around the corner a little too sharply. Faith felt herself slide across her seat, the centrifugal force pressing her tightly against the door.
"Bosco, slow down."
"Sorry." He straightened the wheel out again and eased off the gas a bit.
Faith, tired as she was, noticed the considerable quietness that had enveloped her ordinarily chatty partner. The casual small talk that he used to pass time had been scaled down to only an occasional word here and there.
His appearance had changed as well; his face wore a haggard look and casual neglect had allowed his normally close-cropped hair to grow longer, touching his collar in the back, his silky locks threatening to curl at the base of his neck.
He contradicted himself now, his haircut--or lack of one, making him look younger, boyish, but his expressions and mannerisms seemed more mature, cautious and careful, very unlike his former self. No doubt, this whole chaotic fiasco was taking a real toll on him.
Faith, annoyed by the lack of noise, found herself resorting to his role as the silence-filling conversation starter. "Hey, Bosco, I was thinkin', maybe we could pull over and take a break. You know, get some coffee or somthin'?"
"Can't. That's breakin' the rules--we already had one. Don't want another disciplinary." His answer was short, nothing much to work with.
She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, and since when do you follow the rules…?"
He didn't answer. Just shook his head as if her questions were inconsequential.
"Well, if you're gonna follow the book you'd better get that hair of yours cut soon." She remarked, reminding him of one of the job's oldest rules: Hair on men must be kept short, above the collar.
"Can't." He was being so matter-of-fact. She knew that he did this when he got tired, but she was tired too and today it was driving her crazy.
"Why the hell not?"
"Cause' the place I used 'ta go to closed. Don't like those other fancy places."
"What? Salons?"
"Yeah. They never cut it right."
Faith smiled. He was the child of consistency, had to have some stuff just so. But his haircut? Usually looked like a simple buzz job as far as she could tell.
"Where did you go before?" she prompted. She was curious now, plus she had him talking-sort of.
"Place down on 59th. Could get a hair cut for like, 12 bucks. I don't need all of that expensive shampooin' and stuff those salons do-just cut my hair."
"The Hair-Cuttery? Fred takes the kids down there. Well, he used to at least. Aren't they the ones that give out the suckers if you sit real still for them?" she poked, teasing him.
He laughed, as if remembering all of the free lollypops that he'd been given, his long-lost smile stretching across his face. Faith felt her heart leap, she was so relieved that he was happy again, if only for a moment. For one second life was back to normal; them laughing and teasing and cracking stupid jokes. She felt like crying again.
"Yeah, that's the place…" He was still grinning and shaking his head.
Oh God, she missed this. She missed him…
***********
Bosco walked into the smoky bar, searching for a specific face in the crowd of people. Ah, there she was-over behind the counter, serving drinks to a couple of middle-aged, beer-bellied drunks. He could see that pretty smile of hers plastered across her face. She talked and laughed, pretending to have a good time as those drunken slobs flirted openly, practically drooling over her. He shook his head. What a life.
Pushing past a few dancing couples, he made his way to the bar and slid onto a stool, waiting patiently for her to notice him and come around. Maybe she was too busy tonight. Maybe he shouldn't have come…
No, he needed to talk to her. Fighting the urge to leave, he toyed with a paper napkin and watched her. She was laughing at something one of the drunks whispered in her ear. She flirted back and poured another drink, sliding it over to them. She was a good actress. He didn't like seeing her like this, but her little games sold more drinks.
Finally, she noticed him and her face lit up, this time genuinely. She strolled over, a huge smile on her face.
"Maurice!" she cried happily, as she leaned over the bar and kissed him on the cheek.
"Hey, Ma."
"Maurice, baby, where have you been? I haven't seen hide nor hair of you for weeks!"
"Uh, I've been busy." He hesitated, "Listen, Ma, can I talk to you?"
She smiled, surprised. She and her oldest son didn't have the closest relationship. "Sure honey, let me just get these people taken care of. Are you hungry? Go into the kitchen and get something to eat. I'll be right back."
He walked behind the bar and opened the small door to the back kitchen. The familiar smells of barbeque sauce and popcorn were ever-present in the tiny room, reassuring almost; a reminder that some things were the still same.
He sank onto a chair and waited, mulling over his decision to come here. He wasn't sure exactly what possessed him confide in her, but it seemed to make sense the more he thought about it. His mother needed to know what was going on, he didn't want to worry her but she needed to know.
Even though he wasn't particularly close to his mother, she and Faith were the only ones he ever really talked too. You know, the deep kind of talks, not the normal, everyday small talk--the stuff you don't want to drudge up, but want someone else to know about.
He needed to talk to someone; someone he didn't have to put on his tough-guy act for. He had to be plain old Maurice with his Ma, she could see totally through him and his various masks. She was supposed to, she was his mother.
The door swung open as she entered the room, her hands full of dirty mugs. She dumped them into the large sink and turned to face him.
"Now, what did you want to talk about?"
"Well, um," he paused wondering where to start. This was a bad idea. How could he tell her? How could he tell her about all the cops that had died? How he could be next…
He tried again, "Well, ya see, Ma…"
She noticed him struggling, "Maurice, did something bad happen? Is it Mikey? Is he in trouble?" Her voice had risen an octave and her eyes gazed deep into his, searching for an answer.
He sighed heavily. Every conversation always came back to Mikey, his long lost, drug-addicted, and careless little brother. He should have expected it.
"No, Ma, its not Mikey," He watched her shoulders relax. Shit, he didn't want to do this. She would just worry, be another person affected by this whole thing. That is what the killer wanted, to terrify as many people as possible, keep them living in constant fear. He couldn't do that to her.
"Then what? Something at work?"
"Yeah, I-"
A crash from the front room cut him off and, loud, drunken laughter drifted in. His mother rolled her eyes, and grabbed a rag from the counter.
"That's the third glass they've broken tonight!" she huffed and left to go clean the mess up, leaving Bosco alone…again. He was sick of being alone. He got up and left through the back exit, angry and frustrated, but relieved at the same time.
He would get through this by himself.
**********
Faith watched her partner slowly pull on his Kevlar vest, carefully and systematically fastening each strap around his chest. For the first time in who-knows-how-long, Bosco had actually shown up early. Faith, of course, had arrived with plenty of time to change, and had been pleasantly shocked to see Bosco was already there, his back towards her, half-undressed.
She had made some derisive comment, remarking about his newfound revere for the rules, but had quieted immediately when he turned around.
He looked terrible. Yesterday he looked bad…but this… He had dark circles under his eyes, dulled considerably and bloodshot from lack of sleep, she assumed. His clothes were wrinkled looking as if he'd worn them to bed then tossed and turned all night and his usually neat hair was spiked up, small cowlicks giving him a bed-head. He had no smart-ass comeback, just a quiet, "Faith, not today."
'My God,' she thought, 'it's really getting to him.' Seeing him like this almost worse then getting that late-night phone call from Jimmy. She had assumed his attitude and countenance yesterday was all from their long night, that he would be back the next day ready to kick some ass. But now she knew…he was petrified.
Not that she wasn't scared herself; every waking moment of the day she was afraid, terrified half to death-for herself, for Bosco, for all the other cops. But Bosco was her rock, nothing fazed him. He laughed in the face of danger...That Bosco hadn't shown up for work today.
**********
He sat hunched over slightly in his chair, hands grasping a thick mug of coffee. The diner was loud and filled with cops, all on their lunch break. This was the perfect place to sit. He could see them, watch them, but they would casually pass him over. He was just another low life as far as they were concerned. Self-righteous cops.
His eyes flitted from one face to another, recognizing many of them. There were only a couple that interested him, though. Their names had a certain disdainful ring as he muttered them softly under his breath.
He took a sip of his hot drink as the door swung open, the little bell attached to the frame jingling merrily. He turned, grinning at what the sudden draft had just ushered in. That tall blond with her partner, the obnoxious one.
He just smiled, mentally circling their names on his to-do list.
**********
TBC... Hey guys, if ya like this and want more soon, please review! It helps me to write faster!
Chapter Sixteen--
.
**********
A/N: Just wanted to thank my very loyal supporters, Orison, Cosmic Castaway, Mulderette, ace, ljae... Your reveiws just make my day and really encourage me to finish this! Here's the latest installmeant, enjoy!
**********
Faith grabbed an ice pack from the fridge and walked back into the firehouse's near-empty dining room. The ice was for Sully, but her head was aching from stress and she was tempted to press the cold bag against her own forehead. The mid-morning hour was bright and sunny, making her headache worse and painfully reminding her that she still had to remain awake the rest of the day. 'Save yourself, Faith' she advised herself, 'Today you're in for a long haul.'
The whole bunch of them, save Bosco, who hadn't returned, had left the hospital a short while ago when Ty's mother had finally shown up. Faith had called her as soon as possible, but she was out of town and had been hard to reach. When Faith broke the horrific news to her, she had cried profusely and promised to be on the next bus out of wherever the hell she was. Hours later, she had arrived, tears still streaming out of her eyes and a Bible clutched in her hands, ready to keep vigil by her son's bedside.
Kim and Jimmy had left a few minutes ago, eager to sleep the last few hours before work, exhaustion and a looming shift both calling them upstairs to the communal bunkroom. Doc stayed downstairs with Faith, promising to leave a bit later to bring Sully back to his apartment.
Faith didn't know why she was here, at the firehouse of all places, but she didn't want to go home now, there was no point with only a couple of hours before their next shift.
She tossed the pack to Sully. "Put this on your head," she ordered brusquely, still upset about the scene he and Bosco had made earlier.
She frowned. Bosco…could he ever keep his cool? She doubted it. This time he'd lost it, really lost it, and it worried her. She'd seen that fiery rage in his eyes before-he was well known for his temper-but this time an almost desperate vehemence had overpowered that look.
"Oww!" Sully was groaning loudly, protesting the ice that Doc had placed on the sizable lump.
"Oh, shut up!" Faith snapped. Now that she thought about it, Bosco wasn't so far off. If she weren't so distraught about poor Davis, she'd probably have done the same thing. Sully had been going downhill for a while, Ty taking the brunt of the workload, watching out for his partner, being so supportive. And what does he get? This? He didn't deserve this. Sully certainly needed a wake up call; maybe this was it.
"Me shut up?" Sully's words were slow and slightly slurred. "It was your damn partner that just beat me up!"
Faith felt her blood pressure rising. "You know what, Sully? You deserved that, every bit! Bosco was right, you are selfish!" she spat.
"Faith…" Doc warned, a pleading look on his face. He looked utterly worn out and another fight was the last thing any of them needed. Faith bit her tongue. Sully was too drunk anyway; in a few hours he wouldn't remember any of this. It was a lost cause.
"Go ahead home, Faith. He's not going anywhere," Doc remarked dryly, nodding his head at Sully, who was either falling asleep or passing out.
"You sure you'll be okay with him?" Faith murmured. Doc was really going out of his way to help out. Sully wasn't a good friend of his or anything, but then she realized the obvious. There was no way she could get Sully home-he was twice her size.
"I'll be fine; let him sleep it off some before I take him home."
"Thanks…I'm sorry 'bout all this…" Faith sighed and gave Doc a thin smile as she turned and left, needing to get away before she started to cry. The events of the last few hours just wouldn't leave her alone, plaguing her with horrifying veracity, reverberating madly through her.
Sights, sounds, scents; they were all coming back at once, her weariness only intensifying the nightmare.
She could still hear and see everything perfectly…the sound of herself gasping at Ty's motionless form, lying on that hospital gurney. The tubes running from every spot on his body; the large bandages covering his head and chest; the swish of air as a machine breathed for him; the icy cold of his limp hand as she took it…
Tears were welling up in her eyes, threatening to pour out and sting hot rivers onto her cheeks; the stress of everything reeking havoc on her emotions.
She slid into her car, pushing the key into the ignition forcefully before she lost control and began to sob quietly.
**********
Matt glared at the report, his eyes nearly burning a hole in the page. He scanned up and down the sheet again and again, rereading it, hoping he'd read it wrong or there was a clerical error, but nothing had altered.
How could this be?
Sam was equally distressed; his head buried in his hands. The reports had come with no phone calls, no shouts of joy from an overjoyed Crime Scene Investigator. Only a single sheet of off-white paper now stained permanently with the bad news.
Yes, DNA had been lifted from the car. The killer had been inside, had sat in the drivers seat and pummeled the vehicle into the unsuspecting officer. He'd left behind a few small pieces of himself, accidentally of course. They had been so thrilled to hear about the tiny flakes of dried skin on the seat, that single strand of hair. This was their break, Matt was so sure. But then came the cross analysis, checking the DNA against every documented criminal. The results were on that paper.
They still had nothing.
Oh, sure, now they had the flakes and the hair, each carefully preserved---the evidence to nail this guy. All they lacked was a positive match.
Matt shrugged. "I guess we shouldn't be so disappointed. It was a long shot anyway. Well, at least now we know one thing…"
"Hmmm?" Sam didn't bother to lift his head.
"We know it wasn't some sort of grudge from some retribution-crazed criminal. You know, someone they put away…"
"I wouldn't be so sure about that. Could be an older case, before DNA and blood tests. Could be a brother, a cousin or friend who felt he needed to get revenge, maybe of someone that got the death penalty. Who knows? People are so predictable sometimes, you think you have them, but then they surprise you. Bang, you're right back where you started from…am I making any sense at all?"
"Yeah, I know what you mean. Listen, short of throwing ourselves in front of this maniac and begging for pity, what's our next move?"
"Officer Davis. We need to talk to him…unfortunately, he's unconscious. I guess we keep pluggin' away at this, check everthing over again, hope we missed something." Sam sighed.
"This guy is…way too good. He makes me sick. The worst part is that if we don't get anything from Davis, we'll need another victim. It's a catch-22." Matt paused, drawing out the silence emphatically. "I hate this."
**********
He stared at the screen, not believing what he was hearing. The reporter went on and on in her mournful, but phony, seriousness.
"Now, at this time, the police haven't released a statement, but sources confirm that an Officer Davis was nearly killed by a hit-and-run driver earlier this morning. He remains in critical condition at Angel of Mercy Hospital…"
Her voice trailed off, her forced sincerity turning to another story, but he had stopped listening.
Davis was alive? How could that have happened? He had been so careful, so meticulous. There was no way; Davis was supposed to be dead, have no chance of survival. He'd made sure of that, taking his coat and hat and dumping him into that dumpster…
He didn't know what to think, what to do. His plan had been altered yet again, this time by those damn cops. All he knew now was the burning feeling of anger that quickly flushed over him.
He would make them pay for this…
**********
Bosco rotated the steering wheel, pulling the RMP around the corner a little too sharply. Faith felt herself slide across her seat, the centrifugal force pressing her tightly against the door.
"Bosco, slow down."
"Sorry." He straightened the wheel out again and eased off the gas a bit.
Faith, tired as she was, noticed the considerable quietness that had enveloped her ordinarily chatty partner. The casual small talk that he used to pass time had been scaled down to only an occasional word here and there.
His appearance had changed as well; his face wore a haggard look and casual neglect had allowed his normally close-cropped hair to grow longer, touching his collar in the back, his silky locks threatening to curl at the base of his neck.
He contradicted himself now, his haircut--or lack of one, making him look younger, boyish, but his expressions and mannerisms seemed more mature, cautious and careful, very unlike his former self. No doubt, this whole chaotic fiasco was taking a real toll on him.
Faith, annoyed by the lack of noise, found herself resorting to his role as the silence-filling conversation starter. "Hey, Bosco, I was thinkin', maybe we could pull over and take a break. You know, get some coffee or somthin'?"
"Can't. That's breakin' the rules--we already had one. Don't want another disciplinary." His answer was short, nothing much to work with.
She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, and since when do you follow the rules…?"
He didn't answer. Just shook his head as if her questions were inconsequential.
"Well, if you're gonna follow the book you'd better get that hair of yours cut soon." She remarked, reminding him of one of the job's oldest rules: Hair on men must be kept short, above the collar.
"Can't." He was being so matter-of-fact. She knew that he did this when he got tired, but she was tired too and today it was driving her crazy.
"Why the hell not?"
"Cause' the place I used 'ta go to closed. Don't like those other fancy places."
"What? Salons?"
"Yeah. They never cut it right."
Faith smiled. He was the child of consistency, had to have some stuff just so. But his haircut? Usually looked like a simple buzz job as far as she could tell.
"Where did you go before?" she prompted. She was curious now, plus she had him talking-sort of.
"Place down on 59th. Could get a hair cut for like, 12 bucks. I don't need all of that expensive shampooin' and stuff those salons do-just cut my hair."
"The Hair-Cuttery? Fred takes the kids down there. Well, he used to at least. Aren't they the ones that give out the suckers if you sit real still for them?" she poked, teasing him.
He laughed, as if remembering all of the free lollypops that he'd been given, his long-lost smile stretching across his face. Faith felt her heart leap, she was so relieved that he was happy again, if only for a moment. For one second life was back to normal; them laughing and teasing and cracking stupid jokes. She felt like crying again.
"Yeah, that's the place…" He was still grinning and shaking his head.
Oh God, she missed this. She missed him…
***********
Bosco walked into the smoky bar, searching for a specific face in the crowd of people. Ah, there she was-over behind the counter, serving drinks to a couple of middle-aged, beer-bellied drunks. He could see that pretty smile of hers plastered across her face. She talked and laughed, pretending to have a good time as those drunken slobs flirted openly, practically drooling over her. He shook his head. What a life.
Pushing past a few dancing couples, he made his way to the bar and slid onto a stool, waiting patiently for her to notice him and come around. Maybe she was too busy tonight. Maybe he shouldn't have come…
No, he needed to talk to her. Fighting the urge to leave, he toyed with a paper napkin and watched her. She was laughing at something one of the drunks whispered in her ear. She flirted back and poured another drink, sliding it over to them. She was a good actress. He didn't like seeing her like this, but her little games sold more drinks.
Finally, she noticed him and her face lit up, this time genuinely. She strolled over, a huge smile on her face.
"Maurice!" she cried happily, as she leaned over the bar and kissed him on the cheek.
"Hey, Ma."
"Maurice, baby, where have you been? I haven't seen hide nor hair of you for weeks!"
"Uh, I've been busy." He hesitated, "Listen, Ma, can I talk to you?"
She smiled, surprised. She and her oldest son didn't have the closest relationship. "Sure honey, let me just get these people taken care of. Are you hungry? Go into the kitchen and get something to eat. I'll be right back."
He walked behind the bar and opened the small door to the back kitchen. The familiar smells of barbeque sauce and popcorn were ever-present in the tiny room, reassuring almost; a reminder that some things were the still same.
He sank onto a chair and waited, mulling over his decision to come here. He wasn't sure exactly what possessed him confide in her, but it seemed to make sense the more he thought about it. His mother needed to know what was going on, he didn't want to worry her but she needed to know.
Even though he wasn't particularly close to his mother, she and Faith were the only ones he ever really talked too. You know, the deep kind of talks, not the normal, everyday small talk--the stuff you don't want to drudge up, but want someone else to know about.
He needed to talk to someone; someone he didn't have to put on his tough-guy act for. He had to be plain old Maurice with his Ma, she could see totally through him and his various masks. She was supposed to, she was his mother.
The door swung open as she entered the room, her hands full of dirty mugs. She dumped them into the large sink and turned to face him.
"Now, what did you want to talk about?"
"Well, um," he paused wondering where to start. This was a bad idea. How could he tell her? How could he tell her about all the cops that had died? How he could be next…
He tried again, "Well, ya see, Ma…"
She noticed him struggling, "Maurice, did something bad happen? Is it Mikey? Is he in trouble?" Her voice had risen an octave and her eyes gazed deep into his, searching for an answer.
He sighed heavily. Every conversation always came back to Mikey, his long lost, drug-addicted, and careless little brother. He should have expected it.
"No, Ma, its not Mikey," He watched her shoulders relax. Shit, he didn't want to do this. She would just worry, be another person affected by this whole thing. That is what the killer wanted, to terrify as many people as possible, keep them living in constant fear. He couldn't do that to her.
"Then what? Something at work?"
"Yeah, I-"
A crash from the front room cut him off and, loud, drunken laughter drifted in. His mother rolled her eyes, and grabbed a rag from the counter.
"That's the third glass they've broken tonight!" she huffed and left to go clean the mess up, leaving Bosco alone…again. He was sick of being alone. He got up and left through the back exit, angry and frustrated, but relieved at the same time.
He would get through this by himself.
**********
Faith watched her partner slowly pull on his Kevlar vest, carefully and systematically fastening each strap around his chest. For the first time in who-knows-how-long, Bosco had actually shown up early. Faith, of course, had arrived with plenty of time to change, and had been pleasantly shocked to see Bosco was already there, his back towards her, half-undressed.
She had made some derisive comment, remarking about his newfound revere for the rules, but had quieted immediately when he turned around.
He looked terrible. Yesterday he looked bad…but this… He had dark circles under his eyes, dulled considerably and bloodshot from lack of sleep, she assumed. His clothes were wrinkled looking as if he'd worn them to bed then tossed and turned all night and his usually neat hair was spiked up, small cowlicks giving him a bed-head. He had no smart-ass comeback, just a quiet, "Faith, not today."
'My God,' she thought, 'it's really getting to him.' Seeing him like this almost worse then getting that late-night phone call from Jimmy. She had assumed his attitude and countenance yesterday was all from their long night, that he would be back the next day ready to kick some ass. But now she knew…he was petrified.
Not that she wasn't scared herself; every waking moment of the day she was afraid, terrified half to death-for herself, for Bosco, for all the other cops. But Bosco was her rock, nothing fazed him. He laughed in the face of danger...That Bosco hadn't shown up for work today.
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He sat hunched over slightly in his chair, hands grasping a thick mug of coffee. The diner was loud and filled with cops, all on their lunch break. This was the perfect place to sit. He could see them, watch them, but they would casually pass him over. He was just another low life as far as they were concerned. Self-righteous cops.
His eyes flitted from one face to another, recognizing many of them. There were only a couple that interested him, though. Their names had a certain disdainful ring as he muttered them softly under his breath.
He took a sip of his hot drink as the door swung open, the little bell attached to the frame jingling merrily. He turned, grinning at what the sudden draft had just ushered in. That tall blond with her partner, the obnoxious one.
He just smiled, mentally circling their names on his to-do list.
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TBC... Hey guys, if ya like this and want more soon, please review! It helps me to write faster!