Chapter Twenty-One--
A/N: Okay, and now we get to the good stuff. (Drumroll please...) Thanks for bearing with me everyone! I appreciate your wonderful reviews more than you'll ever know!
**********
Someone had driven a stake through his temples, Ty thought as he struggled to open his eyes. And if pain was any indication, that someone had done the same thing to his back, his chest, and both of his legs.
What the hell had happened? Had he gotten in a fight with someone? Had he been in a car accident? Had he been shot?
The tape that before had held his eyes shut had been removed, and as soon as he attempted to open them, he was assaulted by a cruel, blaring light that forced him to close them once again.
His other senses began to kick in and he detected the strong smell of antiseptic and alcohol, a monotonous yet soft beeping, and the hum of electrical machinery. Confused and beginning to panic, he let his eyes open again, this time only a small slit. Blinking and forcing them to even more, he struggled to focus on the bland wall that was before him.
Ugly. And what made it even uglier was the hotel-room looking painting that was hung slightly off-center. Someone should shoot that artist and the person that had even bothered to hang it.
The painting was a stupid thing to let his thoughts linger on, though. It was just that his brain was all fuzzy and foggy, and concentration on inanimate objects felt right. Well, maybe. He wasn't sure.
It didn't hold his attention for much longer and he let his eyes wander around a bit. A lot of impressive machinery sat beside him, beeping softly and buzzing.
Yes, he thought, his brain still in a haze. He'd been in a car crash. But it wasn't an accedent. No, that wasn't right. The car had crashed into him.
Catching his breath as the horror of that night came slamming back, he tried to sit up, but something or someone held him down. The stabbing pain that ricocheted through his back and down his legs warned him not to try again.
His throat felt like he'd swallowed a bucket of sand. He needed a drink, he thought desperately. He needed a drug. He needed to die.
"He's coming to!" an annoying voice announced.
He rolled his eyes towards the sound and saw a pale, fat nurse hovering over his bed and a man with a stethoscope beside her. Someone else was standing up by his head, but he could only see a shadow. Must be mom.
"Ty, can you hear me?" the man asked in a voice so loud that it nearly shattered his eardrums, echoing madly through his head. "Ty, you're in the hospital."
No kidding, he thought, but when he tried to speak, that damn tube from before made him gag. Not this again...
"Ty, you have a tube in your throat to help you breathe," that fat nurse said all soft and gentle. Her voice wasn't like the thunderous, painful one of the doctor's and he felt like hugging her. "We can take it out now if you like."
He nodded his head ever so slightly, struggling not to gag again. The tube had other plans and scratched the entire length of his dry throat painfully. His best efforts to restrain his reflexes just made it worse, and he gagged again violently. Oh, God, please...
"Okay, just a minute now, " the nurse prattled on, patting his shoulder as she removed some sort of tape from his face. Her touch was gentle, but it still felt like she was trying to rip his cheeks off. "When I tell you to, you need 'ta cough, okay?"
Ty closed his eyes again as pain-induced tears ran down his face. Why me? he wanted to scream. Why did this happen to him?
"Is he okay?" another voice whispered urgently. It was a man's voice, deep and scratchy, almost melodic. He knew that voice... Sully?
"Just a sec," answered the obnoxiously loud doctor. "Okay, Ty - start to cough now."
Ty didn't need a second invitation when every reflex and natural instinct in his body screamed for him to do just that. His chest heaved and gagged against the tube as it was roughly pulled from deep inside of him.
If he'd ever felt like death was a better option then life before, he had had no idea how much worse life could get. The next few seconds were pure hell, every fiber of his body white hot in intense pain as he struggled to catch his breath.
Hands rubbed his shoulders comfortingly while he choked and sputtered, his airway finally clear of the tube, but almost unsure of how to breathe on it's own. Dammit... Ty thought to himself as his cough-racked body started to settle and the impulses to gag and choke starting to subside.
For a long moment the room was silent, and his breathing fell into a rhythmic pace, steady and slow. Ty could hear the scratching of pen on paper and assumed the doctor was scrawling out a record of his latest feat. His brain was alive now with unanswered questions, burning with curiously. "How long?" he managed in a raspy whisper.
"Since the crash?" the doctor asked. "Almost three days now. How do you feel?"
Dumb question. How the hell would you feel if you were run over? Ty wanted to ask him. His head was pounding relentlessly, the pain felt like someone was beating his head with a bat with each throb. Any hangover that he'd ever had was a mere annoyance compared to this. "My head..." he whispered.
The doctor chuckled softly, irritating Ty even further. "I would imagine that, you had quite a concussion."
Ty opened his eyes again and glared at him. The older man scribbled something else on his notepad and smiled reassuringly, "Where else do you have pain?"
Again, dumb question. Ty ignored him, instead clearing his throat and licking his lips in an effort to make his voice sound relatively normal. "Sul?"
The shadow by his head moved in and he recognized the bulk as his partner. Sully squeezed his shoulder, his face bearing that same guilty look he'd had the last time Ty was in the hospital. "I'm here, Ty," he murmured.
Ty stared up at him, trying to decide what the hell he should feel guilty about. The crash couldn't have possibly been his fault... What was it?
He felt himself fading and his eyelids drooped as his weary body fell back towards the warm sleep that was tugging at him. "Tired..." he managed to mumble before his eyes closed entirely, succumbing to the urges.
A few seconds passed of comfortable darkness before he remembered. The events of that night came back, whispering softly in his ear the reason that his partner looked so guilty, the reason he was standing there with that look on his face.
Sully had been drunk. He'd gone out late to pick him up. It was his partner's fault that he was out that night.
Shit.
**********
Matt pulled on an extra pair of gloves, not particularly thrilled with the idea of venturing out into the bitter night air. He had a job to do though, and the idea he'd come up with, teamed with his insatiable curiosity, wouldn't allow him another second to wait around in the warmth.
He pushed the door open, ushering in a blast of semi-artic air. The cold nipped at his exposed cheeks and nose, but he plodded onward, excited and nervous at the same time. This could be it... But what if he was wrong? What if this was yet another dead-end?
He shook his head, dispersing the pessimistic thoughts, instead concentrating on trudging thorough the snow to his destination: the warehouse at the far-end of the lot.
The handle of the metal door was cold enough to be felt though two pairs of gloves, and he hurriedly inserted his key, anxious to get inside and see if his theory was correct.
Inside, he wove around the various pieces of evidence noting the many boxes of unusable data. They didn't hold his interest and he kept walking until he spotted what he'd come for: the gray Geo Metro.
The old car, nearly smashed into half its size, sat parked at a funny angle, tagged and inspected - waiting for him. He smiled apprehensively and walked around it, trying to figure out the best way to get at the front seat.
"Okay, car, work with me here," he murmured to the cold piece of scrap metal that could possibly hold the break in the case. "Give me something, baby..."
Standing to the side, he crossed his fingers superstitiously and sent up a silent prayer to God. Please...
For the next few seconds a hush fell over the warehouse and it was perfectly silent, as if holding it's breath with Matt as he fetched what he was searching for.
Then came the triumphant shout, "Yes!"
**********
Bosco sat on the cold bench, still fully dressed in his uniform, his elbows resting on his knees and hands locked tightly together in front of him. The locker room was conspicuously silent, as most of the others had already come and gone for the night. Faith had gone upstairs to check their radios back in and grab a coffee, but he'd opted instead to stay downstairs.
He sat for a long moment, his mind whirling brooding thoughts, trying not to think about his return home to the dark lonely apartment that awaited him. Another long night of sleepless misery was in store, and he was definitely not looking forward to it. Faith, on the other hand, had at least a family and husband to keep her company. Lucky. More than once he'd been tempted to crash at his mother's place, but the thought of anything happening to her because of him warned him not to even entertain the consideration.
"What are you still doing here, Boscorelli?" snarled a familiar voice.
Bosco didn't bother to look up as Sergeant Christopher sauntered in, his arms crossed and a rather smug look spread across his face. "Hmmm?" he prodded again, moving to stand before Bosco.
Bosco glared him in the eye, but his resolve was weak after the last weeks of torment. He didn't answer, instead choosing to shift his gaze to the floor.
"Oh, com'on, Boscorelli, all of the others from the shift are gone. Why are you still here? Too scared to go home? Afraid of the dark, perhaps?"
Bosco flinched slightly. Christopher had touched a nerve. He was indeed afraid of the dark, but the nasty Sergeant had no idea of how badly. He closed his eyes, silently begging Christopher to leave him be, and again, refused to acknowledge his superior.
"Awww, it's okay. The boogie monster already went home for the night. It's safe now," Christopher chuckled meanly. "If you want, I could come home with you and check under your bed."
Bosco felt his temper started to flare and he squeeze his clenched hands together until his knuckles turned white, "Just shut the hell up," he snapped, feeling the familiar warmth of anger rush over him. Son-of-a-bitch. How dare him...
A head peered in from the doorway, "Sergeant, Swersky wants to see you."
Christopher nodded at the messenger and turned his attention to Bosco again, "Hey, Boscorelli. Don't let the bedbugs bite..." he snarled, smirking arrogantly.
Bosco watched him leave, flushed and seething, the knots in his stomach twisting painfully. Christopher's comments had brought back every realization full force, leaving him livid and horrified and scared half to death all at once.
**********
It was quiet. Deathly quiet.
He smiled at the common cliché, and how perfectly relevant it was right then. He slunk further down, huddled into the tightest, smallest position that his frame could manage. His hiding place was good - a dark corner where no light would touch. The heavy weight from the knife at his side tugged at his belt and provided a constant reminder of how the next few hours would play out.
He closed his eyes, pausing to imagine how the kill would go as he waited. It didn't matter how many hours would have to pass before it happened.
For this, he would wait forever...
**********
Faith heard Bosco sigh as he pulled his sweatshirt over his head, as if enjoying the warmth that the hoodie provided. She was dressing back into her civvies as well, her back to him as she messed with the zipper on her coat.
The conversation that they had had earlier that day was echoing through her head, reminding her of the gravity their situation and also how frightened her partner was. His words had been harsh from the raw emotion that had spawned from weeks of constant wear and tare, each "event" literally shredding another part of his emotions until he had nothing but tattered bits left.
"Oh, God, Faith," he had choked out, "I'm scared half to death."
The look in his eyes was one of pure defeat and terror. As long as she lived, she would never forget that moment. She had seen a side of him that was of innermost depth: a man trying to desperately cling to whatever hope he could. Even now just thinking of it made her feel sick.
The foreboding feelings of that morning had intensified until they raged inside her and tore at her, threatening menace. Something was wrong. Something terrible would happen.
"Faith, can I catch a ride with you?" Bosco asked, startling her out of her tumultuous thoughts. She expected this question-he'd asked every night for the last week, obviously too frightened to return home alone. She always agreed, pretending not to notice the fear-laced query, glad for the company as well. Driving alone in the dark was never fun, and the stalking serial killer made it almost unbearable.
"Sure," she smiled at him as she tugged on her gloves. "No problem."
She watched her partner intriguingly as he straightened to stand and rubbed his face with his hands. God, he looked really bad. No, that was far too weak a statement - he looked terrible. "You ready?" she asked, peeling her eyes away from his weary face.
"Yeah, Faith, let's get outta here."
**********
Matt ran in a near-sprint through the parking lot. He'd found it - the right clue, the right piece of evidence. He reached the front of the station and jogged up the steps, nearly bursting with elation.
This was it. In his hand he held the killer's fatal mistake. A small one at that, but the consequences would be huge, potentially devastating for the one who had carelessly left it.
He flung the doors open and raced through the halls, up the stairs and into his and Sam's office. His partner sat at the desk, needlessly going over the useless stacks of data that they had collected so far, a pen behind his ear and a concentrated look across his face.
"Sam!" Matt exclaimed, smiling broadly as he held op the incriminating piece of evidence. "I've got it!"
The surprised look on Sam's face was priceless.
***********
The snow crunched softly under the tires as Faith pulled the car up to the curb. Bosco warily peered out the window, eyeing his dark apartment. Oh, God, he didn't want to go up there...
He sighed and pushed his skullcap further onto his head, stalling as long as possible, and moved to arrange the zipper on his coat. If Faith noticed his hesitation and purposeful delay of the inevitable, she didn't say anything. She only smiled weakly at him in an attempt to make him feel better, he assumed. Her vain attempt to comfort him only made him feel nauseous.
"So..." she spoke softy, "I'll see you tomorrow then..."
It was more of a statement then a question, as if she was reassuring him that he would indeed be at work the following day. Nice try. He did appreciate the effort, though. Something about tonight made him sick with worry, and nothing she could ever say or do would be able to erase the alarmingly fast-growing sense of panic that burned away at his stomach.
"Yeah," he answered lamely, his voice dropping to a whisper, skillfully disguising the unevenness of his tone. He was about to lose it. "Tomorrow."
"Okay, then."
Bosco took this as his cue to leave and slowly opened the door and exited the car; dread welling up in the back of his throat. He leaned in once more, pausing to say farewell, suddenly having a strong feeling that this would be his last time. "Night, Faith."
"Night," she repeated, looking him right in the eye, her blue eyes searing and pure. "Be safe."
Those three simple words were unfortunately incredibly poignant and far too realistic to be taken lightly, and they only intensified the panic that was making his heart race.
"Right. You too," he murmured before he closed the door.
He stood on the sidewalk and watched her drive away, hands stuff deep in his pockets, struggling not to cry. He didn't know why, but was sure that he would never see her again.
**********
"Oh my God, Matt!" Sam exclaimed, his eyes wide with shock and pleasure. How the hell had his young partner done it? "That's it, pal. We nailed him!"
Matt grinned, his smile spread from ear to ear. He couldn't even explain how relieved and thrilled he was feeling right now - nothing in his life had ever felt so fulfilling, so perfectly right. He had done it, had cracked an impossible case... No, wait. They had done it. He could have never done it without Sam's insightful wisdom and perseverance.
Sam shook his head in wonderment, and reached for the bag containing the evidence: the small strip of tape bearing the fingerprints of the killer. "How the hell did get these? How did you know where to look? Where did you find this?" he wondered to Matt, his hands shaking with excitement.
"I did a little detective work, my friend," Matt drawled, his face still lit with his infectious grin. "Let me ask you a question... What's the first thing you do when you get into a car? You buckle up, right?"
"Right, but we know that the guy wiped down the entire car, steering wheel, seatbelt buckle, dashboard... everything. Where the hell did you get these prints?"
"There's one other thing that you always do..." he paused, grabbing a large bag from deep within his coat pocket. He laid it on the table before them, nearly laughing at the look of shock on the face of his partner as he stared at the source of the incriminating fingerprints.
Sam gasped, stunned. He had never thought of this... "Holy shit!"
"Yep, the son-of-a-bitch screwed himself royally, huh? Never thought anything of it when he reached up and adjusted that mirror, did he?" Matt mocked in glee, fingering the bag that held the rearview mirror that had held the long sought-after prints.
"Again, Matt - how the hell did you know?"
"Ah, that came from backtracking and role-playing. I sat in my car just a while ago to get a feel for what he'd been doing that night, and automatically reached to fix the mirror. Viola! Prints!"
"Son-of-a-bitch..." Sam murmured in awe. He still couldn't believe that it had come down to this; this cold piece of metal that the CSI had disregarded easily, had completely overlooked. It took an inanely smart and dedicated young man like his partner to find what they'd needed. He felt like crying.
"We win, Sam...we win!" Matt whispered, his own eyes threatening tears of pure relief and delight.
**********
He waited, still crouched inconspicuously from sight, but now with an edgy gleam in his eye and a small smile on his lips.
This was the night; the night in which all would be made right - the night that he would finally enact his revenge...
The cold, steel blade he gripped had warmed from his nervous energy. His knees ached from remaining bent for so long, but he wasn't even aware of the niggling pain, the tingling of lost circulation. He was intently focused on the future, what the next small fragment in time would bring.
**********
Bosco fished his apartment key from his back pocket, his fingers curling around the small object and quickly yanking it out. The hall outside his door was dark and foreboding, very much like the hall outside of Gusler's place...
He winced at the harsh recollection. Why the hell did he always think of these things? He always remembered all of bad stuff relative to whatever situation he was in. Damn...
He inserted the key into the deadbolt and was satisfied when he heard it click open. Nobody was in his apartment, or at least that's what the bolt told him. Again he inserted the key, this time into the regular lock. It popped softly, giving him another small bit of relief. Not much, but enough to let him relax slightly from the uptight rigidly of every muscle.
He pushed the door open quietly and slipped inside to the nearly dark apartment. He always left one light on at all times to provide him reprieve from his fear of the dark, and tonight the dim kitchen light welcomed him.
Bosco relaxed even more - content that his apartment was safe - and turned to lock up again, checking each lock twice before moving from the door. Slipping his feet out of his shoes, he padded softly into the living room to switch on more lights, hoping that the illumination of the place might ease his agitation further.
He never noticed the dark shadow that slunk from its hiding spot, creeping closer and closer until it was directly behind him.
The shadow reared to its full height, revealing a man's sulking form, hand raised above its head, brandishing a deadly weapon malevolently.
**********
TBC...