Chapter Twenty-Two--
A/N: Warning: Contains violent material.
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His hand came down swiftly, shaking fingers gripping his knife in a death-grip. The knife resisted slightly as it encountered soft flesh, but he drove it home, forcing it down further and further until the entire blade was buried deeply.
Recompense.
Immediately, his free hand snaked around his victim's neck and covered the screaming mouth, stifling the shrieking cries until they were only muffled sobs. The officer that he held struggled violently - nearly causing him to lose his grip - but he held fast, forcing more and more pressure. Again and again he pushed the knife blade violently, stabbing it in so deeply that he could feel a section of the handle disappear.
Satisfaction.
With every thrust of the knife he felt the man weaken, stumbling first to his knees, then a few seconds later to his hands, shaking and sobbing crazily all the while. He half-smiled, falling down with his victim as he struggled to free himself from the merciless grasp. Warm, wet blood flowed easily out of the wound and down his arm, dripping silently from his bent elbow. The tickling, trickling feeling made his emotions swell, heightening with pleasure. He pushed himself up towards the panicked face, breathing heavily as he anticipated the first words that would be spoken.
Retribution.
Licking his dry lips, he craned his neck to get a better view of the face - Boscorelli's face. It was better then he'd ever imagined, twisted into a painful grimace of agony, his mouth working against his captors hand, silently begging for reprieve.
"You thought that locks could keep me out?" he whispered hoarsely into his ear, tightening his grip on the blade until his knuckles burned from pressure. He chuckled at the way Boscorelli choked against his hand, struggling to get air enough. He leaned his full body weight against the knife handle, insanely delighted when he felt it bury even deeper and grind against bone.
Perfection.
**********
Doc scribbled in the last column in the logbook, cringing when he saw the open slot for the next shift. Kim and Alex were supposed to have picked it up, but both had canceled about an hour ago due to some bug that they'd caught.
Dammit. He and Carlos would have to pull a double.
Loud footsteps hurried down the stairs, ushering in Carlos who was already changed back into his civvies, and judging by the wide grin on his face, obviously on his way home. Dammit. The poor kid had worked a double the night before last and was exhausted. Doc didn't feel like breaking the bad news to him, remembering the grateful comments his young partner had uttered all night about how glad he was that he was nearly done and on his way to bed.
"Hasta la vista, baby. I'm so outta here!" Carlos exclaimed excitedly as he rounded the corner.
Doc sighed and cleared his throat, "Uh, wait up a sec."
Carlos stopped mid-step, a confused expression on his tired face. "What?"
"Uh, Kim and Alex, they can't come in - got the flu or somthin'... So, we have to fill in for the next shift."
Carlos just blinked and stared at him like he'd grown another head.
"I, uh, I need you to stay on for a double tonight," Doc reiterated, in case he hadn't been clear enough.
"You have got to be shitting me!" his partner nearly shouted in disgust. "You're kidding, right? Say you're kidding."
"Nope, sorry."
Carlos groaned loudly as he dramatically rolled his eyes and slouched against the wall. He slid down slowly until he was sitting on the floor with his head buried in his hands. "Nooooo...."
"Com'on, it's not that bad," Doc scoffed at his melodrama. Carlos could be so... annoyingly dramatic. "Besides, you won't be yelling when the check comes in."
His partner looked up from his haphazard position on the floor, glaring him right in the eye. "Fine," he muttered, then buried his head in his hands again. "Why do I do this to myself...?" he groaned miserably. "I need sleep!"
"Hey, listen," Doc chided, slightly exasperated. "Maybe we do something good tonight for someone - save someone's life maybe. Isn't that worth a few hours of sleep?"
***********
Matt stood to the side of the door, his arms crossed anxiously. The CSI lab was processing the fingerprints at that moment, and the wait was making him so nervous that he felt sick. Well, it also could have been the fact that he hadn't slept in over 48 hours, and his diet of late consisted almost entirely of coffee. Jittery could hardly describe the way he was feeling now. The lack of sleep and caffeine rushes didn't help either.
Sam waited nearby, leaning against the wall, his head back, eyes closed. If one could have heard his thoughts at that moment, they would have heard only the humble but fervent prayers of a man desperate to find answers. He needed this to be the break. He didn't know how much longer he could last, toiling night and day as he and his partner searched for the elusive killer. How young Matt had so much energy and fervor, he had no idea.
Footsteps could be heard through the thin door, echoing louder as they grew near. Matt raked his trembling hands through his hair nervously, hardly containing himself. Not ten minutes before, he'd thought back, remembering all of the horrific crime scenes, the piles of unusable evidence, the scads of hours wasted...
If this wasn't it... If this wasn't the end... He didn't want to even think of it.
The door pushed open softly, revealing a young tech in a white lab coat. His eyes betrayed the solemn expression that was evenly spread across his face, gleaming with a speak that could possibly mean...?
"Well?" Sam spoke first, his voice tight.
The tech pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose, shaking his head. Matt felt his heart drop. Shit, no. God, please...please...
Sam held his breath, unsure of just what exactly the non-verbal communication meant. He could see that his young partner, a bit green and not entirely accustomed to reading people, had already taken the shake of head as a negative and his shoulders slouched in defeat.
Still shaking his head, the young tech broke into a toothy grin and chuckled, "You two... God, you two are a piece of work!" he exclaimed, holding up the file containing the test results and waving the triumphantly. "Son-of-a-bitch! I... I can't believe these fingerprints! Where the hell did you find these? They're perfect, just perfect, guys. I'm amazed."
Matt let out a happy shout, throwing his arms around his partner, "Hot damn!"
"Thank God," Sam breathed, his eyes rolling heavenward. "Oh, thank you, God..."
***********
Bosco heard the soft swish of something cutting swiftly through air - slight as it was - and his head moved to look. He had barely time to blink before he figured out what the swish had meant, and a stabbing pain shot though his side like fire.
What the...? Oh, God, no...
His first inclination was to grab at the pain, and he did, but his fingers encountered a sharp blade and he withdrew them quickly, staring at the blood that covered his hand.
That was a knife, his brain registered. Stabbed - someone was stabbing him. He groaned out a sobbing cry, but a strong arm wrapped around his face to smother the noise.
The looming, heavy shadow of a man tightened his grip on Bosco, squeezing harshly until his grasp was insured. He felt the sharpness dig further and further into his body and the burning in his side intensified with every thrust from his aggressor, bringing on hot tears of pain and muffled screams of agony. God, please...
Bosco felt warm fluid running down his side and dripping quickly to the floor beside him. Blood. Wet, sticky blood. The realization made his stomach turn painfully and bile rise in his throat. He choked against it, fighting to get sufficient air into his burning lungs.
He had found him. This was it. It was over...
Over and over again he tried to free himself from the tight grasp, but he felt himself losing strength fast and tumbled to his knees, still gasping and struggling feverishly. Help me please... his mind screamed what his smothered cries couldn't.
The man fell easily with him, never loosening his hold, never removing the blade. His entire body was trembling violently from the severe pain, and he couldn't stop the sobs of agony and terror that came from deep within. Bosco forced his clenched eyes open, struggling not to pass out from the unbearable pain. Please...
His weakening body had other plans though, and he fell again to his hands and knees. His eyes widened as his hands hit the ground, barely missing the syrupy pool of blood that had already formed on the hardwood floor. God, no...
Bosco felt the man move up towards his head and push his face into the crook of his neck. "You thought that locks could keep me out?" he whispered in his ear, a deep, hoarse growl.
Oh, sick... Bosco felt the urge to throw up burn the back of his throat, and he coughed and choked against the gloved hand that prevented air. His stomach turned and twisted, the pain and horror threatening to make him pass out or vomit.
God, please help me...please...
The man loosened his grip slightly and shifted his weight, letting off some of the pressure as a throaty chuckle emitted around the room. He was laughing. God, he was laughing...
Suddenly the man came down, leaning his full weight against the handle of the knife, forcing the blade in harshly. Bosco screamed out as a white-hot flash of excruciating pain blinded him and he felt and heard the sickening grind of metal against bone.
He nearly passed out then, collapsing completely. His head connected oddly with the floor, sending another spasm of pain flying down his neck. He groaned loudly against the hand, choking out another muffled sob.
This only made the killer angry and he brutally yanked him upright. "Get up, you pig," he growled, pulling Bosco to his feet again. The fire in his side was red hot and throbbing now, but his mental anguish was the thing that was making him feel so sick. Every fear that had tormented him over the past few weeks had come true, but even worse then he'd ever imagined. The pain was excruciating, horrible - too much. He couldn't handle it... Please, someone help me...
The man hauled him roughly across the room, dragging him into the small bathroom across the hall. Bosco, delirious with pain, let himself be led, forcing his lead-filled feet across the floor as he struggled not to lose consciousness. Only after the man let him drop again to the cold, tile floor, did Bosco realize the reason for the sudden move. The bathroom was the furthest room from the door, the furthest place away from the wall adjoining his apartment to his neighbor's.
Even if he made noise now, he'd never be heard.
***********
Faith shifted into 'park', settling back in her seat somewhat as she struggled to unwind and relax. Today was different - there was more anxiety, more presentiments, and more tension. The fact remained that she was in danger, but her worry and vexation didn't generate from concern for herself, but solely for her partner's wellbeing. Even though she'd just seen him off to the safety of his apartment, she still felt wrong about it, as if she should turn back. Call it woman's intuition, call it a partner's instinct - call it what you may, but it was eating away at her.
Damn you, Bosco.
She pushed a stray strand of hair from her face, sighing at the way he always was constantly on her mind. She needed to focus, set her frame of mind on her family and keeping herself safe and alive for them.
She glanced up at the window of her bedroom. Fred would be in there now, laying haphazardly across their bed with his arm flung half-off the edge, dozing lightly as he waited for her to return home. He was so worried for her lately, pausing each morning to look her in the eye and whisper an "I love you" before blinking back tears. She hated seeing him like that - torn up about her and her job. He just didn't understand. She supposed he never would.
Gathering up her purse, she turned the engine off and extracted the key, pausing to give the car a once-over for anything she might need to take inside. Her eyes fell on the passenger seat and the battered brown leather wallet that lay dead center.
Damn you, Bosco.
Her partner's wallet must have fallen out of his back pocket where he always kept it. No doubt he would need it before their shift started the following day, and she decided that a quick trip over to his place now would save her one more hassle in the morning.
She jammed the key once more into the ignition, sighing again. Fred would have to wait.
**********
He slunk to a seated position on the floor and pulled the squirming body closer to his own, loving the way every muscle tensed at the movement. This was pain. This was how it had to be.
Boscorelli was breathing heavily, labored gasps smothered by his gloved hand. Blood loss could be the reason that the officer was nearly hysterical at the moment. Panic, agitation, pain...any and all a factor.
Justice.
He continued to hold the knife in his hand, now cramped from gripping it so tightly for so long, and the blade still remained buried deeply inside the officer's heaving side. He could feel the muscles surrounding it spasm forcefully, trying desperately to rid themselves of the foreign object. The knife rhythmically pulsed along with them, sending shivers of pleasure up and down his spine. He'd read once that keeping the blade buried created more pain then another stabbing. Besides, every few minutes he'd give it a wicked twist just to watch Boscorelli's whole body arch and go rigid in pain. The muted screams of agony made this even more pleasurable.
Compensation.
Smiling cruelly, he pulled the blade out an inch or so, relishing the way the obnoxious cop writhed in agony and clenched his eyes closed. Boscorelli's hands clawed vainly at his captor's arms, silently pleading for relief as his tears ran down his face, but the menacing blade never relented.
This one would be slow. Slow and perfectly painful. He would make sure of that.
**********
Matt grabbed the file from the young tech, his heart racing in anticipation. Inside was the answer - the killer's name.
He opened it, his eyes devouring the words printed neatly on the white page as he read aloud, "Fingerprints gathered from rearview mirror: three digits, one half-print of thumb. 100% match to a James Lee Koch..." his voice trailed off, not recognizing the name. "Should we know this guy?"
"Uh, he had no priors - just a few parking tickets and one for speeding," the tech answered with a shrug of his shoulders.
Sam raised his brow, unaccustomed to hearing such a thing. For the most part, anyone who had committed heinous crimes like the ones this guy had, usually had a rap sheet half-a-block long. He nodded at the tech, and motioned for his partner, "Com'on, Matt. Let's get to a computer and figure out what the hell this son-of-a-bitch is up to. There's gotta be a reason for all of...this."
"Yeah," Matt breathed, "and it'd better be a damn good one..."
**********
The man slid to the floor beside him, pulling the knife out slowly as he did so. Bosco felt the pressure in his side hiss as it died down, and he thrashed and yelled against the attacker's hand as the pain intensified to an unbearable, throbbing spasm. Try as he might, he couldn't prevent the tears from coming and the screams of anguish from sounding.
He could feel the man's arms tighten around his neck, squeezing his airway painfully. The dark figure oppressing him leaned close, his stubble scraping roughly across Bosco's cheek as he pressed his face against his. "Are you getting uncomfortable, Officer?" he spoke in a guttural whisper, his breath moist and hot.
Bosco just blinked his eyes, struggling against the rising panic in his chest. He focused his efforts to control his labored, rapid breaths, but his chest heaved up and down, tightening with every inhale. He could feel the burning, seething, fiery sensation of his wound as he tried not to watch the steady spillage of blood flowing onto the floor beside them. Oh, shit...
With his fingers shaking from shock, he reached over and pressed a hand against the crimson flood. He winced slightly at the severe pain that immediately shot through him, attempting to mask his agony and terror. He couldn't let this guy win.
The masked attacker laughed at his pitiful attempt, a low growl gurgling from deep within. He hugged Bosco's burning body closer to his and held the knife in front of his face, as if to show off his weapon of choice. It was literally dripping in blood, and small pieces of... flesh were caught in the teeth. Bosco lost it then, giving into the twisting of his stomach as he vomited violently.
The man quickly released his hand from Bosco's mouth, hissing in disgust as the content's of his victim's stomach emptied out onto the floor, a surge of bile and blood.
Blood. That's blood. Oh, God, that's blood, Bosco thought frantically, realizing that he must be bleeding internally. God, please help me...
The killer leaned in again, "Do you like this? This is what you deserve, Boscorelli... This is what you get. Paybacks are a bitch, huh?"
Paybacks... For what? Bosco felt sweat drenching his face from the severe pain, but he ignored the wetness and caught his breath enough to manage in a sobbing whisper, "Why...?"
The man only laughed again, but this time it was harsh, angry - almost like he was expecting the question. "They never remember... Why should you be different? I'll tell you why, Boscorelli, but not now. No, I'll tell you later, when you have felt the full effects of what you have done. When you are in as much pain as you caused me, I'll tell you..."
Bosco barely heard him over the dull roaring of pulsing blood as it rapidly filled his ears. His vision was starting to fuzz in and out, from normal to a psychedelic kaleidoscope of spots and blurs. Focus! his mind screamed as he fought the urge to give into the delirium. He couldn't give in, maybe someone would find him...
He felt like vomiting again when he realized how preposterous the thought was. No one would find him. Ever. He would die alone with the killer, just as it had obviously been planned.
He felt liquid filling his stomach again, burning with acidity.
The feeling of drowning was intense as he felt himself coughing, choking on the fluid that was rapidly flooding his stomach. Struggling to breathe, he felt his eyes roll back into his head.
Faith...
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TBC...