St Peter is Waiting
All he could think about was the pain, Steve didn't know where he was, and to be quite honest he didn't really care, he just wanted to be free of the pain. In the end though he forced his eyes open and looked around him and he knew he was in deep trouble.
The room was about ten feet square; there was a bed, which he was laying on, a bare bulb hanging down from the middle of a high ceiling, a chair made of plain wood, although it looked like it had been used for decorating as it was splattered with paint. There was a door, but it didn't even have a handle on the inside. It used to have; Steve could see a plate over where the knob would have been, but now it had nothing except a cat flap, and as he stared at it, wondering whether he was about to be joined by feline company, it moved and a bottle of water and two pieces of bread appeared through it on a small plastic plate.
"Hey! Hey, Williams, come here!" Come here, oh, good one, Sloan, like he's gonna take notice of that Steve berated himself, and he heard a laugh which disappeared as his captor moved away from his door.
Carefully, slowly, Steve placed his feet on the floor and tested his legs, his head swum as he stood and he collapsed back on the bed again the pain searing through his shoulder as he did so and he felt the unmistakable sensation of fresh blood on his skin. He needed the water though, not only because he felt like he hadn't had a drink in a week, but because he could use it to clean his wound and maybe stop his shirt and jacket from sticking in it. Steve lay back down, the spinning room was making him feel sick again, and he knew he had lost, was still losing, a lot of blood … and something told him that he may well not make it until the 8th, and he got a perverse pleasure out of knowing that he would break his killer's ritual.
"There has to be something here, Steve wouldn't have hauled it all the way from New York unless he thought there was information that we could use." Mark slapped a folder down on the table as he spoke and then stood up. "Why can't I see it, why can't I see what is staring me in the face? My son's life depends on it and I can only see words, and letters and no clues, no clues at all."
Amanda stayed where she was, she knew that Mark didn't expect an answer to his questions, and she also knew that right now a kind word or gentle touch might push him closer to the edge of despair than he wanted to get.
Mark walked out onto the deck and he could see his son in his mind's eye, leaning on the rail, watching the waves crash to the shore, and his heart came a little closer to breaking. The sun was almost at the top of its arc in the sky, the beach was busy and Mark could see parents sitting watching their children make sand castles, or running in and out of the sea with them. There was one family who were on Steve's dune, the place he always went when standing on the deck wasn't quite enough for him, and he would sit there, sometimes for hours, going over and over details, conversations and messages until he got a glimpse of what it was he was looking for.
As Mark stood there, almost on cue, the family stood up, brushed the sand off their clothes and collected up their belongings. Without thinking Mark made his way down the stairs and out onto the beach. By the time he arrived at the dune it was deserted and, hoping it would help him the way it helped Steve, he sat down and tried to cast his mind back over all they had discovered so far.
The house that Simon Williams was staying in had been rented when he first arrived in LA, and although he hadn't used it much he had made sure it had everything he needed in it. The freezer had food enough for one for a month, the electric, water and gas was paid for monthly out of a checking account that he never used for anything else, and it had a garage big enough for him to park his car with another one in front of it so no one would see it unless they were very nosey. What it didn't have though was a first aid kit, and Simon knew that if something wasn't done soon then he would have a dead body on his hands, and that couldn't be.
Simon sat down at the kitchen table and began to think. The plan couldn't fail, not now, when he was so close. He wished that his doctor had been carrying his medical bag when he had killed him, although once he had his medicine he knew he wouldn't have taken the bag anyway … medicine, where was Sloan's medicine? With a low growl escaping him he got to his feet and began to climb the stairs to the attic.
Steve wasn't sure how long he had been laying on the bed, or whether he had managed to remain conscious for the entire time, but the sound of the door being unlocked caused his heart to beat faster, and his head to swim. Suddenly he felt a hand on his left arm and he was pulled to his feet.
"Where is it?" William's voice was taut and Steve knew, even through the confusion he felt, that the man was almost at breaking point.
"What … what, where is …" Steve swayed and felt a hand on his other arm and the pain intensified. "Arghhh, no … please …"
"Shut up and tell me where it is!" Simon shook Steve and heard him scream before collapsing limply in his arms.
"Officer Fischer, this is Detective Saul Elliot, you will be assigned to work with him until we find Detective Sloan." Captain Blackwell looked at the extremely nervous young man and smiled. He knew he was a capable officer, and he also knew that he felt very badly over what had happened with the baseball cap.
"Thank you, Sir, I … I won't let you down again, I'm sorry, Sir." Stuart Fischer looked down at his feet and wished the ground would swallow him up. He'd had Detective Sloan's captor right there, in his grasp and he'd let him go, he didn't think he would ever shift the awful feeling of guilt that was sitting in his stomach, and he knew that he had to find him, to do something to make sure that the very popular Detective wasn't killed because of his incompetence.
"Officer, look at me." Captain Blackwell's tone made the young man snap to attention.
"Sir?"
"You are not to blame in any way, shape or form, for the fact that Steve Sloan is still missing. Nobody knew the type of car his captor was driving until you pulled him over. Nobody knew, really, what he looked like or sounded like, but now we do. You have given us a first class description, and more than that, like I said, you warned him, which means he has to report to a police station in the next day or so and, as he has no reason to even consider that you made him, I am anticipating that he will do exactly that." The Captain was heartened to see that his words seemed to have got through and Fischer smiled just for a moment before nodding and then, knowing that they were dismissed, the two men left the Captain's office and he was left alone with his thoughts.
Blackwell kept a very close eye on the men and women in his division, but if he was honest he had a very soft spot for those in Robbery/Homicide, and the fact that one of the best and the brightest of his men was missing grieved him greatly. He knew that Steve was almost ready to be thinking about promotion, that he would make a very good police lieutenant, and even captain one day, if fate didn't get in his way, which right now looked like a very real possibility. With a shake of his head Captain Blackwell turned his attention back to the paperwork on his desk although his heart and mind weren't really in it.
Saul Elliot sat at his desk and waited while his new young, and he hoped very temporary, partner pulled up a chair. "Right, we need to get a picture done of this baseball cap." Saul popped two antacid tablets into his mouth and picked up the phone. "I'll get Johansen up here to do the drawing, but you could start sketching it out yourself while we wait."
"Yes, Sir, I have already done that." Stuart pulled a crumpled piece of paper out of his pants pocket and smoothed it down with his hand as he laid it flat on the desk. "I'll just rough it out again." Gradually an image emerged of a red baseball cap with a white mountain outlined on it. Inside the mountain was blue with a white stripe going horizontally across it. The middle of the stripe was covered with a red C that had a solid yellow circle in the middle of it. "You know it was a great hat, he said he got it from a second hand store when he was passing through Denver, I guess it could be true, I don't know."
"Yeah, well this guy's killed twenty three people so far, so why the hell you think he should have suddenly decided to be an ideal citizen just because you were there and liked his hat beats me." Saul spat his words out and was ashamed of his feeling of pleasure as the young man moved back in his chair.
"Hey, look, I'm sorry, ok? If I had known who he was he would be here right now, and so would Detective Sloan, but I didn't, and he isn't, and I'm doing all I can to change that." Stuart felt the unfairness of the whole situation hit him as he got the rough end of the older detective's tongue and he grabbed his first version of the baseball cap drawing, screwed it up into a ball and threw it at the wastebasket, where it bounced on the rim and then fell in. The young man smiled; perhaps it was a good omen.
Simon had dropped Steve onto the bed and then he sat in the chair and waited, there wasn't really anything else he could do. He had checked all the pockets in his prisoner's suit and found nothing. Prozac, he knew that his detective took Prozac, and so he began to think. It was an anti depressant, not something you would carry with you, so he must have had it at the house, taken it each morning, and then forgotten all about it. Damn! He had to have it; the ritual demanded it of him. Making a decision Simon stood up, took one more look at the unconscious form on the bed and then departed.
Mark had sat on the dune for just over twenty minutes and found that it cleared his mind wonderfully. He guessed that maybe he had misinterpreted what his son was doing when he was on the sand; he wasn't looking for clues, but ridding himself of all the contradictory, busy thoughts so that he could return to his caseload and focus once more. With this thought raising his spirits Mark stood up and made his way back into the house, he smiled at Amanda, who had obviously felt her mind go into overload too, as she was sitting on one of the comfy chairs with her feet up underneath her flicking through a magazine.
"Hey, Mark, have you come back for another session?" Amanda hurriedly put her reading matter down and tried to stand up.
"I have, Honey, are you up to it do you think? Only if not I can recommend a very comfy sand dune." Mark smiled and held out his hand to help his friend to her feet.
"No, I like the comfort of springs thank you. Now, I will go put the coffee on and then we can get back down to it."
Mark nodded and watched as she made her way out to his kitchen, then he turned his attention to the other occupant of the room, Jack Stewart, who was still fast asleep. Carefully Mark felt the pulse on the side of his neck, knowing that it would be steady and strong, but still needing to do it. The pressure was just enough to make the young man stir and he groaned as he moved.
"Shhh, Jack, it's ok, I was just checking on you." Mark felt instantly guilty and pulled the covers up, hoping it would appease his patient.
"Ohhh, Mark, are you sure it wasn't a truck that hit me?"
"No, I think I would have noticed the tire marks in the carpet!" Mark grinned; Jack knew just what had happened to him, which was a good sign, as was the wry expression that crossed his face.
"Oh, ha ha, I'm a sick man, y'know." The light moment was welcome, but passed immediately. "Did you find anything yet?"
"No, but I am just about to start again." Mark heard Amanda come back towards him, and then she too crouched down to be at Jack's level.
"Hey, sleepyhead, how are you feeling?"
"Not as bad as I did, in fact I think I could get up and help." Jack looked pleadingly in Mark's direction and was relieved when he got a small nod in reply. "Great, so what are we looking at?" Jack wanted to leap up and move over to the table in a single bound, but he knew that was unrealistic, and so carefully he put one foot tentatively in front of the other and made his way, erratically, towards the pile of folders and notes. His foot caught the leg of the chair and he swayed, but he was determined. "I'm ok, better than ok, I'm fine, and I will be sitting down!" He eased himself into the chair, rested his arms on the table and waited for the world to calm itself down a little.
Mark and Amanda had watched his short journey anxiously, knowing that any help they could offer would not be taken willingly. "Well," Mark smiled at Amanda, "I guess now he's there, he'd better stay where he is, at least until the room stops spinning." When there was no denial from Jack they both shook their heads and made their way to their own seats.
"Ok, Jack, you really didn't miss anything because so far we haven't found anything, but I want to try to join the victims up. I was sitting outside and I realised something."
"What?" Amanda's eager question cut across Mark and she looked a little sheepish. "Sorry."
"No problem, this guy Williams, he's methodical, right?" Mark wasn't interrupted this time, but both Amanda and Jack nodded their heads, although Jack's was very slight. "So, maybe there is another one, two or maybe even more patterns that he follows, patterns that we haven't seen because we didn't have all the pieces of the puzzle before." Mark's eyes were shining now, and he was eager to get on.
"But we still don't have all the pieces. The paperwork from St Louis and Denver are at the station." Amanda didn't want to discourage Mark but she felt she ought to temper his enthusiasm a little.
"No, I know that, but if we can find a link between New York and LA then we can go to the precinct and I'll bet we'll find that it works with the other two places too."
"Ok, well we have our own notes on the LA killings, so I'll use them, and you give me the information you find from New York, Jack …" Amanda stopped talking for a moment as she noticed the decidedly green tinge to her friend. "Maybe you should just listen."
"Sounds good to me." Jack rested his head in his hands. He had a feeling it hadn't been such a good idea to get up, but now he was here, he had no intention of making the reverse journey.
The drug store was a small out of the way place, and Simon was sure that they wouldn't have any sort of video security. He parked his car a way up the street, so that it wasn't recognizable as belonging to him, and then he pulled his hat down over his face a little and made his way along the sidewalk. He had bought himself an LA cap at a gas station about two miles back, not wanting to risk his Rockies one again.
"Yes, Sir, what can I do for you?" The lady in the drug store was about fifty or sixty years old, and Simon smiled at her.
"I need a first aid kit. I'm going hunting and so it needs to be pretty extensive do you have that sort of thing?"
"We do, in fact we have a wonderful selection, my son, he works for a first aid supplier, and I always get to try his new items out first. Now, young man, I would suggest this one … have you hunted before?" The lady had a brochure in her hands almost immediately and she opened it to the first page and turned it round.
"I have, Ma'am, but my companion is a first timer." Simon smiled and silently cheered his luck, things were still going his way, and suddenly he knew that he would succeed.
"Well, then I would definitely recommend this. It is called The Survivor's First Aid Kit, and it has just about everything you could ever think of, from something to help you with poison ivy right up to everything you would need to get your foot out of a trap or, heaven forbid, if someone has an accident with their gun, well, you will be able to treat it for a little while, just long enough to get you back to civilization."
"That sounds like what I need, how much is it?"
"I'm afraid, young man, it's not cheap, but I can let you have it for $175. Which is $25 less than it will be selling for, like I said, my Joey works for the company, and I'll still be making a little profit."
Simon froze, almost two hundred dollars, he didn't think he had that much left. He would have to check. "Ma'am, I just need to see how much cash I have on me, would you mind waiting a minute?"
"Not at all, and I'll turn away to give you a little privacy. I'll go and get the kit so you can see what you are getting for your money." With that the woman moved away down the store, and Simon took his wallet out of his pocket and began rummaging through it.
"Amanda, where was the first victim in New York found?"
"Um, hold on, I'll check." Amanda looked through the notes she had made. "Terence Armitage, found in Chelsea Park, just off Tenth Avenue, why?"
"How about the sixth victim?" Mark already knew the answer, he just wanted it confirmed by someone else.
Amanda ran her finger down the list she had in front of her and then looked up, a puzzled expression on her face. "Joanne Middleton, she was found in Chelsea Park too, that can't be right can it?"
"If it is then we know where Steve's …" Mark paused, the blood draining from his face as he realised what he was about to say. He took a breath, shook his head to stop Amanda from finishing his sentence for him and continued. "We know where Steve will be found if we don't stop this madman. We need to go to the station, check the information that they have on St Louis and Denver. Maybe this was what Steve was working on when he had to catch his plane back."
"Mark, wouldn't it be quicker to just call the station?" Amanda moved over towards the phone as she spoke.
"Yes, it would, but, Sweetie, think about it, no one at the station knows that we are working on this, we may have a hard time persuading them to help us in person, I think it is a total non-starter over the phone."
"You could be right. Ok, I'll drive you, Mark, I don't want you going there on your own."
"I'm not even gonna try to argue with you, I don't think I could concentrate on the road right now." Mark stood up and straightened his aching back. "When this is over, when Steve is home again …" He looked at his two friends as if daring them to contradict him, "I am gonna soak in the tub for a week."
"Come on, Mark … Whoa…" Jack stood up, swayed and was extremely grateful when both Amanda and Mark caught an arm each.
"Oh, no, you don't, Doctor Stewart, you are gonna spend your afternoon on the sofa fast asleep… And there will be no arguments either. Doctor's orders." Amanda folded her arms and glared at her friend and a smile escaped her as she saw him nod his head and make his way carefully back to the couch, lay down and let Mark cover him back up, all without a word. "That's better. Now, Jack, there is water there on the coffee table. The TV remote is there too, but you'll give yourself a headache. We'll lock everything up and be back before you can even begin to feel lonely."
"Ok, Mom, can I have a couple of cookies in case I feel hungry?"
"Nope, but there are some crackers in the kitchen, I'll just get them." Mark rushed to the kitchen and returned almost immediately with a packet of graham crackers and another bottle of water. "We'll see you later, Jack." There wasn't any reply, and Mark and Amanda looked down affectionately at their friend, who was asleep again already.
The drug store was soon far behind Simon as he made his way, by a long and convoluted route, back to Malibu. He knew now what he had to do, it wouldn't make any difference to the ritual, to the way things had to be, the doctor would just be one more piece of evidence to be removed before he moved on to Washington DC. He already had his job lined up there, the letterhead he had taken from various companies around the city already typed up with references which would get him a job any place any time. Simon put his head back and laughed, he just loved it when everything worked, he was meant to have a few hiccups, they kept him on his toes, but his detective would die in four days, there was no doubt about that.
Jack wasn't sure what it was that woke him, but suddenly every nerve ending in his body was jangling, and headache or no headache he knew that something was wrong, and he was the only person able to deal with it. He stood up, carefully, and moved around the table, looking around for something to take with him as he checked the house. He wanted to call out, to check whether it was Mark or Amanda, coming in quietly so as not to disturb him, but deep inside he knew that they would have come straight to him, not crept into the kitchen or the bathroom before telling him they were home.
As he moved into the kitchen Jack saw a block with five knives in it, and he pulled one of them out. It was used for cutting bread, and was way too big for what he wanted. As he slid it back into its home he heard a slight sound and then the unmistakable feeling of a gun on the back of his neck.
"I don't want to have to hit you again, Doctor, so I would suggest that you make your way to the front door real slow and careful like. That way we can both leave here happy and healthy." Simon's voice was tight and full of menace and Jack, knowing that he had no option but to comply, began to walk forward.
The room was hot, far too hot, Steve knew he needed to open a window; he could get his dad to bring him a drink of water, that would be nice. He tried to open his eyes, but they just didn't want to co-operate. Maybe he could just sleep for a little longer, that sounded like the best idea. Steve tried to move, and his shoulder screamed at him. "Dad … Dad, I need you, where are you?"
The room was silent, and Steve felt unaccountably depressed. He needed his dad, and he was always there, but now, when he needed him so much he had gone, gone and deserted him.
"You know, I can't believe that no one noticed that before." Amanda shook her head and the disgust in her voice was apparent.
"Sweetie, before Steve started working on this case, nobody even knew that there was a link between the murders in the four cities. Why would anybody have looked for this type of connection?"
"I guess so, I'm sorry, Mark… I … I just want him back so badly, and … and I know you do too, and … and I'm … just sorry." Amanda turned her head away, furious with herself for letting her emotions get to the surface. She felt the car draw to a halt and then Mark's arms were around her.
"Honey, listen to me, you don't have to hide your feelings because you think they will upset me, I know you love Steve, you want to do everything you can to get him back, just as I do. Shhh, it's ok." Mark could feel Amanda's tears on his shirt, and as he held her he envied her the ability to let them fall.
"Get him up and able to talk, and then keep him alive until the 8th, otherwise there will be two of you queuing up to see Saint Peter." Simon's words were as cold as the steel on the back of Jack's neck and, trying to ignore the increasing nausea he was experiencing, he moved across to his friend.
"Steve … come on, Steve, it's me, Jack." Jack put the back of his hand on Steve's forehead and was alarmed at the heat radiating back at him. "Where's that first aid kit you said you had?" Jack didn't look round; he knew that any swift movements were a real bad idea right now.
"It's here, just don't use it all up!"
"Gee, you're all heart, aren't you?" Jack braced himself for a blow that didn't come, but the laugh that he heard instead chilled him to the bone, it was a loud, dry sound, and although it normally represented happiness he could hear the insanity there, and he knew that whatever happened he was a dead man.
"Steve, c'mon, Buddy, open your eyes, just for a minute."
"Jack…? What … what are you doing here, where's Dad?" Steve's eyes fluttered and then slowly and painfully they opened. "Oh, God, Jack, it hurts, and I'm cold, so very cold."
"Shhh, it's ok, I'm gonna deal with it, ok… Put this in your mouth, just for a minute." Jack waited and watched his friend as the thermometer did its job, and after checking the seconds on his watch took it back into his fingers carefully. "Hey…!" Jack was roughly pushed aside and Williams grabbed Steve by the arms.
"Where are they? Tell me, Sloan, where the hell are your tablets?"
The scream that came from his best friend's lips was a sound that Jack hoped he would never have to hear again, and he knew that the noise came from Steve's very soul.
"Tell me, Sloan, or otherwise I will kill your friend, do you want me to do that?"
"No … no, leave him, it's me … me you want."
"Then tell me where they are." Simon let go of Steve and he fell exhausted and shivering onto the bed.
"I don't know what you mean … I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, but I don't know. Jack …"
"Your Prozac, the tablets you got delivered from Medi Quick, where are they, I need them?"
"No … I don't have … they were never mine … lied, he lied … Arghhhhh!" Again he was grabbed and again the fire flooded his system. "Dad … help me." Steve's head lolled back and Jack, his senses returning to him as adrenaline flooded his system felt his friend's pulse and then turned to their captor.
"He has a temperature of 104, he's bleeding profusely and his pulse is weak, if you don't let him alone he won't last until dark, let alone another four days!"