Thursday, April 8
Horatio sat in his office, numb. The team had been working around the clock to find Calleigh but so far they had nothing. The last time he'd been downstairs, Speed had been sitting in front of the computer while AFIS ran through fingerprints from Calleigh's apartment. Eric was searching the Internet for any cults or sects that had even the remotest connection to Lent.
Horatio still struggled to accept Monica's theory that the killer was possessed. In his experience, some people were just evil. Demons and astral projection were the stuff of science fiction. Still, Horatio thought, science fiction or not, Calleigh was running out of time.
He opened his top drawer and took out a mother-of-pearl rosary. It had once belonged to his mom and he'd kept it in his office since Raymond's death. That night, he'd collapsed on the floor, the rosary in his fingers as he'd prayed to Mary, to his own mother, to anyone who'd been listening. Calleigh had found him like that. She'd held his hand and stroked his face just like his mom had done when he was a boy. It struck him now that he'd never thanked her for being there for him and he hoped he would still be able to.
He stood and slipped the rosary in his pocket; sitting around wasn't going to get her back. He needed to be out and doing something. Maybe Speed had got lucky or maybe Eric had found something useful. As he headed to the labs, he fingered the rosary beads and silently said a Hail Mary, habits from childhood not forgotten.
The door was unlocked, Calleigh discovered to her surprise. She glanced around the room for a weapon. There was just enough light to make out long shapes on the dresser. Calleigh held her breath and crossed the room in quick, decisive steps. The floor creaked beneath her feet but she didn't care. The shapes were statuettes of a woman. As her eyes adjusted to the light, Calleigh recognized them as icons of the Virgin Mary. She picked one up, testing its weight. Yes, she thought, it was heavy enough to inflict some serious damage. Or, at least, knock someone out.
She left the room, her only goal to escape. She caught sight of her reflection in the mirrors as she tiptoed down the stairs. She wore the long white dress from her dreams. Dropping the statuette, she ran the rest of the way down.
The front door was locked. Calleigh saw a telephone and hope flickered in her heart. She lifted the receiver and dialed 911.
"911. What's your emergency?" The operator sounded bored.
She spoke quickly and softly, afraid that her captor would hear her. "This is Detective Calleigh Duquesne with the Miami crime lab. I've been kidnapped. I'm in a house somewhere, I don't know. Near the beach, I think. I can hear the ocean." She looked around for anything else that would give away her location.
"Alright, I'm tracing your call right now," said the operator, sounding less bored. "If you can, get out of the house."
Calleigh set the receiver on the table, leaving the line open. She could see candles flickering. The dining room table was set for thirteen. Despite herself, Calleigh entered the room. There was a portrait on the wall of the Madonna and child. As she got closer, Calleigh could see that it was her own face. She stepped backwards, bumping into the table.
"Mary."
She whirled around. Her captor's large frame filled the doorway.
"I'm not Mary." Her voice wavered and she was glad the table was between them.
His expression darkened. "No, you're not."
Calleigh shivered, suddenly cold. He crossed the room and ripped the painting from the wall, breaking the frame as if it were made from matchsticks.
"Eat," he said.
Calleigh turned her head to the table. There was a plate of bread rolls and a jug of dark liquid. Calleigh's first thought was that it was blood, but then she recognized the smell as wine. She realized immediately the significance of the meal: the Last Supper. Her Last Supper.
Help was on the way, she thought. Stall him.
"What do you want with me?"
He smiled.
"Who are you?"
He grabbed her arms and dragged her out into the hallway. When she saw the receiver sitting back in its cradle, she knew she was lost. She began fighting but his grip was too strong. Holding both her wrists in one hand, he opened a door with the other and pulled her down into the basement. She hit her head on a step and blacked out.
When Calleigh came to, she was lying on something hard.
"I did it all for you and you betrayed me," he was saying. "I should have known you were a slut. You're just a whore."
She tried to sit but there was rope around her middle.
"I saw you with him. You were going to kiss him, weren't you?"
"I'm not sure what you're talking about." He was somewhere to her left but it was too dark to see where. The candles cast dark shadows on the walls but in the corner, a shape stayed motionless. Calleigh knew it was the shape from her dream, knew that somehow it was controlling the man who had her. She was not about to let it kill her too. "Please, there's been some kind of mistake—"
His mouth was at her ear. "The man you work with. Don't deny it. If you confess, I may forgive you."
She saw a chance. "I . . . I confess."
"Say the rosary."
"The rosary?" A tear escaped, trickling down the side of her face. "I don't know the rosary. I'm Baptist. I—"
His lips were on hers. She twisted her head away and gasped for breath.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I had hoped you were the one but I was wrong. I have to keep looking. It's not too late, you know. Your friend, perhaps. Maybe you were just meant to lead me to her."
He took her left hand and stretched it out. He bound it to the wood with rope then placed a nail over the center of her palm.
"Oh, God, please, no—" Calleigh screamed as he brought the hammer down. He took her other hand and pried open her fist. Then he stretched it out and tied it down. Calleigh tried to pull it free. He placed a nail over her palm and raised the hammer.
Speed was beaming. He handed Horatio a piece of paper and smiled. "I got a hit. Stephen Reilly. Thirty-eight years old, a widower, runs a bookshop downtown."
"He has a record?"
"Two DUI's both in the last seven months. But get this, he dropped out of the seminary to get married."
"Where does he live?"
"Horatio!" Monica stuck her head round the door, breathless. "Adele just called. A 911 operator took a call from Calleigh. They managed to trace the call—"
"Where is she?"
Monica rattled an address that matched the one he held in his hands.
"What are we waiting for? Let's go!"
The house seemed empty. It was too quiet. Joe McBride, the SWAT leader, signaled one of his men to open the door. They poured in, Horatio, Speed and Monica behind the SWAT team. Monica and Horatio went into the dining room; both of them immediately grasped the meaning of the bread and the wine.
There was a scream.
Monica and Horatio ran in the direction of the sound, followed by Joe and Speed. Horatio kicked the basement door open. Monica was the first inside. The light of her torch revealed a man crouched over Calleigh, his arm raised. Monica fired. Stephen Reilly toppled to the side. Monica and Horatio rushed to Calleigh. Joe checked Stephen Reilly's pulse and held his hand over the wound.
"Mary . . ." The sound was a whisper.
Someone switched the light on. Monica felt her stomach turn: Calleigh's hand was nailed to the cross and she was horribly pale. Horatio held her other hand.
"I'm here, Cal. It's okay. I'm here." He stroked her face, his touch gentle, loving.
Calleigh looked past him at the shape in the corner. It came closer, closer, closer . . . She looked down on herself: Horatio bending over her, Monica looking at her hand. The shape wrapped itself around her, squeezing her, choking her. She was too tired to fight it. She closed her eyes as the world turned to ash around her.
Friday, April 9
Calleigh wants to stay in the darkness. It doesn't hurt here. She's afraid that if she wakes up, she will still be in the basement and he will still be standing over her. It is safer here.
Something is missing.
Something tugs at her left hand. She looks down, surprised to find that she is no longer alone. A small boy gently squeezes her hand and smiles.
"Hi."
She smiles back. The kid is cute. "Hi."
"I'm Luke."
"I'm . . ." She frowns. Surely this is something she should know.
"You have to go back," Luke says. "You aren't supposed to be here."
Calleigh shakes her head. "I'm scared."
"Don't be. He'll look after you." Luke squeezes her hand tighter and tighter until the pain is almost unbearable . . .
Horatio stood at the foot of Calleigh's hospital bed, Stephen Reilly's diary tucked under his arm. The doctor told him that Calleigh's mind had closed off to protect her. The doctor hadn't been able to say when Calleigh would wake up. Horatio pulled a chair closer to the bed, sat down and began to read.
Calleigh gasped. "Please . . ."
Horatio closed the book and leaned closer. He touched her arm. "Calleigh?"
Her eyes fluttered open. "Luke?"
"It's Horatio."
The ghost of a smile touched Calleigh's face before she shut her eyes and grimaced. "Hurts."
"Your hand? They had to operate. But you'll be okay, the doctors said you should regain full mobility . . ." He trailed off, realizing she was probably too drugged to understand properly. He kissed her forehead instead. "Just relax, Cal. I'm here. You're safe now."
"Him?"
"He's dead. Monica shot him."
"Okay." Calleigh's breathing evened out as she fell asleep. This time, there was no darkness tempting her away.
Monica spoke softly so as not to wake Calleigh. "There were paintings all over the house of Calleigh as Mary. He'd even changed the faces of all the statuettes so they looked like her."
Horatio held up the diary. "He was killing them so he could make himself worthy of her. They were his penance, his sacrifice. And he saw her with me and felt betrayed. She went from Mary to Mary Magdalene because we were becoming closer . . ."
"He would have killed her anyway when he realized she would never be what he wanted her to be."
"Do you still think he was possessed?"
Monica shrugged. "I don't think it matters anymore. He's dead, Calleigh's alive. Case closed."
Horatio glanced down at Calleigh's sleeping form. "I hope so. She asked for Luke when she woke up this morning."
Monica paled. "Luke? You're sure you heard correctly?"
"Do you know who she meant?"
"The only Luke I know died a long time ago." Monica shook her head; that was a road she didn't want to go down again. "Speed found the connection between Calleigh and Reilly. Eight months ago his wife and son were killed in a convenience store robbery gone wrong. Calleigh was the lead investigator on the case."
Horatio took her uninjured hand and brought it to his lips.
"You know, Reilly wasn't as clever as he thought he was. People were crucified through their wrists, not their palms," Monica said.
"It's probably harder to drive a nail through someone's wrist though."
"I suppose so. Anyway, I've got a flight to catch. It was good working with you, Horatio."
"Thank you, for everything. I'm still not completely sold on everything you said, but . . ." He shrugged. "Next time you're in Miami, give us a call."
Monica grinned. "So you and Calleigh are an 'us' now?"
"Ahh . . ."
She laughed. "You're good together. Remind me one day to tell you about my friends Mulder and Scully and what it took to get them together."
"It's complicated, Monica."
"Bull. You almost lost her once already. How many second chances do you think you're going to get?"
A slow smile bloomed on Horatio's face. "You know, for once I think your theory's right."
"Bye, Horatio." Monica hugged Horatio then touched Calleigh's shoulder. "Look after her, okay?"
"Of course."
At the door she turned back, smiling at what she saw. Horatio bent his head to Calleigh's, whispering something in her ear. Monica's smile faded at the thought of what could have been; it was time to go.
Unseen by anyone, a young boy left his spot in Calleigh's room and followed Monica out. He didn't dare leave her alone. It was his job to watch over her and keep her safe. If he wasn't careful, the darkness would get her like it had almost got Calleigh. He glanced around; even now, he could feel it watching, stretching out to reach her. Luke ran to catch up with Monica and slipped his hand in hers. She would be safe now.
Saturday, April 10
Calleigh sat up in bed, scowling down at her tray. In her opinion, there was nothing worse than hospital food. Not even the Jell-O appealed to her. She sighed and pushed the tray away. The sooner she got out of here, the better.
"Knock, knock." Horatio entered, one hand behind his back. Her mood lifted.
"Horatio!" She smiled. "Please say you're here to save me from the hell that is hospital catering?"
"What'll I get if I say yes?"
"Whatever you want."
He brought his hand out to reveal Chinese takeout. "We have a date to make up."
"I'm sorry about your birthday—"
"Shh. Don't be silly. It wasn't your fault. Besides, I got my birthday wish. I got you back."
She was unexpectedly teary. "Horatio . . . that's got to be the most romantic thing anyone's ever said to me."
He dropped a kiss on her lips. "It's the truth. I've been thinking . . . if you agree, obviously . . . that I'd like us to spend more time together, away from the office."
Her answering smile was all he needed to continue.
"Good. You asked the other day why I'd been so distracted . . . There's someone I'd like you to meet." He looked to the door. "Maddie, come in, sweetheart."
A tiny sprite of a girl entered, her head ducked. She stared at Calleigh with big eyes.
"Cal, this is my niece. Maddie, this is the woman I told you about."
"Your girlfriend?"
Horatio nodded. "My girlfriend."
Maddie grinned and she lost all shyness. She climbed up onto the bed, chattering away. "I'm glad Uncle Horatio has a girlfriend, and you're really pretty. You've got hair like my Barbie doll, can I brush it? Hey, how come there's a bandage on your hand? Uncle Horatio, what happened to her hand? Are you sick? Is that how come you're in hospital? I was in hospital once. I had my aspendix out and . . ."
Calleigh smiled at Horatio over Maddie's head.
"Hey, aren't you going to eat your Jell-O? It's green, that's my favorite . . ."
The end.
Notes: To Moo, Hgirl and Jessie, thank you so much for betaing. Much love.
I got my serial killer profile from Micki Pistorius' Strangers on the Street (a very informative read, for those who are interested in that kind of thing).
The song "Learning to Breathe" is by Switchfoot on the "A Walk to Remember" soundtrack. What do you mean you haven't heard it? Go. Now. Listen. ::grin::
And Caroline, thanks for the super-cool challenge that sparked this monster.
To those of you who made it this far, thanks for reading. Feedback lights up my life . . .