A Hopeless Wound (10/?)
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A/N: Okay guys, here's another one. Sadly, I got this new, crazy shift at work and it looks like April's gonna be a busy month for me so please be patient, I'm not sure I'll be able to write as much as I'd like to. :(
For anyone who thought Vernon Marks' name sounded familiar but couldn't remember why, we met him in season four, in the two parts of "Crime and Punishment" (the episodes with little Miguel). I don't owe him, just his two stupid brothers... *lol* Oh, and I'm NOT going to kill Bosco. That's not gonna happen (not in this fic anyway ;) ). You can relax now...
Enjoy!
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Chapter ten
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Faith dragged a hand through her hair as she tiredly walked up the stairs towards the locker room. The shift was over, but they hadn't found anything. No suspects, no leads, no Bosco.
Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined her first day back to be like this.
The bar had been dusted for fingerprints, but they wouldn't know if there were any matches until at least the next day. The place had looked no worse than the last time she'd seen it, and neither she nor Mikey had been able to spot anything unusual.
Sully and Davis had had no luck either. It looked like Bosco had vanished into thin air. The only hope she'd left was that Cruz and Monroe had come up with something.
She'd just reached the top of the stairs when she felt a hand on her shoulder. "Faith. How're you doing?" Sully asked, following her over to the room.
She sighed. If she heard the question one more time she knew she would break down. "I'm alright. Holding up pretty well considering..."
He stared intently at her. "I don't think so."
Faith bit on her bottom lip. "Let's just pretend I'm fine, okay?"
"Sure. I'm sorry."
"No, I just... It's been a long day."
"I know." He replied, a sad look on his face.
They walked the rest of the way in silence, each lost in his own thoughts.
"I shouldn't have left him alone." She whispered after a moment, sitting on the bench in front of her locker, more to herself than to him.
Sully shook his head. "You can play the 'if only' game forever, Faith. But it won't do any good. All we gotta do right now is focus on finding him."
She took a deep breath and nodded in agreement. He was right. She needed to find him.
Seconds later, she heard footsteps approaching and looked up to see Sasha Monroe. Her usual cheerful demeanor was gone, replaced by a grim look that couldn't carry good news.
"Hey."
"Hey."
Faith closed her eyes, summoning up the courage to ask her the question that had been bothering her all night. "You guys find anything?"
Monroe shook her head as she spun the combination on her locker. "We went over hundreds of files, ran down and checked almost everyone he's ever put in jail or testified against, but nothing jumped out. The way I see it, every criminal he's arrested could be a possible suspect."
Faith chuckled. "Yeah. That's Bosco."
"Monroe, I'm gonna need you at 7:00 tomorrow." Both women stopped talking as Cruz strolled in and moved to her own locker, clicking it open with a swift twist of the hand. "Don't be late. We still got to check those files upstairs."
"I'll be there." Sasha nodded.
Faith stared at the Sergeant, a bewildered expression on her face, wondering exactly what had happened during all those months she'd been away and why she suddenly seemed to care this much about Bosco.
She swallowed, forcing down her hatred for the woman who'd caused her nothing but pain, and concentrated on spinning the lock.
Cruz, equally ignoring her, grabbed her purse and jacket and headed out of the room.
"What the hell was that all about?" Sully asked as he unbuttoned his shirt.
"We volunteered to pull a double. Thought Bosco could use some extra help." She paused and looked down on the floor. "...And I gotta feel like I'm doing something."
"A double?" Sully repeated as he considered the option. "What do you think, Davis?"
Ty poked his head out of his locker. "Sure. I'll tell Lieu."
"Count me in." Faith said firmly.
"No, Faith. We got it. It's you're first day back, you should take it easy." The older man replied. "Go home. I promise I'll call if we find anything."
She opened her mouth to protest but stopped and reluctantly nodded her head, despite knowing full well that she wouldn't get any sleep that night. "Okay. I'll see you guys tomorrow."
"Yeah."
"Night, Faith."
***
'I'm the man out here!'
'This scumbag's a murderer!'
'You are one seriously angry -little- dude...'
Bosco's tortured frame jerked backwards, his body threatening to collapse in exhaustion as his mind screamed for it to give up.
He had strange spells where he couldn't tell if he was asleep or awake but even in this disconnected state, the memories kept coming at him like a tide.
Drifting in and out of the present, he saw Vernon's face suddenly appear in front of him, laughing at his helpless condition.
'It was nice to meet you, Officer Boscorelli.'
'1844 148th Street, apartment 10...'
His eyes shot open as he recalled one of their many encounters and realized the mistake he'd made.
Shouting his address out loud in a moment of rage and frustration had seemed harmless that day. He had no way of knowing that the man would use the information he'd willingly given him to carry out his sick revenge and that that would ultimately lead to his mother's death.
Yet it had happened. And it was his fault.
The pain that came along with the horrible realization was stronger than any inflicted blow, deadlier than any poison, and left him with the certainty that there could be no adequate retribution for him.
He'd committed the ultimate betrayal, a crime for which he would not spend a single day in jail but that in his mind couldn't go unpunished.
Leaning his head back against the wall, he wished his captors had already killed him. Instead, all he'd gotten was a vicious beating that had only served to prolong his mental and physical agony.
The two brothers had done a real number on him, although the younger one had been nothing more than a mere spectator. He could feel every bruise, every aching muscle, but didn't remember any of it. As soon as the first hit had landed, he'd simply closed his eyes and retreated into a place in the deepest corner of his mind. A place where he was always in control, his mother was still alive and no one could hurt him.
'I'm not the devil, baby.'
'You and me should get along somewhere!'
'I'll be back...'
He attempted to shake the memories away but found himself unable to.
God, make it stop...
He was drained, completely numb, and wanted everything to be quiet and still inside his throbbing head.
I'm sorry, Ma. They're gonna pay. We're all gonna pay.
The emptiness he felt was unbearable. That, mixed with the injuries he'd sustained, was making him dizzy and sick but he wrestled with himself to stay awake and forced his eyes back open, blinking at the bright light above him.
Cautiously glancing around, he spotted the two dark figures in the farthest corner of the room. Upon a further inspection, he noticed that neither of them appeared to be moving. One was lying on his stomach, sprawled out on the cot; the other sat in one of the chairs, the upper half of his body leaned forward on the table, head resting on his forearms.
The men's features were a blur, making it impossible to discern who was who, but he could tell they were both unconscious, asleep maybe, definitely stoned.
As he watched them, amidst the haze of his brain, one thought stood clear. Revenge. He had to find a way to take advantage of this situation and get himself out of this mess. There was no apparent solution, but he wouldn't accept that. There had to be a way. He had to find it.
Shifting his body, he felt the wall anchor move and started to sway back and forth, pulling hard on the restraints in hope that it would budge.
His efforts were rewarded a couple minutes later when the metal hook finally gave out under the pressure of his weight and he was down on his feet.
Blood immediately started to flow to his strained limbs, bringing them back to life. His fingers still felt strange and rubbery, but the sensation was back, and that was enough for him.
He gazed at the two men who luckily hadn't reacted to the noise and bent down, untying his feet as quickly as he could. The sudden movement sent a new wave of nausea sweeping through him but he swallowed it down and struggled to loosen the rope on his wrists, task that proved to be a lot more difficult.
After a few futile attempts, he decided not to waste any more time and took a couple steps towards the door, limping badly on legs that felt like they didn't belong to him anymore.
Stopping a few feet from it, he looked back to his right. His cop training was screaming at him to get out of there and call for help, yet the enraged son kept looking at the two brothers, clenching and unclenching his fists and desperately fighting the urge to kill them with his bare hands.
As he debated about his next move, he heard movement to his side and found himself staring into the wide, bloodshot eyes of a very confused Leonard.
It took a moment for the scene to register into the young man's brain, the effect of the drugs slowing down his actions and mental processes.
"What the hell...?"
Finally realizing that the person in front of him was indeed their prisoner and shouldn't be standing on his feet he rose from his chair, his hand frantically searching the table for the weapon he knew they'd left there.
"The cop's free!" He screamed at the top of his lungs to get his brother's attention.
Bosco, almost relieved that Fate had spared him the decision, ran up to him, tackling him to the ground and grabbing the knife from his hands.
All his senses were suddenly alert, his perceptions astonishingly clear.
"Shut up or you won't live long enough to see me kill your jag-off brother!" He warned darkly, the tip of the blade grazing the shocked man's throat.
Leonard saw the fury in the cop's eyes and for a moment he truly believed he was going to die. God was surely punishing them for killing that innocent woman and kidnapping her son.
"I'm sorry, man, I'm sorry..." he gasped. "Don't do it..."
"I said SHUT UP!"
"I swear I didn't want to..."
"Yeah, well, I don't give a damn!" Bosco's bound fists connected with Leonard's jaw. A bone snapped loudly, a harsh growl escaping his mouth as the back of his head bounced off the floor, knocking him unconscious.
One down, one to go, he thought to himself as he took a shaky breath and tried to relieve some of the pressure building inside him.
"Don't move or I'll blow your fucking head off!"
Jermaine's voice echoed in the sudden quietness of the room.
"Drop the knife."
Bosco heard the cocking of a barrel and turned slowly to face his enemy, who had a gun trained on him and looked deadly serious.
The minute their eyes met, he felt pure rage swelling inside him. This was it. His body tensed, every fiber involuntarily tightening as once again he weighed his options. He could try and go for the gun, with the risk of getting hit, maybe even killed, or comply with the man's requests and wait for another chance.
Knife still clutched in his hands, he closed his eyes and pictured his mother's smiling face, finding within himself the answer he was looking for.
He took another deep breath, gathering all the strength he had left, then lunged at the man, aiming at the heart.
Jermaine, who wasn't expecting the attack, instinctively fired a shot. His focus on his own actions left him wide open for an attack. He watched in fascinated horror as the sharp blade disappeared just below his ribcage.
His last thought before he hit the ground was that Vernon wasn't going to like this at all.
"This is for my mother, you sick son of a bitch..." Bosco angrily said as he dropped down on his knees. Pain suddenly ripped through his shoulder and down his right arm and he saw blood slowly starting to seep in from the wound.
As if unconcerned by it, he glanced back at Jermaine, his gaze dashing between the two forms sprawled on the ground.
I did it, Ma. I found the man who shot you and I made him pay.
Feeling slightly relieved at the thought that justice had finally been served, he picked up the bloodied knife with his left hand and used it to cut the rope binding his wrists, careful not to hurt himself in the process.
Wincing at the discomfort but eventually succeeded in freeing himself.
Now leave. Get the hell out of here.
Tearing his right sleeve with his good hand, he wrapped it around his bleeding arm as best as he could and scrambled to his feet, staggering toward the door. He almost fell a couple times but managed to stay upright. He wouldn't go down. Not now.
Without looking back, he opened it and made his way up the basement stairs. Despite his laboured breathing and the deep, searing pain in his wounded arm he reached the top and moved forward, stumbling on the unfamiliar ground, falling and picking himself up.
Time gradually lost its meaning, seconds tiredly stretching into minutes as he passed hallway after hallway, opening door after door until he found the exit and stepped outside.
Dark buildings loomed above him in the early morning light while the dizziness increased. Piercing chest pain came with each breath, and he could taste warm, metallic blood in his mouth.
He glanced up at the sky for a moment, as if silently asking which way to go, then started walking again, scanning the streets that appeared not to be holding any signs of life, his unsteady legs carrying him further and further away from his prison.
An indefinite time later, he was forced to stop and leaned his exhausted body against a nearby wall. He couldn't tell where he was, how far he'd walked or if they would ever be able to find him, but he was fine with it now.
He'd avenged his mother's death. There was nothing else to live for.
Feeling his knees buckle, he slid down the wall and sank to the ground, cradling the injured arm to his chest. As the darkness began to overtake his vision, he thought about Faith and how good it had been to feel her arms around him.
Then everything went black.
TBC...