Caveat: Don't own Touching Evil, or Creegan or Branca or Rivers or Bernal or Enright...yeah, you understand. I'm getting to write more often now even tho I'm in the process of looking for a job - most jobs that I want they won't hire people under 18 which is pretty annoying. I'm typing this up at my sister's workplace and I have my own separate room with the glass walls just like at the OSC Headquarters, lol - OH and the light comes on instantly when I enter the room. Pretty schnazy. OK sorry, hope you enjoy this chappy! This is the first part - so the part where Branca gets endangered hasn't come up yet but building to it.

- Heaven's Burning -

By Mia aka Ai-no-Tora

Chapter Eight: "Don't Disappear"

The Saturday before Monday.

The soft beep-beep-beep of the heart-monitor was what woke Hallie up from her tremulous sleep. She struggled to wipe away the grogginess of sleep from her eyes by blinking and rubbing them, and she could feel the imprint of her sweater-sleeve on her cheek from leaning her face against her arm. Her eyes looked for the small boy in the bed who was sound asleep and it would have been normal, everything would have been normal if he weren't so pale and looking for all the world like he was ready for internal sleep.

She closed her eyes only for a moment but it was enough time for her to remember snippets of the dream she had; David was there, and he was confiding in her and didn't resist the offer of her open arms. They were in his office and then that woman came in, interrupting everything. She had seen red and nothing but red within her field of vision and she was like a deadly cobra ready for a strike before everything vanished. She was in someone's car - it was auspiciously dark and she felt lips covering hers, a hand trailing up her skirt, another hand invading her blouse.

Shaking her head, she buried her face in her hands where she sat in the chair near Danny's bed. What were these feelings trapped inside her head? She didn't need a car - she was already drowning in her self, her soul suffocating. She couldn't explain her behavior toward the woman called Branca if asked; even she couldn't understand it herself. She had no right to feel the way she did, although that didn't stop the feeling one way or another.

All she saw was David Creegan and instantly it was like being injected with some sort of calming drug. Sucking in a deep breath, she ran a hand through her hair and instantly winced as she felt a bump somewhere on the back of her head, aching and sore. Gently prodding it with her fingers, her eyes darkened in puzzlement.

Where did it come from?

Where did she go after she left David's office?

Why was she having to ask herself these questions more and more often?

Taking one last glance at her cousin in the hospital bed and bidding him farewell with a kiss on his forehead, she exited quietly and it was as though she had never been there.

--

Monday evening.

"56 . . . Bodies in the morgue . . . 56 autopsies toooooo [burp] . . . Take one out, bury the clout . . . 55 bodies left in the morgue. . ." Creegan threw another cheap bottle of beer behind him, hitting his apartment wall since he was spread out on his bed, leaning heavily on the headrest. The world turned and faded and focused - not quite in that order but all of the above occurred within the past hour. It was great getting drunk after work - the usual: getting a beer - or a couple of six-packs, singing drinking songs, trying to walk a straight line, expelling the bile that churned threateningly somewhere within the pits of one's self, hating your job and what it does to you . . . But it wasn't that great going it alone.

His red-rimmed eyes shot toward the pictures of his ex-wife and girls on his night-stand. Rivers took the liberty to drop off yet another 'care-package' censored by the WPP of pictures telling of what can never be his again. He had to thank Rivers - that guy was a good guy. He even had his own share of family troubles with his good-for-nothing-yet-family-nonetheless brother who died about a year before from an OD in some godforsaken park somewhere in SF.

Though this time he didn't care, what with his drunken state, feeling sorry for himself was just about all he could do. Self-loathing really is the shit, ain't it? How utterly ironic.

With astonishing reflexes, he moved and flipped over the pictures on the table as though that would help somehow with what he was feeling: their eyes, perhaps if he drank enough and swore off the world enough that those pictures could somehow make them see just how pathetic he was being from wherever they may be. He didn't want that - nobody ever wanted an elusive off-his-rocker drunk for a father.

He closed his eyes and groaned, a song suddenly creeping out of the deep grave dug within his soul, his voice strained and strangled, scratchy, deep; mournful. "All . . . By mysee-eelf . . . Don't wanna be . . . Allll by myseeee-eelf . . ." He didn't care how ridiculous he was being; there was no shame left in his body. Even if there was there would be no one to care if he was acting shameful or not. Nothing and nobody, not even Susan.

He swore heatedly at the way they'd left things with one another in the elevator. He bit his lip until it bled at the scene he'd fled from, of the alien that embraced something which he thought belonged to him, even if he had no right. For the first time in a long time had he seen real tears falling from her face and it was just as wrong as water falling towards the sky. Like a small halo of light had beamed down, descended from the heavens and called for their angel back, she cried for a reason still incomprehensible to him. Why had she cried? Because she struck him when all the right was held within her aching hand? Because of the way he was behaving and she really did want to be with Sanders? Or . . .what? Each tear hurt like he had swallowed glass - every breath tearing, bleeding. How he wanted to kiss her so badly it left him numb as he strode away - no looking over his shoulder for any recompense.

More than a year ago he could remember how he had lost his temper after he learned about her and Laney. He even thought Rivers was on something when he commented the density and heat in the air between Journalism-boy and Agent Branca. Denial was the main grip he relied on and in the end he went over the edge - but this time it was different. Altogether different yet too familiar.

This time he felt like the ship sailed away without him.

"Sonofabitch." He hissed at himself, banging the back of his head on the headrest over and over. "No good . . . No good now . . . Ofabitch . . ." Suddenly he bolted upright, his equilibrium swaying back in forth as though on dangerous waves and he felt the alcohol and peanuts he shelled coming back up to haunt him. He swallowed long and hard, before dragging himself to the cell-phone he threw on the recliner. Something was possessing him - maybe it was old David or it was the ever-dominant nutso Creegan that was making him do this - he really could care less because right now, he was on the way to scrounge up what was left of what he was rapidly losing.

Might as well go down trying. His thumb pressed the number two button and held it there, speed-dialing his way to something he could never predict. In the deep recesses of his mind he could hear an echo - and it took him a moment to realize it was ringing - not the one from his head but the one in the phone. He waited what felt like painful years as he sank back into the recliner.

Ring - ring - ring - ring -riiiiiiiiiiing . . .

Why was he doing this he wondered. What would he get out of it? Why the hell was he trying so goddamn hard for someone that always lived by the book, always got normal human men in her bed and not ones who were just a little off?

What did the word 'love' mean anyway?

Someone picked up and instantly he jumped the gun. "Susan? Susan - I need to talk to you - Susan?"

"Hello . . .?"

The hand that held the phone was frozen stiff, white knuckled and clammy. He struggled to focus, to cut through the film of mist that clouded his mind.

It wasn't Susan.

It was a groggy male voice.

A deadly coil of bile enshrouded Creegan's throat and everything might as well have gone to hell. He was almost perfectly sober now - although just a little off. "Sanders."

The voice replied quizzically. "Y-Yes? Who is this? Susan's in the shower right now --"

The taut thread had finally snapped. Anger boiled and was thrown over Creegan in huge gallons. He stood up very quickly and all his energy was focused in his arm to operate as he slammed his phone over and over against the wall, creating quite impressive damage.

"I [BANG] am [BANG] FUCKING [BANG] GLAD [BANG] I have [BANG] INSURANCE ON THIS [BANG] DAMN PHONE--!! [BANG]" With one final blow, he smashed the cell phone into cracked and shattered parts, being from solid and reliable then transformed to small wires and buttons and pieces of wreckage hardly anyone could recognize on first glance.

Suddenly releasing the piece of ruined communication technology and watching as it plummeted to the ground, there was one other thought before he collapsed face first onto his bed.

It seems that the more you love them, the more you have to pretend they just don't exist.

"You exist Susan . . ." He murmured, already halfway to Dreamland as warm salty liquid escaped from underneath his closed eyelids. " . . .don't disappear . . .don't ever . . . disappear."

--

Tuesday.

Captain Enright wasn't sitting in one of the comfortable swivel leather chairs, but was up and pacing around. "It's one of our own now." That caused a stir among the group, and Creegan only responded with a mild forlorn exterior from where he sat at one end of the long table.

"Personal, eh?" Bernal was shaking his head in. . .disappointment? He didn't want to waste his energy reading too much on it. He drank enough to flood a beer factory last night and the last thing he wanted to do was to be there. The steady throbbing of his head wasn't helping one bit either as he tried rubbing his temple. He didn't notice Branca's concerned glances from across the table.

He looked like he had been through Hell's underground sewers and the feeling of wanting to cry surged back upon her while she bit it down. She wanted to yell at him for calling the way he did last night - which she of course knew it was him even if Sanders didn't - but at the same time she wanted to explain herself to him. Mixed emotions didn't bode very well with her these days. He had been avoiding her all morning - and even with what happened yesterday, she wasn't really making the effort of getting out of her way not to speak with him. It certainly wasn't helping either that Sanders sat to her left.

"Poor Rodriguez," Someone - Sanders - contributed his input. Creegan made the tiny effort to shoot him with an intense glare. I'm one less short of a cell-phone because of you. The only thing that's keeping me from reaching across this table is this fucking headache - but right about now I'm seriously thinking about it.

Not missing a beat, Branca gestured for the file in Enright's hand and trying to distract herself with work, she tried getting into it. "The autopsy report came in this morning; he didn't die by the car-crash then - they found a high level of iodochlorhydroxyquin in his stomach contents." Receiving befuddled stares, she simplified. "It's what's in medicine to treat eczema - or even athlete's foot which Agent Rodriguez had. Seems the suspect forcefully shoved a tube of his medicine down his throat, strangled him then was somehow transported into his car - configuring the brake system so it looks tampered with before he was set off a cliff, hoping that if all went well the car would tumble down, crash and light afire. I think our 'Old-Maid' suspect is linked with this one."

Creegan couldn't help but be impressed. He kind of liked it, feeling a small sense of pride swell within him for Branca's detective work. For once he didn't have to wrack his tired brain. "Ballpark: Hausen and Snider's bodies were both burned and by the time police got there, the bodies were ashes - too late to salvage out of the wreckage. So you're saying that they could have been poisoned or somehow disadvantaged before the car-ride to their doom, in eventuality leading to their deaths?"

Branca almost felt a flutter stir in her chest as he was actually making the effort to talk to her, even if it was strangely cold and professional. "Yes, if indeed we're talking about the same killer involved in both cases - i.e. Rodriguez is the third vic."

Creegan nodded, breaking in the use of his abnormal mind. "A sequential, organized killer. Male or female . . .?"

Enright considered this for a moment as he leaned on the back of Branca's chair. "Has the suspect left behind any traces? Any form of evidence bagged? Prints lifted? Anything?" He sounded exasperated - desperate. There was a silence for a couple of seconds, meanwhile Creegan just stared at Branca and she stared back - no thoughts, no words, no underlining meanings were held within that space. It was almost like just seeing one another comforted the other even if just a little.

"Actually," Swopes spoke up, clearing his throat. "There were no prints on the body or anywhere else in the vehicle besides the ones belonging to Agent Rodriguez - it seems like the killer was wearing gloves. Although I managed to find some hair follicles from the cracked dashboard - I could run a check on DNA samples if you like."

"No time for what I like, do it. Rivers, Bernal: Find the ex-boyfriend-mechanic - he may very well hold the many answers to the questions here." On his way out the door, the captain announced loudly over his shoulder. "I don't want to lose anyone else under my supervision - much less in these headquarters so you all watch your backs."

The tension hung over the heads of particular agents around the rectangular table, but this time it was Creegan who first got up, quickly striding toward the door as he swung his jacket on. Branca was about to protest but feeling a bit put-out after he didn't look at her anymore once their boss left the room. It was like easing into your personal selves once Big Brother exited. She felt as though a glass barrier would shatter if she were to say something out of the lines.

Bernal however couldn't be more ignorant as he stepped up to center stage. "Hey Creegan - where the hell do you think you're going?"

At the doorway he stopped, not looking at anyone but at the shiny black floor he stood on, shoulders slouched in defeat as the manipulated truth submerged from his dry mouth. "Going to get a new cell-phone. Mine . . .fell down some stairs." With that, he left the group to wonder once again at the awkward detective - nonetheless detecting something other than his usual eccentricities.

--

It began to be a chilly day in this San Francisco winter weather, and Hallie shrugged on her black wool jacket and matching gloves, leather boots. She stepped out and locked her door behind her, breath puffing transparent clouds in the air as she started walking across the street to where a pay-phone awaited. Something was wrong with her phone service so she had had to go scrounge up as many quarters she could find since. Upon entering the little glass booth, she reached for the overused and abused black receiver, contributed the given amount and punched in some numbers, meanwhile looking warily around at passerby.

There was no ringing that resonated into her ears but an annoying automated voice that no one liked hearing. With a heavy sigh, she replaced the receiver on its hook. She had been trying to get a hold of David since the night before and apparently he either had it turned off or something . . .

Suddenly her hands pressed up against the glass as she saw someone very familiar get out of a car and walk toward the nearby cell-phone store. It was David, looking for all the world like some insomniac-trodden subway hopper. Despite that he still managed to look as handsome as he always did as she watched him disappear behind a door.

Her heart pounding faster, she burst out of the booth and quickly made her way after him. Pushing against the door it wouldn't let her in - then the PULL indicator made her want to kick herself as she pulled it wide and running inside. Looking around desperately she sought him out - anxiety growing within her stomach at the prospect of seeing him again. She turned and turned on her feet, looking every which way and scanning each aisle until at last she found him testing out a very expensive looking flip-phone. Racing to him as though she were being chased by a stampede, she threw her arms around his waist from behind and burying her face into his back. You can only imagine his reaction as he tried to turn and look over his shoulder at the new invasion, dropping the new mobile in his hand.

"Unh - What the hell - What . . . Oh, Ms. Piper," She loosened her arms so that he could turn around and meet her face. His tired eyes studied her for a moment as he began to smile slightly. "What a surprise - really, really a surprise." He then looked taken aback when her eyes started watering and she began giggling a little, swiping at her childish tears. "Hey - what's wrong? Why are you crying for?"

Hallie only shook her head and came close to hug him once more. "I . . . I missed you, David. I missed you . . ."

Creegan was all the more surprised and his body stiffened when she looked up at him, as though expecting him to kiss her or something just as ridiculous. He found it strange to find a perfectly attractive woman clinging to him so intimately when he barely knew her - and also was a victim of crime. "Oh, I . . . Thank you . . .?"

She giggled again and stepped back once - yet still very within his personal space. "You're very welcome. Everything's just been so hectic for me. I've been trying to get a hold of you - did you lose your phone or something?"

"You could say that." Creegan chuckled a little as he remembered his little destructive streak the night before. "So that's why I'm here," he bent over and picked up the phone he dropped. "I had insurance on it so . . ."

Hallie nodded in understanding, still a happy smile accented on her soft features. "Oh - Oh yes, of course."

Creegan tilted his head to the side as he examined her from head to toe. "So how are you? Is your leg better?"

"Yes, yes, much better thank you. I've been . . .all right I guess. I've been visiting Danny every day now - or at least trying to. The police haven't yet found my mugger - I think that he'll get away with it scot-free."

"I know how you feel - there's always those who get away every single time." He looked down at his potential cell-phone, his thoughts elsewhere. "That's why I do what I do. My shooter got away with leaving me like this so I said, 'What the hell? Why let anyone else get away with turning other people's lives to shit?' Sometimes it helps in making me feel better in knowing there are other people out there that's suffering more than me, seeing just how much of a foolish bastard I am."

Hallie set a hand on his arm, grasping onto him gently and regarded him with a sympathetic look. "Everyone's like that. There's nothing wrong with you David - I like you as you are now . . . And you can't help everybody. You're only one person." He bit his tongue even harder when she leaned up off her heels and placed such a tender kiss on his cheek, leaving him stunned and slightly addled as he stared down at her. Her reddish-brown eyes studied the small stitching on his dark blue jacket, running a finger down the front zipper. "I . . . like you. I - I . . .love you, David. Do you understand?" After hearing a confession like that, what was he supposed to say?

What the hell was this woman doing? And right in the middle of a cell-phone store - also the day after his heart was bludgeoned and told to literally give-up and that he couldn't have what wasn't his. But right now some small part of him wanted to kiss her back, hard and long and get lost into his mental male psyche that craved wanton warmth and sex and intimacy that seemed so foreign to him now. The other part wanted to scare her away with his antics, to show her just exactly what she would get in the chocolate-box that made up the David Creegan he was now.

I've touched so much evil within my line of work for so many years, yet . . . Unbidden, an image of Susan's tearstained face arose from the depths of his consciousness, the turquoise blue of her eyes piercing into him and was more painful than any bullet he had ever had to deal with. Right now, in that very second he was more tired than he had ever been.

Temporarily easing back to his reasonable sanity, he shook his head, rattling out his nerves like an area-rug shaken of its dust. This was too much to handle. But then again, it always has been. "I . . . Need to um, take care of this later." He held up the cell-phone as he strode over to the clerk at the end of the aisle, leaving a distressed Hallie behind.

--

Notes: Well, this is the unedited version of Chapter 7. Thought I'd get it out now and review it later since I have the tendency to edit a chapter over-extensively but hey, it doesn't hurt does it? LOL It's just that I wanted to get it out today - tomorrow I have to go to the DMV and get my permit [yay] and also I need it to at least have one piece of identification since I lost my others [stupid stupid stupid]. I hope I'm not a vic for identity theft - I saw some commercials on those and thought they were hilarious but now - they're still funny and all but you know [nervous laugh]. Okidoke, see ya in Chapter 8! Thanx SO much for all your kind support. It's so greatly appreciated.

Thanx ya'll! [lol]:

Alamo Girl: Haha, definitely we'll have David as the semi-weirdness Knight in shining er . . . Subway chic Frontal-lobe Injury man! LOL Yeah the angst - the angst kills me to write seriously lol. Thanx so much for still reading! I always look for your review, isn't that weird? Rock on!

Mrs. Rhett Butler: Yes, boys can be so utterly stupid it hurts - although yes I have to agree, Creegs is too cute and we'll just have to let him go, won't we? Lol It's not his fault he got shot in the head! I think so anyways haha. David thinks or is confused that the reason behind Susan is crying is that he won't leave her alone and love who she wants and he keeps pushing it and pushing it - then she cries. Dummy David, haha. He doesn't really know how to handle the emotion either, you're right, just like with Hallie. Tears scare him away a little at times but he did comfort Susan in Slash 30 after Laney died. That time a hug was just too needed - but in the elevator she was telling him to leave her alone. Eh. Yup. One big mess! Just like my room...

Flame 31: Thanx a lot! Here's your update, hehe. I'll try to keep up the good work, I swear. [hand on bible]

Self-Injured: Yes, only my wallet but that's bad. Really bad! LOL I was distracted is all. Boo. You missed Entropy?! [gasps] Well, better watch for the reruns! I have it recorded so I can watch all the Creegan-goodness over and over again by just a punch of a button! [evil laugh] Muwahahahaha! OK I'm dumb. I read your chappie too! Good good good! I was so glad when Susan confided in him - even if it was a bit forced but I like that he doesn't take shit and beat around the bush. Awesome. [two thumbs up]

Ginger: Seriously, I'm writing this fic when I'm supposed to be 1.) Doing my correspondence school work. 2.) Studying the DMV manual. 3.) Taking a shower. Haha but thanx for reading. Don't get too far behind in your work - it's a bitch, hehe.

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