(Nip/Tuck / CSI:Miami)
by wordwolf
Disclaimers in Part I.
PART VI.
Karen tried to back slowly away, but he moved with her, keeping the blade against her face. "Don't you have anything to ask me, my dear? I should think you'd be full of questions. Interesting questions."
Near choking, Karen forced herself to speak, barely able to endure the feel of the steel moving with her cheek. "What have you done with Christian?"
His eyebrows went up with amusement. "Really. Why that first? There's so much else I'd want to know in your position. Like: How did he get past the cops? Who is he? – because I'm sure that twenty-three years is too long for the memory to come back. Or even: What's with the sword? That's a good one. There IS one question I'm sure you don't need to ask, though: What does he want with me? That you already know, right?"
She tried to squeeze back the tears, and failed. "Please ... where is Christian?"
"Don't worry. I haven't killed him. Yet. Get up, and I'll take you to him. Move it; the moon is dark for the second time, the night's no longer young, and I've waited and worked too long to miss this chance." Slowly he withdrew his sword. "Come quietly, and I won't have to hurt either of you."
Resigned, Karen started to gather the blanket around herself and slide off her bed. Suddenly the sword flashed at her, hooking the bedclothes on its point and ripping them away, showing her bare. "Oh, no! I won't have you covering up part of my best work!" His sharp green gaze focused on the scorpion mark.
"Please," she begged, "let me dress."
"Why? No one's going to see you. Ever again." He chuckled. "But you won't be forgotten, Karen. Soon the whole world will know that James Pierce killed you, and how, and why. And they'll curse you for living long enough for it to happen."
He was interrupted by an electronic peal. A glance revealed that it was coming from the neatly folded pile of Troy's clothes lying beside the bed. "Well, what have we here?" Pierce smirked, turning to the sound. "How rude to call so late. And especially when Dr. Troy is supposed to be doing what he does best!" He waited out five rings, then nodded, satisfied, when the cellphone went silent again, and turned back to her. "All done. Time to go, my dear."
Pierce swung the sword-point toward the doorway, then postioned himself behind her. Karen took a first step as if she had never walked before, then another, steadily moving forward under his gaze. Her arms were locked across her breasts, and her hands clenched into fists to hide their trembling – and the tiny black item she had snatched off her bedside table when Pierce had looked away.
Suddenly there was another, louder ring: Karen's bedside telephone. "Shit! No more of this!" Pierce snarled. He snatched up the phone, then slammed it down hard enough to crack both cradle and receiver. "Enough. We're getting out of here."
XX
Sean McNamara could not sleep. Not that he could figure out why; with the police practically surrounding his house, there was nothing to fear. He'd calmed Julia more easily than he'd expected to, and a very nice evening followed; Julia had made an exceptional dinner, they watched the DVD of that charming new version of "The Music Man," and everyone turned in early, at peace and satisfied. So why was he still tossing and turning forty-five minutes later? There just was no way to shake the feeling that something, somewhere, was wrong.
McNamara got up, wandered into his living room. Why not channel-surf for a while? Maybe F/X was showing one of its outrageous dramas. Then it occurred to him: Maybe it wasn't a good idea to ignore this. He thought of that patient, Karen Avalon – sweet girl, if a little odd. She said she paid attention to her instincts; maybe he should listen to his.
The thought of Karen Avalon led him quickly to the thought of his partner. He smirked at his memory; after the police had arrived and set up their perimeter, he'd called Troy with a warning about the mysterious letter and the guard that had been placed. The other surgeon hadn't wanted to talk – said he had to "spring into action and rescue a fair maiden from spending a Friday night in with only William Carlos Williams for company!" That Christian; may he never lose his gift of gab ...
Suddenly it hit him: Christian. THAT was what felt wrong. The disquiet, that creeping sense of unease – it centered on him. The only one involved in this whole unnatural situation who wasn't quietly at home behind an armed guard. McNamara quickly went to the phone, dialed his friend's cell.
Five rings ... "Please hold while the party blah blah blah ..." voicemail. McNamara left a call-me-ASAP message, and was even more worried than before. What to do next? Well, it wasn't hard to figure out which fair maiden Troy had meant; that William Carlos Williams business was a dead giveaway that it wasn't one of the usual lingerie models. Now if only her number were listed ... There was an Avalo in the phone book, a couple of Avallones, but only one Avalon, K. Excellent.
He dialed. There was a ring, a pickup – then a bang as the phone was slammed down at the other end. What the hell...? Maybe the two were just, well, busy, so to speak. But then, why hadn't Troy simply turned his phone off, sending all calls directly to voicemail? Besides, while his partner could conceivably be that rude, he doubted it of the woman. No question about it: his instinct was correct, and something WAS wrong. So what to do next?
McNamara picked up the telephone for one last time, dialed a number he knew was open 24/7. "This is Dr. Sean McNamara. I need to speak to Lt. Horatio Caine."
XX
As they moved down the hallway and into the stairwell, Karen began to feel a breath of hope. She had no idea how this madman had made it to her apartment without being seen, but surely there was no chance that he'd walk out herding a naked woman before him and it not be noticed. So she concentrated on picking her way carefully down the stairs, trying to spare the tender soles of her bare feet, planning to scream like a banshee at the first sight of another human being.
To her carefully concealed astonishment, when they reached the bottom of the stairs, Pierce pointed her not toward the fire exit at the rear, but the lobby door. Behind which, she knew, the police lay in wait. "That way," he insisted, with a wave of the sword. Then his eyes and grin glinted at her. "I know what you're thinking. And you're in for a surprise."
Her throat tightened. What did that mean? Had he somehow been able to kill everyone in the lobby – the night guard, the police on stakeout, maybe a couple of her innocent neighbors? Karen steeled herself and stepped through the door, Pierce behind her like an extra shadow.
Everything seemed perfectly normal. There was the building security guard at the desk, absently scanning a newspaper; those two men in t-shirts and chinos, making quiet conversation, were probably the cops. No one turned toward the door; no one had heard it open, or the footsteps. Three armed men were ignoring a woman stripped bare and the man conveying her at swordspoint. It was quiet in the lobby, far too quiet – Karen sucked air for a scream, but was only able to force out a small whimper of sound. They didn't turn. The only response came from Pierce, who chuckled in answer. Then it hit her: they didn't even see her. They heard nothing.
Pierce came closer and put his free hand on her shoulder. His voice seemed to reverberate through the lobby – but to her ears only. "You had no idea, didn't you? Weren't you even curious as to how I could come through here a few minutes ago with a six-foot, 185-pound, naked man over my shoulders? I haven't feared your stupid cops – or anyone else, for that matter – in decades!" His lips were next to her ear, the voice gone low and insinuating. "The secrets led me to the power, which led to more power, and tonight, under the dark of the moon, I take the final step..." From the corner of her eye Karen saw his tongue snake across his lips. Then he gave her a push, and they moved on, out the door and into the night, unheard and unseen, shielded by some ghastly alchemy she couldn't even guess at.
As if flaunting his power, Pierce had parked his vehicle neatly between two staked-out police vehicles: a nondescript old Ford sedan and a dark van that had to be a listening post. Between them, the black BMW X5 SUV gleamed like a jewel flanked by pebbles, and nobody was taking the slightest notice of it. "Just to let you know that I meant what I said," Pierce said as he opened the back door. "I haven't killed him – yet."
Karen gasped. On the floor of the vehicle lay Christian Troy, as bare as herself, absolutely immobile, eyes open in a frozen stare. "Oh, I know he looks dead." There was relish in the voice, and mockery. "But if you look really close, you'll see breathing, and a blink now and again. He can see and hear everything; just can't react to any of it. Cool, huh? A little formula of my own: mostly curare, but with a couple of secret ingredients. Paralyzes all voluntary functions. A slightly higher dose, and the automatic functions shut down too. But you don't have to be a doctor to load and stick in a needle, do you?"
Appalled, she could only stare down and sob, "Oh, Christian ... I'm sorry." His eyes blinked, rolled up toward her, swam with tears.
"Yes, she's sorry," Pierce gloated from behind her, then stepped forward, leaned in close over the paralyzed form. "So are you, I'm sure. You should have listened to me when I gave you the chance. Do you remember what I said about the asvamedha? The horse sacrifice? Well, the secrets don't end there. There is another secret, even greater and more terrible: the secret of the purushamedha. And you'll have the honor of witnessing something unseen for a thousand years. Whether you want it or not."
"I beg you," Karen pleaded, "let him go. You've got what you want. Please, just leave him here now; he's in no shape to raise an alarm, and we'll be well away before your drug wears off, won't we? I promise not to fight you, I'll do as you say, just let him go..." Pleading melted into crying.
"That's enough. Get in the goddamned car." Pierce slammed the back door, yanked open the front passenger one. "You're going up front. With me. And put on your goddamned seat belt."
She choked down the tears again and obeyed silently, taking the opportunity to tuck the tracer chip snugly between her seat and the belt latch as he busied himself with getting in, securing his sword, and starting the car. A quick, surreptitious check of Pierce's preoccupied expression satisfied her that he hadn't seen a thing. He brought the BMW to smoothly purring life and pulled away with his prisoners, leaving the unsuspecting police behind.
They soon got to the highway, heading south; Karen could not yet tell whether their destination was in the Keys or the Everglades. Islands or swamp... either way, they'd be hard to track. That tracer would be their only chance – if the police even thought to check it. They obviously had not the slightest suspicion that anything had happened...
James Pierce was in fine spirits, and wanted his captives to know it. "You two had been having a good time this evening, weren't you?" Troy could not answer, and Karen would not. "Although I don't know what it shows about your judgment, Karen darling. Do you really know anything about this man? Did he tell you the truth, before or after you made the beast with two backs? Let ME tell you the truth about the filthy goat you've given your heart to! You should know how this polluted whore has been feeding his poisoned soul for years – "
"SHUT UP!" she roared, astonishing her captor into silence. "Just shut up! Do with us as you will, but we'll die with more dignity if we don't have to listen to you for an hour and a half first!"
Pierce glowered darkly at her for a moment, then turned back to the road and drove on in resentful, iron silence. About five minutes had passed when he muttered, "It wasn't supposed to have happened this way, you know."
Getting no answer, he went on anyway. "I had it all figured out. The only gamble was supposed to be whether all three of you lasted long enough, and you all did. Three beautiful baby girls, each alone in the system without love or family, me constantly checking in to make sure they never were adopted, never got close to anyone who would love them with a clean and honest love. And then the scorpion, a gift from me that not only made them – you – fit for offering, but made tracking easier, isolation from normal people almost guaranteed, and would draw the worst kind of men. Two turned out exactly as I predicted, but just what the hell happened with you? It must have been those fucking books. When the loneliness and despair got to be too much, you were supposed to dull it with drugs and sell your body wherever you found a buyer, not cry over Sonnets From the fucking Portuguese!"
Karen slowly turned to him, horror in her face, and now she answered. "So it was you – you, personally – ruining my life all these years?!"
"Trying to, goddammit. Have you any idea how much money you've cost me? Remember those Syrian students whose complaints about your anti-Arab racism got you thrown out of college? Twenty-five K each!"
She sighed as if exhausted by the memory. "The university never let me face them, and I had no idea why they were accusing me. But with no family support and no money for a defense ... So you were behind it. Just like you bribed my foster parents so you could give me this dreadful mark."
"And just like I had to pay that boyfriend of yours to dump you before he went off to law school in New York." A snarl. "Columbia University Law isn't cheap. Not to mention that stipend he demanded – "
"PLEASE don't tell me," she begged softly. "I don't want to know what my love was worth to him."
"Whatever. So I figured it was my lucky day when you ended up in the hands of a man you had no idea is the most notorious satyr this side of South Beach. I'm waiting for him to use you, break you and hang you out to dry, but what happens? He goes and fucking falls in love! At least that finally gives me something I can use." His eyes briefly raked Christian Troy's motionless body before he turned the baleful gaze back on her. "Blair loathed herself and her life so deeply that she liked the idea of going out in a quick, painless blaze of glory in front of all her so-called friends. As for Vanessa, she was so thirsty for sensation that she eagerly played a little game involving bondage and a thirty-inch blade. Stupid bitches." He paused for a snicker. "But you're going to cooperate so you won't have to watch your lover die by inches."
TO BE CONTINUED