Author's note: Sorry for the delay but to appease you, this chapter is much longer, than the previous ones. As always thank you for the reviews. Please continue with them, because they make my day better and really inspire me to write faster. Now, enough of me: read and enjoy! 

Chapter 3.

When Jack came back after a few hours, John was ready. Or as ready as he could be. He didn't know how the hell he would carry out what he had planned, but he would rather die than sit here and listen to this madman. And to be honest he didn't think that if he behaved like a good victim he would live much longer.

Jack was clearly angered by him and needed time to calm. This was shown by his absence. After he had regained consciousness, John opened the handcuffs immediately but put it back on his right wrist so that Jack couldn't see the change if he didn't come to close. He tried to follow how much time went by, and although his timing might not be perfect it were at least two and a half hours. Thinking about escape and having something to concentrate on, helped him to diverge a little bit from the pain. He used to do this when he was a child, and it always worked. However, he suspected that this one was more serious than any of his old injuries.

Then at last he heard the door open. Jack came down the stairs but didn't switch on the light. From the noises and the shadows John could assess that he stopped in the other corner of the dark room. Suddenly the light of the torch was up, blinding him again.

"I know what you were up to" the murderer announced, his cheerful tone coming back. He clearly didn't required an answer as he continued without a pause. "You hoped that I would end your misery, if you annoy me enough. But it won't happen...Let's get back to our little chat!"

He put down the torch that gave an ominous light to the cellar, and sat down opposite his prisoner.

"Who do you think will go to your funeral?"

John didn't answer. He decided that showing himself weaker than he really is, couldn't hurt. So he leant against the wall and opened his eyes only ajar. He tried to look absolutely pitiable - not as if it required a lot of theatrical talent from him, because he felt really like hell.

"I assure you, we can witness it soon" Jack went on. "Oh, sorry... I meant I will. You, of course won't be in the state to witness anything. Anyway, I guess Bailey would deliver the speech with all the doublespeak about your sacrifices and responsible behaviour... bullshit. As if you had become an FBI agent to serve the nation! You just wanted to anger your old man, didn't you?"

"Maybe..." John whispered. "And why did you become a serial killer? You wanted to annoy your dear mother, or what?"

Perhaps being so long with a psychotic sharpened his emphatic skills, or he was just lucky, but John could see in this tormentor's eyes that he touched the spot.

But this time Jack didn't get irritated, only his tone became a little bit more threatening.

"You better don't try me! I can make up some nasty things for you before I let you die..."

John smiled at him scornfully.

"Sam will probably cry... but she would cry even for a dead dog, so don't take it personally."

"I think on your funeral she would rather laugh..."

"You can't anger me, John. You better spare your strength for later."

"What do you want?"

Jack watched him thoughtfully.

"Good question. But I don't want anything special... don't think more of this than it is. I just want some fun before I drop your corpse somewhere where Samantha can find it. Then she can make up some theories why I did it, and she will maybe feel a little bit guilty and responsible. But it won't last that long... A few months and you will be only another name on the Wall of Heroes. Or is there something like this for FBI agents at all?"

"This starts to be tiring..." John whispered. "Can I have some water?" asked then hoarsely.

Jack smiled and winked conspiratorially.

"I can admit you some if you answer a few questions!"

"Like?"

"What happened to your mother?"

John tensed and suddenly felt cold inside. No... not this... But he had no real choice: maybe he wasn't afraid of death, but he didn't want it to happen this way. Even if his time has come today he will die on his own terms and not like a helpless victim.

"She died..."

"Did your father kill her?"

"Yes...no..."

"This wasn't a very definite answer. Could you please explain it more detailed?"

And he did, almost in the same words as he had done it to Sam, only this time he was burning inside with anger. Not only against his father, or himself but more against this smug bastard sitting in front of him.

"Interesting" Jack mused. "So, it was as I guessed. She was a weak bitch who cared only about herself. Sad, sad story..."

John would have torn him apart with his bare hands if he could somehow put his hands on the man in front of him.

"All right" Jack stated after a short silence. "I think you deserved a gratification."

He went up the stairs and then came back with the same bottle and maybe the same plastic mug. John prepared and collected all his strength. To Jack he must have seemed even weaker because the murderer bent closer to gave him the water.

Despite his state, John was fast. He grabbed Jack's arm, gave him a pull, so that the man lost his balance and fell to the knee. John was physically at disadvantage as he could use only his arms, but the surprise was on his side. Before Jack could do anything he punched him in the face. Twice and with all his might. The murderer's face became red immediately with the blood from his broken nose, and it made John smile. And it wasn't a nice one. He quickly clicked the free handcuff on Jack's left wrist.

Every single part of his body hurt, especially his shoulder and leg, and dark spots were bouncing before his eyes, still he pulled himself away from the murderer as far as he could. More accurately to the bottom of the stairs. And then he just lied there, trying to control his breathing – with not too much success, to be honest – and not caring about the outside world.

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"Great, you caught me! And now what?"

The words gave John a start. He totally forgot that he wasn't alone in the room. In the first moment he was afraid that he said out his thoughts loud, because he was really thinking about the same question. How the hell would he get out of here?

"Did you know that I graduated as a doctor?" his mad kidnapper asked. The change of events obviously didn't steal his good mood, and despite his still bleeding nose, he felt on top. "I see your symptoms... you are slowly falling into shock. Your blood pressure drops, your pulse is rising, breathing becomes harder and after a while your respiratory system will stop working."

"I wouldn't be so glad about it if I were you" John answered laboriously. "I guess not many people know you are here... if I die, you will rot here."

At last Jack shut up for some time, and John concentrated on the task at hand: somehow managing the stairs. He had to admit to himself that it looked impossible.

He staggered into a sitting position that made his ribs hurt even more, but he didn't care. Instead he studied the stairs. There was a seemingly massive bar on the left side. He could hold on to it and pull himself up grade after grade...stupid idea and not very probable that he could succeed. But did he have anything to lose?

So that was what he did. Actually it took ages to manage the first "step". He moved very carefully, not to hurt his leg more - not as if it made a difference: it throbbed with pain continuously. There were only thirteen steps - he counted it a hundred times, but their number didn't decrease. It didn't help, either that Jack's mute period stopped and he talked constantly without taking a breath.

"... I hear your wheezing even from here. How long do you think you can keep up this? And what for, by the way? ... Do you have anything waiting for you out there? More psychotic killers, more unsolved cases, more lonely nights... By the way, did you ever have a proper relationship, or are you too scared?"

John tried to close out his words, but in his situation it was hard to ignore the only sound in the room. He focused all his concentration on the muscles in his arms. Just grab the bar and pull... closer and closer to the door at the top of the stairs.

"...maybe not every woman is like your mother." Jack continued his drabbling. "But maybe they are, who knows? Of course Samantha is different. Isn't it painful to see Bailey be happy with her? You know, I have to admit, that for me it is. I suppose for you it is, as well. Don't you ever ask yourself, why is he better than you?"

John closed his eyes. Only five more steps.

"Shut up...shut up..." he didn't even realize that he was mumbling.

"Oh, am I annoying you? I'm so sorry!"

He wanted to get out of here, as soon as possible. He couldn't bear much longer this stupid idiot. And this doubled his strength. Some time later – he couldn't even guess how much time went by – he was sitting on the top of the stairs in front of the door. And he was staring at it unbelievingly. The door was closed in the middle with a massive tumbler.

Jack laughed.

"Not as if I excepted something like this, but it was a superb idea to put up that bolt..."

John didn't listen to him this time, he was too close to desperation. He was trembling with exhaustion, in one moment he was cold, in the other he was burning and his whole body was bathing in sweat.

He caught the bar with both hands and with a sudden dash he stood up on one leg. Tried to keep his balance and tugged the bolt. It moved a little bit, but the power he used was far from enough. Very far, actually.

John closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He let off the bar and grabbed the latch with both hands. He put all his strength in that one movement as he pulled the fastening. That meant that he couldn't really concentrate on being cautious and when his injured leg touched the floor white pain exploded in it that emitted through his body and into his brain. Despite everything, he didn't let go. He screamed, the fastening loosened and the next moment he spilled through the door. He fell face down, feeling nothing just the acrimonious pain in his leg. He knew that he still screamed but didn't really hear it and knew as well that he could do nothing to change this fact. At some point he wished that he would already black out but the small rational part of his mind must have known that this would be fatal. So he stayed awake even if in a not so conscious state. And then, after a while the pain lessened, and he could look around in the room where he landed. The first thing he glimpsed made him forget all his misery: a telephone in the opposite corner.

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George was the one who answered the phone but everybody was sitting in the same room, around the big table in the command centre. They spent two whole days in here waiting for news – might they be good or bad. But nothing came... until now. They all looked up when George exclaimed excitedly. George knew that all his workmates were worried to death. He saw that Sam, just like Grace vanished time after time and came back with puffy and red eyes. On his part George found the situation more and more desperate. Thus made him even more stunned when he heard the familiar voice on the other end of the line.

"George?"

"John! Is that you?"

"Yes..."

Bailey even jumped and stepped behind George.

"Where is he?" their boss whispered.

"Where are you, John?"

"Don't know... Jack... he kept me in a cellar... can you track the line?"

"Of course, I can... just don't put down, okay?" Then he turned to the others. "He doesn't know where he is... I shall track the signal..."

"Is he okay?" Sam asked.

George shook his head hesitantly.

"I don't think so" even his unprofessional ears registered how weak John's voice sounded.

"I start off" Bailey declared. "You can call me in the car when you know the address."

"I'll go with you" Sam joined him immediately, and already took up her jacket.

George nodded and went back to the phone: "John, I'll give you over to Grace. Talk to her until I find the address..." he gave the receiver over and rushed to his computer to do his job as quick as possible.

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"John? Can you hear me?" Grace asked immediately when she took the receiver.

"Yes."

"Are you injured?" She didn't have to be a doctor to hear that something was wrong.

"Yes..." He didn't say something like I'm fine, and this in itself told a lot of his condition.

"What happened? Are you shot?"

"No... He just ran me over..."

"What?" Asked she surprised. "With a car?"

"No, Grace... With a bicycle, what do you think?" he asked sarcastically, but the end of the sentence stifled into a quiet moan.

"Are you okay?" she asked worriedly.

"Yeah..."

"Sorry... Can you describe the place, you are in?"

"There's not much... I guess it's a disused house..." then he trailed off wheezing.

Grace mentally went through the possible injuries, and the list wasn't too promising.

"John? Are you still there?"

There was no answer but she could hear his rugged breathing.

"John!"

"...'m here..."

"All right then. Do you have a head injury?"

"Think so..."

"Were you unconscious?"

"Definitely..." She could almost hear the dry smile in his voice.

"How long?"

"No idea."

"Never mind. Is your head bleeding?"

"No...but my leg... 's broken..."

Grace could see from the corner of her eyes that George found something and was talking to Bailey now.

"Hey, we know the address, Sam and Bailey are on the way!"

There was no reaction to her words.

"John! Stay with me, okay? Are you there?"

"I didn't close the door..." he mumbled.

"Which door?"

"I hope he can't open the handcuffs..."

"Who? Jack? You handcuffed him?"

"...'s stupid..." he muttered and then something else that Grace couldn't make out. She knew that he was raving and it wasn't a good sign at all.

"Hey, John! Please, listen to me!" She was almost shouting to get back his attention.

"...sorry..."

"Can you hear you're shouting..."

"I'm sorry, dear. Can you do me a favour?"

"Sure..."

"Just stay awake, until Sam and Bailey arrive, okay? Don't sleep in!"

"...trying..." But Grace could tell that he was running out of strength, and only a few moments later she heard a distant knocking sound as the receiver fell from his hand.

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Sam and Bailey arrived at the given address in eight minutes that must have been record time. Bailey definitely drove like mad and Sam was surprised that they avoided any accidents. They stopped before the dilapidated house and rushed to the door. It was closed but Bailey kicked it in and they found themselves in a dusty hall with only one door. The door, as they found out led in the only room of the house. It was empty except a table, a cupboard, a telephone...and John.

"Damn!" Bailey exclaimed involuntary and Sam had to agree. John looked terrible and he showed no reaction when they came in.

Bailey was scanning the room, while Sam hurried to their colleague's side. There was a huge puddle of blood around his right leg that was visibly broken at least in three places. His face was also blooded and bruised, just like his hair. Sam feared the worst but then he took a ragged breath and his body twitched. Sam kneeled down and took the receiver that lied on the floor next to John.

"Grace! We are here!"

"How is he?" Grace asked immediately in an almost hysterical tone.

"Bad. He's unconscious."

"I think he's in shock. Try to wake him and if he's still bleeding try to stop it."

Sam put down the phone and did as she was told.

"John! Open your eyes, please! It's me, Sam..." There was no reaction, and Sam looked around to find something which she could stop the bleeding with. There was nothing in the room, so she took off her jacket and pressed it on the wound.

The soft words might have been useless but the pain did the job. John moaned and opened his eyes. Bailey, who was standing by Sam's side, sighed relieved.

"I'll look for Jack" he said quietly and started to the open door, that obviously led to the cellar. A good trail of blood showed that John had come from there too.

Sam looked up: "Be careful."

"Don't worry."

Bailey disappeared downstairs and Sam turned back her attention to John, who was exactly looking through her with unfocused eyes. Sam found it rather terrifying.

"John!"

He blinked and his eyes cleared a little bit.

"Sam...?"

"Yes, it's me." Where the hell are the paramedics? But she knew that only a few minutes went by, and that not anybody would risk their life to arrive here in record time. "Are you in pain?" She asked when she saw that John shivered visibly. Not as if she could do anything more to help...

"...don't feel much..." he whispered hoarsely. This wasn't a good sign either, as Sam guessed. However she tried to smile encouragingly despite the huge lump in her throat.

"Just stay with me, okay? A few more minutes and the ambulance will be here..." She held John's hand and felt him squeeze hers slightly but there was no strength in it.

Bailey came back, leading a handcuffed man and Sam couldn't keep herself from staring at the man who haunted her life so long.

"Samantha..." her nemesis said a little bit surprised, but then he gathered himself. "I'm disappointed that it wasn't you who caught me. It seems our agent Grant has still some spirit... I'm wondering how he couldn't do anything to save his mother...maybe he didn't want to..." Sam twitched and looked back at John worriedly. For now she was almost glad to see that he probably couldn't hear a word from the speech. He was fading quickly.

"Take him out of here, please..." she said to Bailey who obeyed without hesitation.

They just vanished when Sam heard the sirens of the ambulance. John was trembling even harder, his eyes were open but distant and unseeing. He mumbled something but Sam couldn't make out the words.

She heard Bailey's voice directing the paramedics inside and a second later two uniformed men rushed in. One of them kneeled immediately at John's side. He checked the pulse and looked at the pupils, examined the head injury and then his legs. Then without taking his eyes from the patient he asked:

"What happened to him?"

"He was... run over by a suspect and then he held him here..." She wasn't surprised by hearing her voice trembling.

"You are from police?"

"FBI."

"Okay, let's take him to the hospital."

The other ambulance man disappeared and came back with the stretcher.

"What's his name?" the older man, who was obviously the senior officer asked.

"John..."

"How long has he been unresponsive?"

"When we arrived he could speak a few words..."

During that they arrived at the ambulance and lifted the stretcher in the car. Sam saw from the corner of her eyes that Bailey was standing beside their car and watching the scene anxious eyes.

"Can I come with?" asked Sam loudly so that Bailey could hear it as well.

"Yes." The paramedic already jumped in, and Sam followed him quickly. The other one took the driver seat and the next moment the sirens started.

The man's professional behaviour helped Sam to calm down a little bit. He talked into the radio, obviously with the hospital, but during that he attached an IV and partly cut off John's trousers on his right leg.

"Unit 41. We have a trauma, multiple open fraction on the right leg. Obscure head injury. Lost a lot of blood."

Sam heard some static noise as the other side was talking.

"Understand. We're there in fifteen minutes."

Then he switched off the radio and turned his full attention toward his patient.

"Hey, John! Can you hear me?"

There was no answer, and John didn't open his eyes, he didn't even move anymore. The paramedic tore his shirt open, and grimaced a little bit when he saw the huge bruises on his chest and abdomen.

"My name's Frank" he said to Sam without looking at her.

"Sam..." she whispered, because she didn't dare to talk louder. She had a sinister feeling, that made her heart freeze.

"C'mon John! Try a little harder." Frank murmured under his nose. He then attached the portable heart monitor, as well and took out an ambubag that he put on his patient's face and started to respirate him.

At last he looked back at Sam.

"Don't worry. We are there in ten minutes."

Actually, those were the longest ten minutes, Sam has ever experienced.

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