Chapter 5: Species

Bailey Malone was wakened by the rattle of the shutters as somebody opened his private office's door. His eyes immediately darted to the electronic clock on his desk, thinking it's morning and the cleaner was arriving. Quite a lot of the time he spent his nights sleeping on the couch of his office, he didn't see any reason to go home into the empty apartment.

But it wasn't even midnight yet and John stood in the doorway, "sorry, I didn't know you were asleep already."

"John! Come in!" He rubbed his face, "something wrong? I don't think you have a bed here to sleep on," he jested, referring to the late hour.

"Thank God, cause I might use it sometimes..." John liked to pretend he still had a social life, "maybe if you'd let that sofa removed from the office you would go home too."

"I'd probably just sleep in the chair," self ironised Bailey, "anything you wanted to speak to me about?"

"I had a couple of beers over at the pub across and I was thinking...according to my files, Dr. Christian Troy appears to be my older brother, whether he wants it or not. Would've been a lot searched for O'Donnell boy just like me if his mother wasn't somehow cleverly scared enough of my father and told him ever that she had a son with him. And my brother, hmm, weird as that sounds from my mouth, seems to have a mortal enemy who's still out on the loose. And me, as a detective I feel the obligation to go down there and do some little private investigations of my own...does that sound any reasonable to you at all?"

"I have nothing against that John. You must have weeks left from your annual leave and who am I to go against family ties, however faint those are?" He said ironically, wishing for second chances not only with Frances but with everyone else.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Christian Troy didn't neccessarily want to have any contact with him, but that didn't mean John couldn't contact the surgeon's friends, co-workers, especially Liz, Grace's sister, who he thought of as on their side. She could probably make him understand what kind of man Christian was and maybe give him some insight into his private life. Unfortunately, it was likely that he will have to step into that dangerous turf, as the carver copycat didn't strike any other times. If it was a first time offender, as these people often are, it will be a while before he or she will dare to attack once more, hopefully enough for him to figure out who it was, even if it cost him Christian's remaining positive attitude, if he ever had any, towards him, for snooping after him and endangering his false sense of security regarding his identity. He had parked his Porsche outside the surgery, but since Liz has already left work, he dialled her cell phone leisurely walking down the alley and leaning onto the hood of a large metallic Camaro. Cars were his vice, not only the driving of sport cars, but carelessly leaning onto them when he was internally involved with something. He could do it, if a car alarm occasionally went off, he would just show his bureau badge and everything would be fine. He didn't exploit his status anywhere near as often as some other people who worked for the FBI who he knew of, so he was due a bit of leave way. This time though, it really was the wrong thing to do. All he felt was a pinch in his back and the next thing he knew was his knees giving away under him. One of the doors of the car opened and he was pulled inside.

"You make it really easy for me, Christian," he heard a voice. He wanted to turn around and tell the man he wasn't Christian Troy, but he found himself unable to make any movement at all. John could not see his face, not only because the man was with his back to him, but additionally, the man seemed to have also used a different tranquilliser as the serial rapist they had previously identified, because soon everything went black.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Now, none of this beauty is a curse on the world crap," John woke up to the same voice, but found himself in a reasonably well equipped surgery room, "that was only so I can impose some well deserved punishment on you. Now, that the real Carver is gone, we can get down to business. Remember my business associate?" He pointed to an older Asian woman who held a syringe in her hand. It was connected to a bag of fluids and an iv that was attached to the detective's arm, "one false move and you are dead. Now, make me handsome," he indicated to a computer screen which had his facial features contorted into being more similar to Christian Troy's, "this time I'm not drugged my friend and I know what I want," he pulled John to his feet and himself lay down onto the table previously John was lying on, "wash up, what are you waiting for?" Grinned the almost bald man who wanted a hair transplant along with the other changes as it showed on the picture.

John went over to the wash basin with the strange sombre woman on toe, and contemplated his options while making his hands utterly soapy. If he understood well what was going on here, he could have waited until that screwball man was asleep, then tear the needle out of his arm. He was absolutely sure he could move before the woman could react, he was much more trained to do so than they could ever imagine about Christian. Then again, she had a gun too, that she put down next to her onto the table. All in all, nothing that would stop him getting out of this situation without any harm if he still didn't feel woozy from the drugs he was given. He could only hear the clutter of a gun, he didn't even see it where exactly it was, "are you sure you want me to operate on you feeling nauseous and dizzy?"

"Are you crazy?" The man on the table laughed, "I gave you nothing that compromises you manual dexterity and close range vision. As far as things that are a more than a couple of feet away from you, I can assure you, you won't see them very clearly for hours."

It was time to play the other card then, "I'm not Christian Troy. You got the wrong person. I'm not even a plastic surgeon."

That got the other man sitting up, "no. You're a person who got himself operated to look like Christian Troy," he said satirically, "and that handsome mug of yours is just getting younger and younger as well. So typical."

"No, I'm his brother. If you don't believe me phone him. Do you know his number? Is he picks up, I'm not him. Why would I say that if I can't prove it? Gaining some time gets me nothing. Call him."

The suspicious woman took his driving licence out of his coat pocket and threw it towards the man, "Bobbolit," giving John a vague idea who they were, as the ex plastic surgeon has been previously been on their list of potential carvers, but has been soon removed from the suspects' list, for some reason he couldn't remember.

Bobbolit caught his licence and came close to examine John's features, "you know what? I can see some differences," he speed dialled Christian's number as someone who had formerly known him very well.

"Christian Troy," it sounded loud and clear from the other side of the connection. After that, there was silence. Especially for John, as a new dose of tranquilliser reached him through his iv.

tbc