Atop the Broken Universal Clock
Fandom: CSI:NY
Author: Kimmychu
Rating: FRAO
Pairing: Danny/Flack (friendship)
Content Warning: Violence, language, disturbing imagery, angst
Spoilers: Set after 'Heroes', so spoilers for any episode previous to that
Summary: In the aftermath of his brother's near-fatal beating, Danny must deal with the consequences of his past ... and finds himself losing the battle little by little. Will Flack be strong enough to be Danny's anchor in his darkest days?
Disclaimer: Nope, characters still don't belong to me. But, man, I sure wanna give Danny a big hug after what happened in RSRD.
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Author's Notes: Oh my, oh my, many apologies for the slow updates to this story. Some fandom drama happened a while back that distracted me, as well as updating my other stories, heheh. I've just signed up for NaNoWriMo, which means … I'm gonna try and finish this story, as well as all the other WIPs I've got. Yikes. That'll mean you'll be seeing more updates for this story in the next two weeks. This chapter's … quite dark. If you're a very visual person, well, I hope this doesn't give you nightmares. Thanks for the reviews, everyone! I appreciate them loads.
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Chapter 10
The man's big knife produced a loud, scraping noise on the bottom edge of mommy's mug.
"Please, please, I beg you … let my family go. Please …"
Jamie sat on one of the chairs in the living room, watching the sharp blade seesaw back and forth, the dark-colored metal glinting under the ceiling light of the living room. It was shiny, and the colors seemed to change whenever the man moved the knife. Jamie wanted to touch it, but he knew he couldn't. Mommy said it was bad to play with knifes. They could hurt people.
"Oh my God … oh my God …"
Mommy was crying. It made Jamie want to cry too.
"Please, let my wife and son go … They haven't done anything! They don't know anything! They're innocent!"
Daddy looked like he was crying too. He'd never seen daddy cry before.
"It's me Sonny wants! ME!"
The man said nothing.
"Look … look, I have lots of money, okay?" Daddy was crawling on his knees on the carpet towards the man, his arms tied behind his back with ropes. Daddy looked really strange with his face scrunched up like that. "I-I'll give it all to you, all of it. Please, just let my family go."
The knife grated against the edge of the ceramic mug one last time, and then, the man gently placed the mug on the sofa next to him. He started to spin the weapon in his hand, using just his fingers on the metallic handle to turn it around and round like a top. Jamie stared at it, enthralled by the light reflecting off the blade. It was really pretty.
The red streaks and splotches all over the man's shirt were pretty too.
"Once upon a time, there was a white sorcerer who lived in Ecuador." The man had a strange voice, a smooth, low voice that compelled Jamie to lean back and do nothing but listen. "He was called Huerto, a good and compassionate healer who was revered and loved by his people."
The man, who had long, dark hair tied into a ponytail, slowly stretched out a hand to touch his daddy on the forehead. Daddy was trembling fiercely now, like he was very, very scared of the man.
"One day, while he was walking home, he came upon a lost boy, who sat by the road with nothing but the clothes he wore. He took this boy under his wing, and cared for this boy like his own son."
Jamie gaped helplessly at the man's face, his lips slightly parted. The man had really big, green eyes.
"Huerto had another son, older than this boy, and his son did not like this boy. The people did not like this boy either, telling Huerto that he was an evil spirit who had to be banished. But Huerto did not listen to the people. He chose to continue to care for the boy, teaching him the good ways of a white sorcerer, a healer. He believed that there was hope for all souls, no matter what evil deeds they had done in the past."
In an almost placid manner, the man pushed at his daddy's forehead with his fingertips. Daddy knelt down on the floor before the man, gazing at the man with wide, blank eyes, his mouth open. It was as if daddy had become a zombie.
"Many years passed. The people forgot that they thought the boy was evil, for the boy had captured the hearts of those who once hated him … all except one person. Huerto's son." The man trailed one finger down daddy's face to his chest, poking the tip into the juncture between his collarbones. "Huerto's son was jealous of the boy, because his own father loved this boy more than him. Not only that, his father was also teaching the boy black magic, magic even he was forbidden from learning."
Mommy's sobs were all that Jamie heard whenever the man paused in his storytelling.
"In the middle of one sweltering, humid night, Huerto's son crept into the boy's room to confront the boy, hoping to prove to his father of the outsider's true wickedness. They fought in the darkness, each for their own lives, until Huerto, who was awakened by the noise, came crashing into the room."
The man's finger moved downward from daddy's collarbones to the center of his chest.
"Huerto saw the knife in his son's hands, and smacked it away onto the floor. The white sorcerer rebuked him, unable to believe that his own flesh and blood was capable of such a despicable act as murder."
For the first time that night, the man showed some form of emotion on his handsome features.
There was a sudden spongy, wet sound.
Jamie felt something hot and watery splatter across his face and chest.
Daddy made a bizarre noise, like a scratchy croak.
The man's hands were wrapped around something hard sticking out of daddy's chest now.
Jamie suddenly couldn't stop shaking.
"Huerto looked just like you …" The long-haired man smiled, a scary, cold smile like a reptile's. "When I stabbed him in the heart with his own son's knife."
Daddydaddydaddydaddydaddy -
The fear that had been kept at bay in Jamie's child-heart came crashing over him like a towering, relentless tsunami. He screamed at the top of his voice, not knowing why he was doing it, but that something really bad had happened and he didn't know what it was.
Mommy was screaming too, falling over onto her side in her terror, unable to crawl due to the ropes around her wrists and legs. She was looking in desperation and horror at him. Tears were running down her pallid face.
"RUN, JAMIE, RUUUUUUUUUN!"
Jamie leapt off the chair and dashed away on his little feet, still screaming and crying. He couldn't see where he was going, only that mommy told him to run away, and he had to get away from the bad man. He slammed into something hard, like a chair. Toppled to the floor, then shot back onto his feet, not knowing where he was headed, his vision blurred by tears. All Jamie could remember was mommy and daddy and the FBI people telling him to run away and go find a safe place to hide if something really, really bad happened.
His mommy was shrieking as if she was in terrible agony. It was a horrible sound that frightened Jamie even more.
He fell down another time, tripping on the small carpet at the entrance to the kitchen. His knees banged hard on the wooden floor.
The whole house abruptly became very quiet.
Mommy wasn't screaming anymore.
Jamie crawled to his hands and knees.
And felt an enormous hand on the back of his neck.
He opened his mouth wide to scream, and faltered into silence the instant he was flipped over onto his back on the floor and was gazing into the man's green eyes.
It was happening again. Just like when the bad man first appeared in front of them in the living room and started talking. Jamie couldn't move at all. Couldn't even blink.
"Huerto's son was strong. He nearly succeeded in overpowering me … except I was stronger."
Kneeling down, the man gently maneuvered Jamie into sitting with his legs straightened out in front of him, on the green, circular carpet he tripped on. Jamie wasn't sure why he was becoming less frightened. He felt weird. As if he was swimming underwater and just … floating there.
The man's shirt had even more red spatters on it now. It didn't look so pretty to Jamie anymore.
"I left their mangled bodies in the roots of the mangrove trees close to the house."
The man angled his head to one side. He scrutinized Jamie's round visage with vacant eyes.
"The alligators by the river feasted well that morning."
Jamie discovered he could still move his eyes, if not the rest of himself. He glanced down at the big knife in the man's grasp. It was covered in red too, as dark as the crimson on the man's shirt.
"Do you know how long it takes to massacre an entire village … with a single knife?"
The razor-sharp tip of the bloodied weapon came within a mere inch of Jamie's nose.
"Four days."
The man's lips curved up into another indifferent smile.
"And the fleeing children … were the best."
The long-haired man drew back the knife, high into the air, ready to swing it back down in a fatal arc. His green eyes widened perceptibly.
Jamie's face crumpled, and his tears flowed once more.
"Mommy! DAAAAAADDY! HEEELP MEEEEEEE!"
His scream resonated throughout the house.
A second passed. Two. Three.
Jamie locked eyes with the man, unable to tear his petrified gaze away.
The knife remained held in the air, frozen in place.
Jamie's panting began to decrease in speed. His face became slack in shock.
The man's hands were … trembling.
Jamie let out a tiny whimper. It seemed as loud as a gunshot in the eerie silence.
They continued to stare into each other's eyes, equally wide and bewildered.
The man blinked.
Something flashed through those formerly blank eyes.
And slowly, the bloody blade was lowered, until it was held at the man's side. No longer aimed in his direction, but still as deadly.
The man looked scared.
Jamie felt a touch on his cheek, a tender stroke that reminded him of the way daddy would pat him.
" … Abel?"
The man's voice was different. He sounded like a young boy.
"Abel … you're bleeding."
The bad man pulled his hand away. It was coated with the same red wetness on his knife and his shirt.
"Where - where is all this blood coming from?"
There was a muffled thud as the knife dropped onto the carpet next to Jamie.
The green-eyed man stared at his hand for a moment, then at Jamie. Again, he touched Jamie's face. Jamie could sense the man's hands quavering against his cheeks.
"Abel … why … why aren't you saying anything to me?" The man cupped Jamie's face and shook him, as if the man was trying to wake him up from a deep sleep. "Say something!"
After a few seconds, the man unexpectedly wrenched his hands away. He scuttled backwards, staring at Jamie with horrified, wide eyes.
"Wha … what have I done?" Those green eyes darted here and there, the panic-filled eyes of an animal ensnared in a fatal trap. "I didn't mean to -"
The man suddenly snapped his head to one side to stare at something invisible, something Jamie couldn't see.
"Mom … dad … why … why are they so still?"
The frightened man began to cower where he knelt. Staring at his bloody hands once more.
"Mom, dad, I didn't mean to -"
He glanced up at the ceiling, seeing more invisible things up there that Jamie couldn't see either.
The man was crying now.
"No, no, the house is burning, the house is burning down! I have to get you out - HAVE TO -"
Scarlet stripes appeared as the weeping man dragged his blood-splashed fingers down his face.
His mouth fell open into a huge 'O' shape.
"Mooom! DAAD! HEEEEEEEEEELP MEEEEEEEEEE!"
Jamie scrunched his eyes close and clapped his hands over his ears to block out the man's horrendous scream. He still couldn't move his legs. All he could do was sit where he was, wailing in fright, twisting his head away and hearing his mother say to him over and over that there were no such things as monsters, there were no such things as monsters, there were no such things as monsters -
The house was silent again.
Jamie was able to move his limbs too.
He hesitantly opened his wet eyes, keeping his hands over his ears.
Moments later, he let his ears go. Let his arms fall to his sides, his hands rest on the carpet he sat on.
He felt something wet and warm stick to his left hand. He glanced down.
There was a bloody stain on the left side of his carpet, shaped like a very big knife.
Jamie gazed uncomprehendingly at the red wetness all over his fingers, then raised his head to look around him.
It was beginning to rain.
And the bad man was gone.
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"Motherfuckin' sonofabitch."
Flack muttered it a second time, and neither Stella or Mac reprimanded him for it. They were too outraged at the grisly scene before them to even care about the homicide detective swearing a streak.
"It's him again, isn't it?" Stella's question was a rhetorical one.
Mac said nothing. His free hand not carrying his CSI kit was clenched into a rigid, white-knuckled fist.
Hawkes' normally cheerful eyes were narrowed and shuttered.
Flack scowled fiercely, the anger within him boiling up fast. It had merely been the day before when the FBI agents came to visit Mac at the labs. So far, no one else except he and the CSI knew the purpose of their visit, or about the nineteenth victim on the hit list already under their protection. Or that Danny was also a target of the Body Hacker.
In less than forty-eight hours since that meeting, it was now a dead certainty Danny was the final one.
Flack flipped at his black notebook, using it as a means of not looking at the gruesome corpses.
"Kevin and Cassie Prym. Him, an auditor with one hella long list of big shot companies in his resume. Her, a housewife." Flack closed his notebook. "They have a four-year-old son, Jamie."
Stella's red lips pursed tight at the last statement.
The living room they were in was jarringly clean and tidy, save for the center of the room where the bodies lay. Cassie Prym was sprawled chest down on the floor, as sprawled as she could be with her wrists and ankles tied up with dark green, stiff ropes. Kevin Prym, also trussed up, was on his side, about eight feet away from his wife. Both of them stared into the far distance with lightless, dull eyes. There were copious spatters of blood surrounding their corpses, one wide arc of red stemming from Mrs. Prym's neck. The lake of blood beneath Mrs. Prym was much bigger than the one under her dead husband's, due to her throat having been slit open from ear to ear with a bladed weapon. Her head was literally hanging onto her body by a thread of flesh.
At first glance, it didn't appear to be a slaying perpetrated by the Body Hacker. The serial killer had never bound his earlier victims up, and they were always discovered with their corpses slashed from throat to groin, some organs missing or partially eaten. This time, instead of one, there were two bodies. The most apparent sign they had that it was the work of the same killer were the disturbing smiles both victims had on their ashen, frozen miens. And even those were unlike the ones on previous victims. The smiles were lop-sided, as if the murderer had roughly used his fingers in haste to make them.
Flack's scowl intensified. He was going to utterly hate it when they had to look at the body of the Pryms' boy. He prayed to God it had been quick for the little kid. The tall homicide detective cursed inwardly. This was bad, really bad. Here was absolute proof staring him in the face that protection from the Feds for Danny was going to amount up to nothing.
And where the fuck were the FBI agents who were supposed to guard the Pryms? Where were Agent Ransome and Agent Demille? They had to know what'd happened to Kevin Prym and his family by now.
An icy stone settled in the pit of Flack's stomach.
"He didn't finish," Hawkes said, scrutinizing the two corpses lying on the floor.
Before anyone could ask him what he meant, the former ME knelt down next to the hacked body of Mr. Prym. He looked closer at the blood-splattered chest, then pointed at the long gash that ran from between the collarbones down to just below the sternum of the corpse.
"The unique serration of the wound is the same as those on the other victims. Same jagged edges. Our serial killer's still using the same weapon for his murders. The wound fits his MO, but unlike the other victims, this one only goes halfway down the body." Hawkes was careful to not step in the pool of blood. "Like he stopped. Or was interrupted midway."
He carefully turned the body a little more onto its back to better study the cut.
"He thrust the knife into the soft tissue between the collar bones, then pulled the blade down, cutting right through the sternum … a perfect, centered line."
Hawkes glanced up at Flack and his fellow CSIs with immense apprehension in his brown eyes.
"I have to use an electric saw just to open up the ribcage, and that's when the bodies on my table are already dead. To be able to open up a living man's chest like this … in a single stroke through the sternum with a knife … The poor bastard was probably still struggling and fighting back when this happened." Hawkes trailed off into an aghast mumble. "I don't ever want to meet this killer alone."
The expressions on Mac and Stella's faces mirrored the one on the former ME's.
Hawkes stood up and moved over to kneel next to Mrs. Prym's body.
"And this, we never saw this with any of his previous victims." Hawkes deftly shifted the head to examine the decapitating slash almost severing the neck. "One lethal and swift cut."
"Like he wanted to shut her up fast?" Flack growled.
Hawkes looked up at him, a subdued sadness replacing his trepidation. "Yes, that would be a plausible reason."
Flack gritted his teeth. He yanked out a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and pressed it against his nose, unable to withstand the stench of stale blood and rotting flesh any longer.
"You CSIs have got yer work cut out."
All four detectives pivoted their heads to see an officer garbed in the bluish-black New York police uniform standing at the entrance to the living room. It was the cop who'd been sent out after 911 dispatch received a mysterious, silent call that was quickly traced to the very house where they all were right now. He was the cop who'd contacted Homicide as well, once he came upon the remains of the Pryms. He appeared very pale and queasy.
"There're some more bodies in the kitchen … I dunno how many there are, 'cos they're -" The cop swallowed visibly. "They're kinda … stuffed into the washing machine and the dishwasher." He gulped a second time. "And I think there're some … leftover parts in the oven too. I didn't open it."
Flack didn't bother to conceal the revulsion on his frowning face.
Fuck. So that's where the Feds went. The Body Hacker was going to have the entire bureau on his ass after this spate of FBI agent murders.
He turned his head to Mac, who stood beside him, making eye contact with the man.
"You were tryin' ta call Agent Ransome or Agent Demille just now?" Flack whispered, his voice made faint by his handkerchief. He'd noticed Mac on his mobile phone earlier, when he arrived at the house with the CSIs and saw them getting out of Mac's SUV.
"Yes. But no one picked up," Mac murmured. The CSI sent Flack a meaningful glance.
The ominous feeling in Flack's gut grew heavier.
He took the handkerchief off his nose and said to the cop, "The Pryms have a four-year-old son. Did you see his body back there?"
The homicide detective felt Stella's piercing gaze on him. He didn't return her look.
The cop shook his head in a negative. "No … no, I didn't see any kid." He suddenly became even more wan. "Looked like adults to me. Wearin' suits and stuff, I think. I took a fast look inside the dishwasher, but I didn't dare to move anythin'."
All the hair on the back of Flack's neck stood on end.
"You're sure you didn't see a kid? Have you checked the whole house?"
"Yeah, Carlos and I checked out the whole place. No kid anywhere."
Flack crammed his handkerchief back into his jacket pocket and hurriedly replaced his notebook inside his jacket.
"Don?" Stella was at his side, bearing her silver CSI case, her camera hanging from her neck. Her green eyes blazed under the early morning sunlight streaming in through high windows.
"The kid's alive."
Flack immediately stormed past the cop at the entrance to the living room and into the foyer of the house.
In the background, the lanky detective heard Mac telling Hawkes to begin processing the scene along with him. It was pretty obvious Stella was sticking to him to help him search the house for the Prym child. She was still walking with him as he headed for the back of the house, where the kitchen was.
"Don, you don't know that. The Body Hacker might have taken the boy with him. Or the body might be hidden somewhere else in the house."
"It ain't his style, Stella. He's not the kind to take prisoners, and he likes showin' off what he can do," Flack replied. "The kid's alive."
Stella abruptly halted in her steps a dozen feet away from the entry to the kitchen. She was gazing downwards at the floor.
"There's blood here."
The CSI knelt down to look closer at the dark stains.
"Hand prints. Way too big to be a four-year-old child's." Stella got her camera in her hands and snapped some photographs of the stains. Then, she lifted her head and shouted in the direction of the living room, "Mac! We got some blood hand and fingerprints here! Is there any blood on the hands of the Pryms?"
A few seconds later, Mac yelled, "There's some amount of blood spatter on Cassie Prym's hands, but not enough to leave any prints. Kevin Prym's has even less."
Flack's lips curved up slightly in a mirthless smirk. Stella didn't need to tell him what that meant. Fingerprints. It was possible fingerprints might have been left behind by whoever was murdered and had their hacked up parts left in the kitchen. It was also possible their serial killer might have actually left them instead. If they were lucky, the sonofabitch was careless this round, and they'd have their first tangible piece of evidence in their ongoing investigation. It was about damn time.
He cautiously tiptoed around Stella working on the floor and avoided any bloodstains he saw on the floor. That left him leaning against the wall right next to the entrance to the kitchen. He glanced down to see a circular, green carpet near his feet.
And it had a very clear print in the shape of an odd-looking knife on it, blood red.
"Stell. There's more blood here. On the carpet."
"Okay." Stella was dusting the dried stains with some black powder. "Don't touch it. I'll get to it as soon as I put the casting silicone on the prints here. Blood prints are more difficult to lift than the conventional ones."
Flack released a low sound of acknowledgement.
"I'm gonna go into the kitchen. Check out the other … bodies." He smirked at Stella raising her head and opening her mouth to speak, and he interjected with, "Don't worry, I won't touch anythin' without wearin' gloves."
The Greek CSI smirked softly back at him, then returned to her crucial work. Stella trusted him. And he'd been hanging around the CSIs for so long, he knew all the do's and don'ts by heart anyway.
Flack saw that the police officer was still standing in the foyer, watching Mac and Hawkes processing the living room with wide, dazed eyes.
"Hey!"
The cop's head spun in his direction.
"Did you and yer partner step on any of the blood stains over here?" Flack motioned with his head towards the floor leading to the kitchen.
"No, of course not." The officer approached him. "We made sure we were careful not to touch or step on anythin'."
"Where is yer partner?"
"He's - He's outside in the car. " The cop, who had almond-shaped, brown eyes, faltered for a second. "Pukin'."
Flack sighed heavily. "Okay. You go upstairs, and search the place again."
"But I'm tellin' ya, we looked everywhere, and there was no kid -"
"Search again."
The homicide detective pivoted around and slinked into the kitchen without waiting for a reply. Not three steps inside, he was pulling out his handkerchief and shoving it against his lower face for the second time that night.
It was astounding how clean the kitchen appeared. He had expected an extreme bloodbath. For a moment, Flack thought he was simply imagining the smell, or that it was wafting in from the living room. He walked around the stove and counter in the middle of the room to the far side of the kitchen, where the sink and cupboards were.
Flack had to avert his face for a minute or two from the grotesque spectacle of an evidently amputated arm and leg sticking out of the partially open dishwasher that was next to the sink. They were covered in crimson and mangled to the point Flack could hardly distinguish whether they belonged to a man or woman. Drying, red rivulets ran down the door and more blood pooled at the bottom of the appliance. The stench was overwhelming now. He had no idea at all how the killer had managed to cut the bodies up that brutally and not transform the whole place into a freaking war zone.
The homicide detective took a deep breath through his mouth, then removed the handkerchief from his face. Most times, he could endure the stink fine. But when it got bad, and he was worrying his head off about the safety of one of his best friends at the same time, it was all he could do to not throw up from both the smell and the anxiety.
He took shallow breaths while he reached inside his jacket to pull out his cel phone.
If his suspicions were wrong, he wasn't going to hear anything apart from the monotonous, beeping tone via his phone as he called either Agent Demille or Agent Ransome. And the body parts would belong to somebody else.
But if he was right -
Flack scanned through his phone's address book, selected one of the FBI agents' numbers he obtained from Mac, and called it.
He grasped the phone in his hand, and waited.
For a mere instant, the kitchen was deathly silent.
Flack held his breath. Then, his blue eyes narrowed. His fingers tightened around his mobile phone till the plastic and metal dug into the flesh of his hand.
A muffled, high-pitched sound was emitting from the oven in the corner of the room. Like the dishwasher, it was splattered with blood and some other repulsive matter that made Flack's stomach roil.
He swallowed visibly. Took a couple of tentative steps forward towards the oven.
The noise became louder the closer he got.
Flack disconnected the call as he stood before the oven, putting it back into his jacket pocket along with his handkerchief. He was going to need the latex gloves he got from Danny if he wanted to open up the oven and look inside.
"Don, you okay in there?"
"Yeah." The homicide detective tugged on the gloves he took out from his trouser pocket. "You guys really have yer work cut out for today, Stell."
Flack gripped the handle of the oven door with much care, making sure he wasn't touching any of the bloody parts. After shutting his eyes for a moment, he reopened them. He sucked in a ragged breath. His body involuntarily stiffened. Steeled himself for the worst.
The oven door unlocked with a clacking sound.
"Fuckin' hell."
The lifeless, glassy silver eyes of Agent Ransome stared at him from inside the black, metallic confines of the large cooking appliance. The agent's expression was a morbidly peaceful one. Eyelids half-lowered, thin lips arched up in a diminutive smile, appearing almost like he was contemplating the mysteries of the universe and had encountered the answers to all of them.
Agent Ransome certainly wasn't going to enlighten anyone anytime soon, not with his decapitated head crammed into one side of an oven and the rest of his body missing.
Flack's thick eyebrows lowered in an intense scowl. A small, black mobile phone was tucked under Agent Ransome's chin, and the LCD screen showed it had three missed calls. Flack's gaze shifted to the other side of the oven. There was no point in calling Agent Demille either, seeing that her head was next to her partner's. Thankfully, it was turned away from the oven door. He didn't need another bloody, chopped off head staring at him.
"Shit. Shitshitshit." Flack hastily closed the oven, stripping off the gloves and stuffing them back in his trouser pocket.
He strode out of the kitchen with wide steps, fighting back nausea. It was easy for him to not be spooked by murder scenes the majority of the time because he never knew the victims. It was something else when the mangled corpses belonged to somebody he actually knew before they died, regardless of whether he was well acquainted with them or not.
"Don?" Stella asked from where she knelt on the floor. She was sealing up white pieces of hardened casting silicone into evidence bags. "You alright? You look really pale."
"Yeah. Yeah." Gazing into the CSI's brilliant, concerned eyes grounded him and pushed the queasiness away. "I'm okay." He blinked, then said, "Where's the cop?"
Stella sat up onto her heels, twisting her head to the left where the staircase leading to the upper floor was. "He went upstairs. I think he's still up there."
The homicide detective was standing close enough to Stella that she was able to reach out and wrap her hand around his.
"Did you - did you find their son's body in there?"
Flack shook his head from side to side. "The bodies in there belong to Feds." He saw Stella's eyes widen at that, but he didn't add anything more.
Flack headed back to the living room, where Mac and Hawkes were still processing the scene. Hawkes was dusting a white mug that was on the couch, while Mac was photographing the corpses' wounds upclose.
"Mac."
The lanky detective waited until the hazel-eyed CSI was standing at the entrance to the living room beside him before uttering in a hushed tone, "Did Agent Ransome or Agent Demille give ya any contact numbers other than theirs? In case somethin' happened to them?"
The former Marine wasn't the head of his CSI team for nothing. The astute look he received indicated to Flack that Mac knew precisely what he was implying.
"You're sure it's them?"
Flack smirked joylessly. "They're missin' most of themselves from the neck down, but yeah, it's them. The Body Hacker got to them too."
"Shit."
Flack barely blinked at Mac's unexpected expletive.
"Well, that would explain why they hadn't been picking up my calls." Mac pursed his lips, deep in contemplation for a minute. "Something tells me their fellow agents are going to show up anytime now."
"Mac. The Prym kid is still missin'."
Mac opened his mouth to reply, and was sidetracked by the thumping of footsteps coming halfway down the staircase. Both Flack and the CSI swiveled to see the brown-eyed police officer leaning on the banister of the stairs. He was gazing at Flack with mild frustration.
"Look, I've searched everywhere, and there's no kid. No body, no blood, no nothin'." The cop straightened up and threw his hands up. "And I checked outside already too. Nothin'. If there's a kid, he ain't here."
Flack's lips thinned into a line. He stared hard at the police officer, then glanced at Mac with entreating eyes.
"He's alive, Mac. I know it."
The CSI remained silent, waiting for Flack to justify his declaration.
"This is the Body Hacker we're talkin' 'bout here," Flack said vehemently. "He's not the kinda guy who leaves his work unfinished."
The homicide detective gesticulated with his hands towards the corpses of the Pryms in the living room. Hawkes was observing them with perceptive eyes from where he knelt by the sofa and the bodies.
"The kill is what thrills him, more than anythin', and judgin' from his past victims, he's got no qualms 'bout killin' little children at all. He isn't gonna just up and leave without finishin' his usual routine, unless somethin' made him stop."
Flack paused and took a deep breath. When he spoke again, his voice was muted so only Mac could hear him.
"Mac, you've seen what he's capable of doin'. This is a guy who isn't afraid of anybody, not even armed FBI agents, and he's already knocked off six a' them, if we're gonna count the two Feds sliced up in the kitchen."
The homicide detective raised his voice to let the others hear what he had to say.
"This is a guy who always finishes what he starts, no matter what, and if he did this time, the kid's body would be there with his parents' too, lookin' just like the previous victims. But he's not. In the previous murders, it was always one victim the Body Hacker had to deal with. This time, he had to deal with three. That's why he had to tie the Pryms up. Except maybe for the kid … I'm thinkin' the kid's not there with his parents 'cos the killer didn't tie him up. And you can tell somethin' went wrong. Somethin' happened that forced him to kill Cassie Prym the way he did."
Flack slapped the back of his right hand on his left palm.
"My guess is, the kid tried to make a run for it after the Body Hacker attacked Kevin Prym. Kid's mom stopped him from goin' after her son, and he killed her quickly, 'cos the kid was gettin' away and he couldn't let that happen. So the kid ran outta the living room while his mom bought him some time. "
Flack strided up to where Stella stood.
"And for some reason, the kid ended up here, in front of the kitchen. Maybe he tripped, or maybe the Body Hacker caught up to him."
He gestured at the floor where the bloody hand prints were.
"But somethin' happened here. We know for sure he didn't kill the kid here, or even hurt him badly, 'cos there'd be a hell lotta blood here if that was the case."
Stella had a little smile on her lips. "You ever thought about becoming a CSI instead, Don?"
One end of Flack's lips arched up. "Once or twice."
"These hand prints definitely belong to an adult male. They're too big even for a woman," Stella said, returning to the current discussion. She went down on her knees once more to inspect the stains on the floor. "Seeing the way they're spaced out and how they're smudged … the person who made them was crawling backwards on his hands." She drew an invisible circle around one of the larger blood hand prints, partially smeared into a long streak. "He was crawling fast, like he was getting away from something."
The Greek CSI nodded her head towards the round, green carpet at the entry to the kitchen. "The blood stains start from there. The weapon he used was covered in so much blood, it left us a really obvious print of its shape. I don't know why he placed his knife there, but whatever spooked him … was on that carpet."
"Jamie Prym," Flack said in a matter-of-fact tone.
"Why would a child scare the Body Hacker off?" Stella asked with a bemused frown. "And if it was Jamie Prym that did that, why him, and not the others who were murdered?"
"I don't know, Stell." Flack glanced around, making eye contact with both the police officer on the stairs and Mac, who stood at the living room entrance throughout Flack's elucidation. "I just know the kid's alive, and he's gotta be somewhere close by. He's four-year-old boy. How far can he get?"
"Okay, okay. It's possible the kid might have run outta the house to look for help. When Carlos and I arrived, the front door was closed, but it was unlocked. The back door in the kitchen, however, was still locked." The cop with the almond-shaped eyes threw up his arms in a huff. "I've looked everywhere again, a'right? There's no kid here. If you're right and the kid's alive, maybe he's already out there on the streets, 'cos I already looked outside 'round the house too. No kid."
"Well, have ya talked to the neighbors?" Flack couldn't help letting the frustration in his voice escalate.
The police officer ran a hand through his short, black hair. "No, not yet. Carlos became really sick after seein' the … mess in the kitchen." He gulped. "I - I didn't feel so good either."
Flack cursed under his breath, then said, "Okay, you and Carlos, go talk to the neighbors." He pointed towards the front door with his thumb. "Now."
The cop displayed no defiance whatsoever at Flack's command, sprinting down the stairs and going out the house to get his partner without a word.
"Rookies," Flack muttered irately.
The homicide detective stormed up the staircase, adamant in his belief that the boy was still alive. He had to be.
Flack wasn't sure if he could handle another dead child's eyes haunting him in his nightmares.
He was so entrenched in his cogitation, he didn't notice Stella and Mac exchanging concerned glances, nor heard Mac's, "Stella, go with him."
At the top of the stairs, Flack called out to the Prym child.
"Jamie?"
There were three bedrooms, the master bedroom to the right of the stairs, and two smaller rooms to the left. The doors were ajar for all rooms.
"Jamie? If you can hear me …" Flack proceeded to the master bedroom, sensing Stella's resolute gaze following him as she came up the staircase. "I'm Detective Flack, from the New York police department."
He pushed open the bedroom door, and stepped inside, blue eyes scanning every inch of the area.
"Jamie, it's okay now. The bad guy's gone."
The bedroom was sparsely furnished. The double bed was tidy and didn't seem slept in. The only other furniture was a huge, wooden cupboard with sliding doors on one side of the bed. There were two luggage bags propped up against the wall on the opposite side. They had to belong to the Pryms.
"Don. I'll search the other two rooms, okay?"
Flack gave Stella a preoccupied nod.
He stood in front of the bed, listening to the CSI's receding footsteps. His lips gradually became downturned.
Maybe he was wrong. Maybe the kid was already dead and was stuck in the dishwasher or washing machine in the kitchen downstairs. Maybe the Body Hacker really did do a one-eighty and kidnap the kid. Or maybe the killer murdered the kid and dumped the body somewhere else for them to find. Maybe -
Flack heard a soft but distinct cough.
He freezed up, his sense of hearing heightened. His eyes widened when he heard another nearly inaudible cough.
It was coming from the cupboard.
Flack placed a hand against one sliding door, then gently shifted it, exposing the closet's contents to view. There were some long coats, t-shirts and trousers hanging inside. Beneath them were two medium-sized hand luggage, a brown leather one and a red plastic one. He slowly moved and flattened the clothes to the side of the cupboard where it was open so he could better see what was in the other side.
There was a plain brown box with a lid on it. A bulky one, at two feet by three feet in measurement. It was certainly big enough for a four-year-old child to hole up -
This time, without a doubt, Flack heard a sniffle.
He slid the cupboard door shut, and moved the other door open. Now, there was nothing obstructing him from the covered box.
"Jamie?"
When there was no reaction, Flack warily reached out to grasp the lid on either side. He waited for a moment, not wanting to frighten the boy inside.
Little by little, he raised the thick cover.
It took Flack a minute to be able to speak. Seeing a small, terrified child curled up in a trembling ball in a box, spattered with blood all over, made his eyes water.
"Hey."
The brown-haired boy peeked timorously at him from between blood-stained fingers.
"Hey, it's okay. See?" Blinking numerous times to clear his vision, Flack quickly removed his badge from his belt and showed it to the child. "I'm a police officer, I'm a good guy." He smiled in what he fervently hoped was a friendly, soothing manner.
Jamie stared at the badge for a while, then stared at Flack. He started to uncurl himself, sitting upright as soon as he realized Flack wasn't a threat.
"The bad guy's gone now, Jamie. It's okay," Flack murmured hoarsely.
The homicide detective drew his arms apart.
There was a single instant in which time seemed to stand still.
"Safe," Jamie said in a small voice.
The child tumbled out of the box. Straight into Flack's embrace.
"Mommy says I gotta call 911 … when bad things happen …" Jamie clung to Flack's midriff, burying his face in Flack's jacket and dress shirt. "I called 911, and I heard a man talking, and I thought it was the bad man, and I ran away and went to hide like mommy said … Safe …"
Flack wrapped his arms tightly around the little boy. His eyes were brimming again.
"Shh, it's okay. You're safe now, that's right, you're safe now."
Flack was still stroking the child's head when Stella entered the room, mumbling words of comfort as he gazed into Jamie Prym's very large and green eyes.