A/N: Any and all reviews are greatly appreciated, thank you so much. You can also PM me if you'd like. I've been asked how many chapters this story will be, and even though I've already answered the person who asked, I thought I'd let everyone know that I have 10 chapters outlined; however, it most likely will become more than that. Plus, an epilogue has also already been written along with the final chapter. So, there's that.
Ch. 3: Everything as Cold as Life
LANGSTON
February 11, 2011
Las Vegas
~"I've been loving you too long to stop now—"~
Standing in front of the mirror on the back of the closet door, he fixed the tie around his neck as he made sure it was straight before clipping it into place with the tie clip. Going over to the dresser, he pocketed his wallet, slipped on his watch, and grabbed his wedding ring and put it on his ring finger. Keeping the suit blazer on the hanger, he grabbed it off the back of the door as he left the bedroom and walked down the steps into the kitchen.
Hanging the blazer on the garage door as he passed it, he smelt the coffee and hummed in delight as he grabbed a cup out of the cabinet and filled it with the coffee.
~"You were tired and you want to be free
My love is growing stronger, as you become a habit to me—"~
On the kitchen island was the newspaper and an opened bottle of wine. He picked up the newspaper as he headed into the living room where he heard the evening news. The forecast was typical desert weather: highs of sixty to seventies degrees Fahrenheit during the day, and dry, with cooler temps in the low fifties to forties during the winter nights. Always sunny or partly cloudy. No rain. No snow. Perfect weather.
As he walked into the living room, sipping the coffee and reading the headlines, he said without looking up, "I'm never going to get used to working these hours. I'm drinking coffee at seven o'clock at night when I should be enjoying a glass of wine with you."
Finally taking his eyes off the paper, he looked up to see no one in the room. Looking around, toward the hallway that led to the bathroom, the den, and Gloria's music room as he called it, he said, "Gloria?" as he tossed the paper on the coffee table.
~"Oh I've been loving you a little too long
I don't want to stop now, oh—"~
Before he could move the news broke across the screen of the television. It'd been breaking news for the last five hours, while he'd been asleep. Not again.
"Tonight, there are still many questions looming in the wake of serial killer Nate Haskell's escape from police custody. Haskell, the convicted Dick and Jane Killer, was being transported in a prison van when an apparent coconspirator smashed her vehicle into the prison convoy, fatally shooting two corrections officers and another female accomplice, before she and Haskell then fled the scene."
Shaking his head in disbelief, he felt the anger then fear rise up inside as he sat the cup down. How did this happen? When he left the courthouse, Haskell was in a cell awaiting transport. Then he'd gone home, showered, and then dropped into bed.
"Gloria?" he asked again as the reporter's words filled the room.
"Police continue to ask the public for any information they may have regarding the case."
Running down the hallway, he checked the bathroom, the den, and then pushed open the door to the music room and stopped as he saw her on the phone, her cello forgotten by her side. The relief was short lived as he saw the look in her eyes as she held the phone to her ear.
"Who is it?" he asked but he had a feeling of who it was as her fearful eyes looked up at him.
"He says he's a friend—"
He grabbed the phone from her as he put it to his ear, "Who is this?" he demanded as the anger surged through his body.
The voice he heard on the other end wasn't who he'd expected, but it wasn't any better. "Dr. Langston," Grissom said. "I apologize for calling your wife, but I couldn't risk calling your cell directly."
Looking at his wife, he asked, "How'd you get her numb—"
"I have my sources," he explained before saying, "I suspect you saw the news of Haskell's escape."
"I have."
"Then you know that you and your wife are in danger."
~"With you my life
Has been so wonderful
I can't stop now—"~
He left the room, heading back down the hallway, as he spoke into the phone, "You don't think I know that? Why are you even contacting me?"
There were framed photos on the walls as he passed them. Pictures of him and Gloria, of their life together over the last twenty years. Their time in Baltimore when they'd been dating. Then in Philadelphia. Their wedding day. All the vacations and performances over the years. New York. Washington D.C. She even performed in Italy.
"I'm contacting you because Haskell wants to kill you."
"And what do you want to do?" he asked as he looked back towards the television as he walked into the living room.
Grissom was silent a moment before telling him like it was obvious, "I want to help you. We want the same thing, Dr. Langston."
"I highly doubt that," he said as he knew who he was talking to; the killer he was. "It's more likely that you want me to help you find him so that you can kill him?"
"I don't need your help to find him. It's you that's going to need my assistance because I know things about him that you do not. The first thing you need to know is that he was talking to me after he was taken from the hospital last year."
He worked his mind back to what Haskell had ranted and raved about when he'd been escorted from the hospital after stabbing him in the back. "He said he'd made his move. What did he mean?"
"Chess. I wanted to play him in a game of chess."
He realized what he was meaning as he listened to the news report of two women helping Haskell escape. All the guards were dead at the scene of the prison bus ambush along with a female suspect. Robin; she'd been one of Haskell's brides.
"That woman, Robin, she was a pawn."
"He's playing a game with real people," he said as he heard Gloria walk into the room behind him. Looking over his shoulder at her, at his wife, his life, he said, "Haskell's always been after couples."
"Both the Kings and Queens. He'll be after the both of you. You need to get her to safety."
He'd known that; he'd felt the fear in his entire body when he first saw the news. Haskell had an obsession with him, and he knew that he'd be his first target now that he was out. "You said that you know things about Haskell that I don't know. How? You said you never interacted with any other inmates." Grissom was silent a moment, again, as he shook his head. "You had no direct interaction. You never actually spoke to Haskell…" He sighed as he felt his hand fist at his side in anger. "It's all about the wording of the questions. That's where you hide the lies."
"I don't hide lies; I hide truths. Truth is, Haskell and I exchanged notes over the course of the few months I was incarcerated. Unfortunately, his guard is dead, and my former guard is in jail. Officer Rahm doesn't know anything. He never read any of the notes. I'm the only one who can tell you what he'd written."
"I'm sure it comes with a cost. You want me to keep this exchange between us a secret," he said. That would be the obvious cost to pay when a fugitive serial killer called you up and wanted to exchange information.
"That's your choice, Dr. Langston. Another thing is, if I don't want to be found…I won't be."
He was certain of that. Grissom was a brilliant man; not only that but he knew how it all worked. How the police, CSI's, found people. He knew what to do and what not to do. "Then what do you want?"
Grissom was silent again before telling him, "I already told you. I want to help. That's all. Though, that would require access."
There it was. The cost. Grissom wanted access. "I could be the next person in prison if I give you anything, especially access."
"You won't be breaking laws since you'll be working the case. All you'd be doing is using every resource you have to stop Nate Haskell from killing anymore people."
"I won't be able to justify helping a convicted, fugitive serial killer—"
"It's the other way around, actually. I'll give you a number. When you get stuck, give me a call." Grissom gave him a number, most likely to a disposable cell, and then said, "Stay safe, Dr. Langston," before hanging up.
Staring at the phone in his hand, and then at the news—the images of the escape—he let out a breath as he told Gloria, "Pack a bag. It's no longer safe here."
She was looking at him but didn't say anything as she headed upstairs to do as she was told.
They left the house together; her with a suitcase in tow and him with his gun on his hip as he searched the dark street for any signs of being watched. There were no usual cars on the street; no one standing in the shadows. He didn't know all his neighbors, but he knew a few. He wasn't the only doctor on the street; his neighbors Navee Patel and Isaiah Jackson were both doctors. One a surgeon and the other a pediatrician. Patel's wife was a professor who taught at WLVU. Jackson's partner was a real estate agent. And he knew Bryan Thompson, he worked with a private security company and had offered to install his current home security system when he first moved in.
Once Gloria was in the car, he walked over to Bryan's house as he saw the lights on and knocked on the door. After a moment of waiting, the front door opened and he saw Bryan. The man was young, glasses, and held a beer in his hand.
"Ray?"
"Hey, Bryan, I'm sorry for this but I need your help with something."
Upon hearing the stress in his voice, Bryan sat the beer bottle down as he stepped out the door so they could talk. "What is it?"
"I was wanting to upgrade my security. Lights, motion sensors, those tiny surveillance cameras, and the ability to access everything remotely, from my phone or laptop. Can you do that?"
"Sure I can. It'll cost—"
"I don't care about cost. How soon can you get it done?" he asked.
Bryan's eyes shot up as he asked, "Are you and Gloria okay? Has there been a break-in? Do I need to worry?"
He wanted to tell him that he had nothing to worry about, but he didn't know how far Haskell would go. Would he attack his neighbors to get to him? Bryan had a girlfriend. It was possible. "I don't think so," he finally told him. "And I could be overreacting. It's…for my peace of mind. How soon?"
Bryan let out a breath as he said, "Give me a day."
He took off his house key and handed it to him, saying, "You have until I get off work in the morning."
"Tonight?"
He started walking away as he told him, "Thanks, Bryan. I owe you."
~"You were tired and your love is growing cold
My love is growing stronger as our affair, affair grows old—"~
As he drove her to the airport so she could stay with her mother in Baltimore with the CD playing Otis Redding's "I've Been Loving You Too Long"—Gloria's favorite singer—he heard her say, "We'll miss Valentine's Day."
"I promise to make it up to you. If I can, I'll fly out and we can have a day together."
"And listen to my mother's condensation of your inability to be my husband?"
He nearly laughed as he looked over at her, "You'd think after twenty years she'd stop thinking that you'd come to your senses and leave me for someone else."
Gloria chuckled as she looked over at him. "You didn't win any points taking me away from her and to the other side of the country."
"You'd think I would get all the points for loving you the best I can. It's not my fault your mother is hard to please."
"She wanted a grandchild. Can you blame her?"
"And you and I both wanted our careers more. Some people aren't meant to have children." He grabbed her hand and gave it a squeeze as he took the exit for the airport and drove toward the departures.
~"I've been loving you oh too long to stop now, oh, oh, oh
I've been loving you a little too long
I don't want to stop now no, no, no—"~
Pulling up to the departures, he sighed as he didn't want her to go but he knew it would be for the best. It was no longer safe for her in Las Vegas. "Gloria, this is only temporary."
She stared out the window as she gave a nod; without meeting his eyes, she told him, "Ray…I've been thinking about leaving for a while now."
He stared over at her as he tried to understand what she meant by that. Because it couldn't be how he took it. "To visit your mother?"
She looked down at their joined hands before meeting his eyes. "No, not to visit my mother."
~"Don't make me stop now, no baby
I'm down on my knees please, don't make me stop now—"~
The shock that hit him was fast and dangerous as he felt the anger rise up in his chest. He couldn't get angry; closing his eyes, he pushed it down as he said, "Gloria…what—...Is it the job? You want me to go back to teaching?"
"It's not the job. It wouldn't matter what you did for a living. We haven't been together for a while now, Ray. Living together isn't together when you're never there."
~"I love you, I love you
I love you with all of my heart—"~
"But I am there—" he went to protest in anger as it rose up and broke as he hit the steering wheel. "I'm there every day!"
"Raymond, calm down."
"I am calm. This is me, calm," he said as he glared over at her and took a deep breath. Then he asked, "Damn it, why tell me this now? And since when is being comfortable with my wife—"
"Comfortable? I feel as if I've become window dressing, not your wife," she said as she removed her hand from his.
He couldn't believe what she'd just said. She was everything to him, and she felt she had become nothing to him. How did that happen? "Gloria…" his mouth went dry as he saw her open the door to get out. Reaching out, he grabbed her arm but she yanked away as he said, "Please, let's talk—"
"Don't do this, Ray. Not here—"
"I am your husband, damn it, and you wait to tell me now at the airport that you're not feeling satisfied in our marriage?!" he yelled in anger as the person in the car behind him started to honk the horn. He was holding up traffic.
Gloria grabbed her suitcase and looked at him before shutting the door; giving him no other explanation or the ability to talk about it, she walked into the airport. Picking up his phone, he called her number. She ignored it.
Putting his blinkers on, he took the key fob with him and left the ignited key in the car. He got out and hit the lock button on the key fob twice, both locking the doors and setting the alarm, as he followed her inside. He wanted an explanation. He wanted to know why.
He demanded to know why as his anger built to nearly blinding as he saw her at the kiosk buying a ticket. She looked up and saw him coming as she shook her head at him.
"I want to know why," he demanded.
"We're not doing this here," she told him as she got her ticket and went to check her suitcase in.
He walked alongside her through the busy airport, watching everyone around them, as he said, "I would rather not do this here, but you gave me no choice. Is there someone else?"
"Oh, good God, not this again."
"You tell me you've been thinking about leaving me for some time now and you expect me not to think there's someone else? And here I thought I was joking when I said your mother was trying to get you to leave me for some—"
"Maybe thinking that there is someone else is one of the reasons why."
He got in front of her to stop her as he stared down at her, saying, "What else am I to think?"
She stopped and stared up at him as she said, "That the problem isn't me. The problem isn't that there is someone else. You want to know why, Ray? How about your obsession with serial killers, for starters? Two of which have both escaped prison and are after you—"
"That's in no way my fault—"
"Then there's your anger."
"My anger isn't a problem," he nearly shouted. He had to take a moment to steady himself, still his mind and the anger he did feel, as he looked around at the eyes that were suddenly on them.
She regarded him for a moment; a look of "Oh, really?" in her eyes.
"In twenty years have I ever-"
"No, you haven't. You don't lash out at me physically, Ray, it's in other ways. I've been patient for years for you to come back to me. It took a serial killer calling me on the phone to realize how bad it's actually gotten. I won't have it be my death that makes you realize what I've come to know."
"And what do you know that I don't?"
She shook her head as she told him, "You're no different, except you haven't killed anyone. Yet." Walking by him, she stopped and said, "I wanted kids, Ray. You didn't because you were afraid of becoming just like your father. Quick to anger; abusive when you drink. You're not that man, but you fear him so much you've kept yourself from being a father, and an available husband."
Her words hit him in the gut as he looked over at her. She never told him that she wanted children. Why would she keep that from him? As he stared into her eyes, her beautiful brown eyes that he'd fallen in love with so long ago, he said, "Twenty years we've been together, you can't just act like they meant nothing. You can't expect me to let you—"
"I'm not expecting you to let me do anything. I don't need your permission. I wanted to be with you, Ray. You were all I wanted. I tried," she said as her voice broke and he finally saw the tears that she'd been holding back under a facade of cold indifference this whole time, "but…You wanted your career more. Now, your career is going to get you killed or make you the killer. I can't be there for that. And I'm tired of being the last thing on your mind."
~"And I can't stop now—"~
"You were never last," he told her.
"Maybe not, but I know I was never the first or the second."
Leaving him standing alone, he watched as she checked her bag and then went through the security checkpoint. She didn't once look back.
~"Please, please don't make me stop now."~
February 14, 2011
Checking his cell phone, he didn't see any missed calls or text messages. He'd left a voicemail for Gloria, both apologizing and asking her to call or text him to let him know that she was safe and sound in Baltimore. She did neither. He wanted to tell her that he loved her; it was Valentine's Day and for the last twenty years, no matter where they were, he at least told her that if nothing else.
Instead, he put the phone back into his pocket as he stood from the table. Today was the last day of the book signing. Normally, he would have never done a signing but the public's interest, especially there in Las Vegas, was too strong to ignore. Everyone wanted to hear him talk about the book and his time interviewing Dr. Gil Grissom. Public fascination with serial killers would never cease to amaze him, but then he himself was also fascinated. So much so that he had interviewed two of them for a special lecture series and then was responsible for one of them escaping. And now the other had escaped, and his life was now in danger because of it.
Top it off with his wife leaving him, and it was shaping up to be one of the worst weeks of his life. Gloria was right; he was obsessed with his work. How else could he explain why he chose to continue with the book signing and had been spending every waking hour since her leaving hum working.
"One more signature?" He heard the woman's voice and as he turned around, he saw her face and gaped in surprise. "If you don't mind."
Staring at Dr. Heather Kessler, he smiled as he pocketed the phone. "For you, I don't mind at all," he said as he picked up the marker pen as he took the book from her hands. Flipping open the front cover, he said, "It's a pleasure to see you again. Any particular reason?"
He wrote a quick sentiment and signed his name before handing the book back to her. She took it and read the message with a sly smirk before saying, "We all have reasons. I got mine. Thank you."
Glancing around the bookstore, he saw it nearly empty as he gestured for her to come with him, "Walk with me. I'd like to buy you a cup of coffee."
She thought about it for a moment before walking in-step with him out of the front door of the bookstore and down the sidewalk. Slipping on his sunglasses, he pointed to the book and asked, "What'd you think?"
"I haven't read it yet."
He nearly laughed as he said, "You don't have to. You knew him. You're a psychologist now. Are you his therapist?"
Heather was someone that was hard to read; she held everything close to her chest, even the book in her hands. "My specialty is sex therapy. I'm not his therapist, but you're already aware of that. You're fishing."
"I'm wondering why you're here talking to me," he said as they neared the corner.
As they waited to cross the street to the coffee shop on the opposite corner, she said, "Then don't act like you don't know my relationship with Grissom. You've talked to him, spent time with him, and got to know him."
"I highly doubt anyone knows him. But, you're right. I do know your relationship. You're his dominant. I used to think that meant something else. I was used to the dominant/submissive relationship between the alpha and beta personalities, particularly those in a sadomasochistic relationship."
"Sadist serial killers and their submissive partners," she said as they started to cross the street.
"It's not the same in your lifestyle. Alpha's are the ones in control, with the beta being the loyal submissive and passive in the relationship. In yours, it's different. As Grissom explained to me, the submissive is the one in control."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning," he said as he stepped around her to get the door to open it for her, "that he'll contact you when he wants. Being his Dom, you adjust yourself to his behest. You wouldn't contact him. Has he contacted you recently?"
She nearly smiled as he walked through the door into the coffee shop, saying, "Even if he had, I wouldn't tell you. Part of being his dominant is protecting him."
"Which is why I still believe that you helped him escape. He never asked you. It was your obligation. You protect him, and he protects her. His love: Sara."
"You never came to me to ask permission to use my name or my association with Grissom for your book. I'm assuming I'm not in it."
"You're not," he said as he looked at her as they stood in line. The tiny building was packed and it was hard to talk quietly, and privately, with so many people. "I did, however, mention the relationship between him and a dominatrix as well as how he used it in his personal life to acquire what he believes to be intimacy."
"It's not believed intimacy, Dr. Langston. It is intimacy. No different from the kind you share with your wife." He flinched at those words and she saw it. "Trouble in the Langston home? You're still wearing your wedding ring, I assumed—"
"My wife and I are doing just fine."
She studied him a moment before giving a nod. "If that's what you want to think…" she left it at that before stepping up to the counter to place her order.
After he paid for their coffees, they were once again out on the sidewalk. There was outdoor seating, so they found a table and sat down. As she watched him, he told her, "He called me." She raised her eyes at him as she took a sip of the coffee.
"The day Nate Haskell escaped. He said he wants to help me catch him."
"And?"
He stared at her as he said, "And then out of all the bookstores in all the city, you walked into mine and asked for my autograph."
She smiled at the Casablanca film reference as she said, "I'm a fan."
He laughed at that as he sat back in the chair and slipped the sunglasses back over his eyes. The sun was bright and directly overhead. Heather didn't seem to mind. "Oh, that's right, lie to me. Make me feel special."
"I wouldn't lie to you just to stroke your ego."
"Huh-huh," he said before taking a drink of the coffee.
"You don't believe me?" she asked him.
He regarded her a moment before telling her, "I know how you used to make a living. I'm pretty sure stroking men's egos—"
"I hope you mean that figuratively."
He grinned as he said, "Am I wrong? Making men feel special, lying to them, came with the territory."
She didn't answer him, and instead said, "I read your first book. You have valid arguments and sound reasoning."
"I hear a 'but' coming…."
"Nate Haskell."
He rubbed his head as he thought about that name. That man. Nate. Haskell. "Grissom called you, didn't he?"
She was debating something, he could tell by how she looked at the coffee cup, placed with the edges of the lid. "He did."
"Now that we're both being honest, why are you really here?"
"To get your book. He wanted a copy," she told him.
He glanced at the book and then back into her eyes. "That's why he wanted you here. It's not why you're here now drinking coffee with me."
She nearly smiled. "You impress me. Captain Brass was always so condescending. Catherine's out of the question because she's the new supervisor. Then there's you. This is personal. It's your work but also your passion."
"Meaning what?" he asked.
"I want to help and you're the only one that will accept it."
"Funny, Grissom also called to ask me to let him help."
Shaking her head, she told him, "I know nothing about that." He didn't know if he could believe her or not. "I watch the news, Dr. Langston. I even read the transcripts of your trial. Who do you think Nate Haskell was performing for in that courtroom? It wasn't for the judge or the jury. It was for you."
He bristled and went to stand up.
"I can help," she told him as he stood.
"Can you help? I don't see how," he said as he grabbed his cup and went to leave. He couldn't listen to this right now.
"I understand the relationships in a way you can't."
Letting out a breath, he said, "Thank you, Dr. Kessler, but…no thank you."
He walked away as he rubbed his head and thought about what she had told him. She could have honestly been wanting to help but for all he knew she was doing this for Grissom; to see what he knew or to get him to give them information.
By the time he got into work that night, he was wondering if he had made a mistake. Heather Kessler had willingly helped them out before on cases, and she was highly perceptive and based on her experience and expertise, she understood the power/control and submissive behavior better than anyone.
He spotted Catherine in her office as he walked down the hallway. Getting closer, he saw her talking with another woman. Stopping at the door, he gave a tap, causing both women to stop their conversation and look up at him.
"Hey, Ray," Catherine said as she stood from her desk.
"Boss," he said as he stepped into the office and addressed Catherine. Then he faced the other blond woman in the room. He saw the shield on her belt and said, "Chief."
"You must be Ray Langston. Deputy Chief Sofia Curtis," she said as she offered her hand.
"Nice to finally meet you," he said as they shook hands. "I've heard your name mentioned a few times around the break room water cooler."
"Ah, nice to know they still think highly enough of me to gossip about."
Catherine walked over to the door behind him and shut it before turning to address him, "Ray, grab a seat. We need to talk."
He took a seat as Catherine sat back down behind the desk. Sofia stayed standing.
Sofia looked down at him as she said, "I just got the nod from the sheriff to head up the Haskell taskforce. FYI, I'm calling in the feds."
At those words he tensed as he looked at Catherine and then back at Sofia, saying, "That might not be the best move."
"We've had sightings of Haskell from Bangor to San Diego. We got reason to believe he's crossed state lines. That makes it federal. And with all due respect, it's highly likely that he's out of Vegas by now. He'll want to get as far away as possible—"
"Not when he has a score to settle."
She crossed her arms as she said, "I know your history with the suspect—"
"Then you know he's still here—"
"That's not enough. The feds can cross state lines and they can get us clearance to cross those lines with them if we're working together on this. We need to be prepared to take this as far as it goes, not just to the Nevada border."
"I agree with Deputy Chief Curtis, Ray. We're going to need all the help we can get. And if a sighting of Haskell does produce something in California or elsewhere, we need to be able to go."
He sighed as he rubbed his head and said, "You're right. When will the FBI be arriving?"
"Tomorrow. And when they get here, I expect full cooperation."
He smiled slightly as he said, "You got it. Anything else?"
She was looking at him as she asked him that very question in return, saying, "You tell me. Is there anything else?"
It was his choice, those were Grissom's words to him. He could keep it a secret, or he could tell them. He didn't know yet what they wanted from him or why, both Grissom and Heather, but he knew that until he figured it out he wouldn't tell them anything. "As a preemptive measure, I got my wife out of Vegas. She's in Baltimore with her mother. Haskell goes after couples."
"Okay," Sofia said as she headed toward the door. "Then I have nothing else as of right now. Have a good night. Ray...Catherine."
Once Sofia was gone, Catherine turned to him and asked, "Are you okay? I know with everything going on this can't be easy."
"I had to send my wife away because a serial killer with a vendetta against me escaped prison. I had my neighbor heighten my home security, and above all else, I have an on-going 420."
"Yeah, about that," she said as she grabbed a file folder and handed it over to him. "I reassigned the 420 to Greg. I need your signature for the transfer of files."
He took the file as he looked at her and asked, "You don't think I can do my job?"
"I know you can; that's why I want you ready to work with the FBI tomorrow alongside myself and Nick. Don't want you to spread your priorities too thin to where you can't focus on the capture of Nate Haskell." Grabbing a pen, he signed off on the files before handing them back over to Catherine. "It was your case; you can hand it over to Greg."
He sighed as he stood and headed to the door; stopping he turned back and said, "I talked to him."
"To who?" she asked.
He didn't know why he decided to tell her, other than job security. He realized that the only person he hadn't wanted to tell had been Sofia Curtis. He knew that he could trust Catherine to keep it between them until they figured out what was going on. "Grissom."
She stared up at him and waited for him to continue.
Walking back over to the desk, he stood in front of it as he looked down at her and explained, "Hours after Haskell's escape, he called my wife's cell phone. Said he didn't want to risk calling mine, thinking I might have been about to trace it or record the conversation. Anyway, he said that he wanted to help me. He said that we wanted the same thing."
"Which is?"
He shook his head as he told her, "I don't know. Grissom wants to kill Haskell. We both know that."
"He might not," she said as she leaned back in the chair. "He's put plenty of killers in prison. He didn't kill all of them." He stared at her in disbelief until she threw up her hands, saying, "Do you want me to say that all Grissom was, and is, is a killer, 'cause I don't believe that."
"I don't either, Catherine, but even I know that the only thing Grissom wants is Nate Haskell dead."
"Is that what you want?"
It was hard for him to answer that question, but they both knew the answer. "I want him stopped. That's what I want; however, that happens, whether prison or death, is fine by me."
She stood as she walked around the desk and leaned back against it, arms crossed over her chest, as she said, "Ray, keeping you on this case is already a risk. You were a victim of Haskell's—"
"I'll be fine working this case, boss. I'm not suffering any PTSD if that's what you're worried about."
"I'm not," she said as she shook her head. "I'm afraid you might decide to take matters into your own hands. It's personal already."
He understood her concern, and he couldn't promise that he wouldn't go rogue because quite honestly, he could. "Tell you what, I promise if you tell me to back off, I'll back off. But it won't come to that."
"Did Grissom say anything else?" she asked.
"Only to stay safe and get my wife out of harm's way, which I was planning to do anyway." He didn't know why he didn't tell her about the phone number, or his asking for access. He had no intention of calling Grissom and absolutely no intention of giving him anything. So, from his standpoint, it was done and over with.
She gave a nod as she pushed off the desk and said, "Okay then. Take the night to bring Greg up to speed on the 420 and then get some rest. The FBI works all hours, and we want to be prepared."
"Will do," he said before leaving the office to go in search of Greg Sanders.
February 19, 2011
Langston stood behind the two-way mirror, along with Dr. Philip Kern, the department psychologist, as they listened to Sara Sidle talk to the two FBI agents: Reynolds and Moore. Reynolds was the FBI profiler Quantico had sent out to help them with Haskell while Moore was the Las Vegas agent who'd taken over the taskforce from Agent Culpepper. Where Culpepper had been a complete asshole, Moore was high-strung and impulsive, quick to anger, and emotional.
"What'd you think?"
"I think she's telling the truth."
"You're not wrong."
He agreed with Dr. Kern as he continued to listen to Sara's assessment of Grissom. "She lived with a psychopathic serial killer for years. Even though I don't think anyone truly knows Grissom, I think she has the most to offer on understanding him. Nothing she's saying is incorrect based on what I've come to know about him."
Dr. Kern glanced over at him and asked, "You think I was wrong in my assessment that he's neither a psychopath nor a sociopath?"
"I think it's complicated," he said as he looked over at the psychologist. "Everyone's complicated."
"Grissom understands that he's a good man who wants to do bad things to bad people. He has markers of both psycho and sociopathy. The only reason to make a formal diagnosis would have been solely for sentencing purposes. If he had been ruled a psychopath, the prosecution would have tried to rip that to pieces; it would have done no good to anyone or do anything other than to question the validity of my assessment."
"You're telling me that you held off on making a decision due to the possibility of the prosecution questioning your expertise?"
Dr. Kern turned to him and said, "Do you know how many times a successful plea of insanity has worked? Zero. And in my professional opinion, Grissom isn't insane. Being ruled a psychopath or sociopath would have only damaged his defense and ruined my reputation."
"Nice to hear that those two things were your main concerns," he said a little too harshly as he went back to watching the interview.
Dr. Kern let out a breath before saying, "You are one to talk. You care so much about your reputation that you wrote a book to defend it." He shot him a glare as he continued on, saying, "I tried to be impartial. When I talked to Grissom, I knew he was holding back. I knew he was only telling me what he wanted me to hear. He's smart that way. He didn't want me to rule it either way, so he skirted the lines between both. I couldn't make a diagnosis because he was beating me at my own game. I didn't want that to come out on the stand. It would have only proved one thing…"
"That he's one smart son-of-a-bitch who knows how to use the system to his advantage."
"Which would have made it worse for him. No contact solitary confinement. Nothing. No letters. No email. No phone calls."
"No guard to talk to and manipulate. No me to interview him and invite him into my classroom."
"You couldn't have predicted his escape," Dr. Kern said as they both went back to watching and listening to the interview in the other room. "There is one thing she's wrong about."
"Which is?"
"He can love." Dr. Kern looked over at him as he told him, "He can feel empathy and even guilt. It's selective, and it's fleeting, but it's all there inside of him. He has a conscience; it's just…buried under the surface of his intellect and what he wants to be right and what he needs to be true. Grissom hides in his mind. Blocks his heart. Denies his soul. Hiding from pain kept him from feeling pain. Kept him from feeling anything at all. That's why I said what I said. He's in the middle; somewhere between a man who has to kill and one who wants to be a killer is Grissom."
He was suddenly reminded of what Doc Robbins had told him. "Evil has a way of making friends with the good and dragging them into the darkness." Robbins had told him that after he'd said that what he believed was that people who brought suffering and pain into this world should have it repaid to them tenfold, either in this world or in the next one.
At the time he'd been thinking about himself and his feelings about Nate Haskell. Now, he was wondering if Grissom believed the same thing he did and that was why he chose to be a killer. "Are you saying that it's a choice? That Grissom chooses to be what he is?"
"He would say that killing is his compulsion. It's not. He believes it is, but he's wrong. For Grissom, the choice is the compulsion. You know that. I read your book. He even said it to you. It's all about choices."
He thought about that as he thought over what he knew about Grissom. But also about Sara as he listened to her in the other room.
"He only engages with three types of people: those he wants to kill, those he wants to play with, and then there are the select few where he wants to do both with," Sara told Reynolds and Moore as she looked over at the both of them.
"Which one are you?" Agent Reynolds asked her.
Sara stopped and took a breath as they all watched her and listened. "What'd you think? I'm both. I know you wouldn't believe me, that's why I took everything I could when I left. I don't just have a flashdrive. I also have sketches he drew of me. I knew I had to get away when I found drawings of my dead body. He dreams of killing me. I left so that wouldn't become a reality."
Agent Moore asked, "Where is he headed next?"
Sara answered as she looked up at Agent Moore. "My guess, he's on his way here. And if you want to catch him, then you need me to be cooperative. The only way I'll do that is if I know once this is over with, that I can be free of this nightmare. I want my life back."
Agent Reynolds gave a nod as she asked, "Why would Grissom come here and risk getting caught?"
"I already told you," Sara said, "he's obsessed. He calls me his "light in the darkness". He says that he needs me. He actually thinks I can stop him from killing. He'll never stop. He doesn't want to stop. He wants me back," she told them, nearly pleading with them to believe her.
Behind the glass, he shook his head as he said, "No, no," as it all started to click into place for him. "She's not wrong, Doc. She's the one in control."
"I'm sorry?"
Turning to Dr. Kern, he told him, "Their relationship. She's the one in control. Meaning, if Grissom wanted her to, she could hold the choice in her hands. Relieve him of it. She could tell him not to kill, and he won't kill. It'll be a relief for him. He'll be fighting the urge to not make the choice himself. Killing is only secondary. It's nearly…inconsequential to the desire to be given the choice to kill. He needs to face down that choice every time it comes up because everything with Grissom is about the truth. Knowing what the truth is and then acting on it. And if every time he sees that he has to kill, then killing becomes the truth for him. Therefore, it's something he has to do. Killing is the act. But if he doesn't have the choice, if she has it, then what she tells him to do becomes the truth."
"Why would he ignore his own mind for hers. It's—"
"Because he trusts her and values her opinion over his own. She's his light. He knows the difference between right and wrong. He knows what he's doing is wrong. So, something about it for him is wrong. He knows that. But, the choice is always there anyway. And he made his decision a long time ago to kill. He can't choose anything else. If he does—"
"He loses his purpose," Dr. Kern said as he picked up where he was going. "That's what he's after in the end. What we're all after in life: a purpose."
"Killing has become not only his purpose. It has become his identity. At this point, she is right. He has to do it...unless she tells him to stop. That's what's not being said." Looking at Sara, he said, "Being his light in the darkness, he doesn't have to face it alone; not anymore. He doesn't want to. I think the dark scares him. He hides it, but I think he's terrified of everything he sees in it. Including himself."
After he'd spoken the words, there were a couple of more that filled his head. Words that he wasn't going to voice to Dr. Kern. In his mind, he thought that the reason he understood Grissom so well was because they were the same. He'd thought that before; that they were the flipside to the same damn coin. But now, he knew that to be the truth in every way.
They were both good men, but only Grissom had made friends with evil and got dragged into that darkness.
"That's…a fair assessment," Dr. Kern said in surprise. "You're a pathologist, right?"
He nearly laughed as he said, "Yes, I'm a pathologist. Question, Doc, do you think Grissom understands? Is he aware that it's not killing that he desires, but the choice to do it? That he doesn't have to do it. That he can actually stop."
Dr. Kern sighed as he shrugged, saying, "It's hard to say. Even if he did, he still has to make the decision to go through with it." He was silent a moment before asking him, "Is Sara in control now?"
Giving a nod, he said to Dr. Kern, "Most definitely. Whatever reason Sara's here now, it's her choice. Grissom isn't after her. He never was. He wants her here because she wants to be here. This is all for our benefit. It's a show."
"She loves him. She's only making herself believe he's a complete monster so she can get her life back."
Yeah, he thought the same as he listened to Sara. He could hear the love in her voice as well. She was trying very hard to disguise it with hate and rage, but it was there. The same as he knew it was still in Gloria's voice when he finally spoke to her a day ago.
Upon seeing the caller, he pulled out his cell phone as he left the conference room. Agent Daniel Moore looked up from the file in front of him as he watched him leave the room. The agent hadn't necessarily wanted him on the taskforce, but given his history with Haskell and knowing that he had insights into the killer that he didn't, he reluctantly resigned to the fact that he needed him on the case.
Stepping into the hallway, he answered, "Gloria, are you okay?"
"I'm good," she said as he sighed in relief. It was good to hear her voice. He let her know that. "I've missed your voice. Thank you for calling. I was worried."
"I could say the same for all the times I tried to reach you but got no response," she said in bitterness that sparked his anger all over again.
"Was that why?" he asked in repressed anger. "You wanted me to feel the same?"
"No that wasn't…." she breathed heavily into the phone. "Just like you need time sometimes before you can talk to me again, so do I. I needed time. I still need time, Ray. I only called to keep you from calling me again."
He had called again. It was more out of fear than anything. Haskell was on the loose and she and her mother had both ignored his phone calls. He tried to tell her that in the voicemail messages that he had left. "I'm only concerned right now for your safety," he stressed again. "I would appreciate it if you answered my calls until Haskell is caught and put away. He won't hesitate to hurt you to get to me."
"Is he coming here?"
"We don't know. We think he's still here in Vegas," he told her. It wasn't what they all thought, but what he thought. The FBI was working under the assumption that Haskell was out of the state while he believed him to still be in Nevada, even in Vegas.
Haskell was lying low, waiting for the opportune time to make his next move. Whatever that was.
Gloria was quiet on the other end of the phone before she told him, "Be careful, Ray. I had to watch you almost die once. I do not want to do it again."
Through all the bitter coldness he heard in her voice, he also heard her love. It was still there somewhere. Buried under all the mistakes he'd made over the course of their marriage. He wanted to try. He wanted to see if she still loved him. "When this is over, maybe we can talk to someone."
"A professional? You'll actually see a marriage counselor?"
"I'd do anything," he told her. "Before I give up, I'll fight for as long as I can. Do you want to at least try…for me? For us? Do you have any fight left for us at all?" he asked because he needed to know.
She let out another breath as she spoke softly, as if trying to hide her answer from someone else, probably her mother, "I want to; it's so hard right now to care. I'm tired—"
"You need time—"
"No, Ray, it's more than that. Look, I'll call you tomorrow."
He gave a nod into the phone. "Get some rest. And you don't have to say anything back, but I want you to know that I love you. I always have."
"I know that. That was never a worry. Bye, Ray."
He heard her hang up as he leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes as he spoke into the empty hallway. "Goodbye, my love."
Sara's voice in the other room caught his attention as he heard her say, "He'll do whatever he has to do to get me back. When he tries, you can arrest him."
He reached out and tapped on the glass. He watched as Agent Moore sighed heavily before leaving the room with Agent Reynolds right behind him. Once Sara was left alone in the room, he listened to the exchange between her and the lawyer, who was also Heather Kessler's wife, Sally Mills.
With a shaky hand, Sara reached up and wiped the rest of the tears away as Sally looked over at her and told her, "You're being extremely brave doing this. Don't forget that."
"Then why does it feel like I've signed my death warrant instead? He's going to kill me, you know."
"They'll make sure he doesn't. All they want is him in custody where he belongs. It'll be fine."
He continued to watch until the FBI agents entered the room and turned off the speaker. Agent Reynolds looked between them as she explained, "Privilege. Anything they're saying now is unlawful for us to hear."
"Who interrupted my interview?" Moore asked as his accusing eyes looked directly at him.
He eyed the FBI agent right back as he told him, "She's lying."
Moore huffed out a breath as he said, "I already knew that. She clearly still loves him. This is a ruse to get immunity. And you know what, it's going to work. She has information we need and the A.G. and D.A. and everyone else who gets involved will offer her up anything to get Grissom."
"No, I mean, she's lying. Grissom would never kill her. He's her dominant. His job is to protect her. She's in no danger of him. If anything, he's helping her get immunity. The flashdrive, the pictures, everything she gives you is a setup. He's not after her. He won't give himself up. He will use you in order for you to give her exactly what she wants. What they both want: her freedom."
"So, what do you suggest? That we throw her in prison and hope that in exchange for her release, he turns himself in?"
"Worth a shot," he said as he looked back into the room at Sara who was sitting at the table "That's better than playing his game. And to be clear, Agent Moore, this is his game. You're just a pawn." Hadn't Grissom said the same thing about Haskell's brides? Robin was only a pawn.
Moore smiled and laughed as he said, "I'm not anyone's pawn. You're the one who got played by a serial killer. I'm the one that's going to catch him." Pointing into the other room, he said, "She's my bait."
"You can dangle her all you want, Grissom isn't coming after her," he told Agent Moore as the agent turned his back to him as he headed to the door.
"He will," Moore said as he opened the door, "once he finds out what noose I'm dangling her with."
Agent Moore left the room and he looked at Agent Reynolds as he asked her, "What'd he mean by that?"
"I don't know," she said as she went to leave the room as well, "but I'm sure we'll find out once the D.A. and A.G. gets here."
As they waited, the FBI agreed to take Sara into custody but not put her in jail. Instead, they got her a hotel room and set her up in it for the evening.
Leaving the crime lab that morning, and as he drove home to his empty house, he thought about how it couldn't have been a coincidence that Sara was back in Las Vegas a week after Haskell's escape. He didn't believe in coincidences. This wasn't about immunity at all.
Haskell and Grissom were playing a game, and they were both using them as their pieces. But unlike last time, he wasn't going to be fooled. He wasn't a pawn in this game.
He would make himself a player.
February 21, 2011
Approaching the old Victorian, he knocked on the door and heard the barking of a dog inside the house. In his hands was a box filled with files and in his pocket a flashdrive. He wanted to know everything about the two men facing off in a twisted deadly game of chess in the city of Las Vegas. There was only one person who could help him.
The door opened and he saw Heather standing there along with Edmond who barked at him and then stopped as Heather spoke German to him, "Nein. Sitz." When Edmond sat, she said, "Braver hund," as she petted the dog and then turned her attention back to him. "Doctor Langston, I was expecting you. Come in."
Walking into her house and then towards her office, he told her as he held up the box. "Every file on Nate Haskell dating back to 1996." He placed the box on the table in the office. "And," he pulled the flashdrive out of his pocket. "Copy of our lecture. You said you were expecting me, Doctor, please don't tell me that you've changed your mind."
Heather smiled slightly as she took the flashdrive and looked at the box. "Give me some time to look this over. You can wait here, if you'd like. There's coffee in the kitchen. Help yourself."
"Where's your wife?"
She grabbed her laptop off her desk as she told him, "With Sara. For the time being, at her side is the only place she's needed."
"Is that what she does for you? Being in places, or with people, when it's needed?"
Heather just looked over at him in silence. Then, she answered, "Serving others is what brings her joy."
He could understand that; he gave a nod and left the room as he gave her time to look everything over. He made himself coffee, ate breakfast and then went out to his car and opened the trunk. He pulled out a toolbox and went back into the house. Turning on the TV, he put it on some cable news channel and turned the volume up before opening the toolbox. Bryan had given him extra security cameras and listening devices which he placed in the clock on the mantle, in the phone against the wall, and lamp next to the front door.
Hours later, the door to her office opened and he had reentered with Edmond tagging along behind him. "I made a friend," he told her as he sat down across from her at the desk as Edmond sat next to him so he could continue petting him.
"I don't know what you're fighting, Dr. Langston, but it looks like you're about to be overrun. Nate Haskell is an enemy. A formidable enemy, but...he's not the enemy is he?"
He sighed heavily as he adjusted himself in the chair. Her first question was about him? "You looked over all these files and the video, and all you got from it is that my biggest enemy isn't Nate Haskell?"
"You said it. It's in all these files and on the video. I have a feeling that Grissom saw it too; that's how he knew what to say and do to get your attention. He understood the same way that I do. We know what you fear the most. Yourself."
Leaning back in the chair, he stared at her as he indulged her suspicions, telling her, "When I went for my interview at med school, the first question they ask you quite naturally is, "Why do you wanna be a doctor?". Well I can't remember the answer I prepared but I remember the one I gave; I told him, "if I'm helping people...I'm not hurting them.". The guy stared at me for what seemed like a lifetime, then he burst out laughing. So I started laughing. And within a half an hour I'd secured myself a place in medical school."
"You had answered truthfully," she said as she looked at him.
He had. "There's violence in me. In my blood, sometimes I can taste it."
She nodded, saying, "But as long as you keep a lid on it…"
"—DNA is not destiny, that's what I've always told myself," he said with a shrug as he looked at her; an unanswered question lingering between them. One that he tried to get the answer to when he had gone to talk to Dr. Grissom alone at the prison.
"I can't answer your question."
He nearly smiled as he said, "I didn't ask you a question." Or did he?
"Sure you did," she said. "Why else did you come here? Tell me that story? Doctor, you want legitimacy. You want to know that it's okay to lose the muzzle for a while. I can say this: the good Dr. Langston isn't going to catch Nate Haskell."
The bad Dr. Langston would? The dark side of himself. "Is that what you told Dr. Grissom? No wonder he's indebted to you."
"We're not indebted to each other. We're friends. And he was a killer long before we met."
"Yes, he was." He let out a breath as he said, "If I give into my nature…" Like Dr. Grissom had, "I won't catch him. I will kill him."
She gave a nod as she continued to look at him. "Yes, you will."
He was reminded of Grissom's words to him on the phone: "We want the same thing." Grissom was right. They did want the same thing. Nate Haskell dead. And both of them wanted to be the ones to kill him.
Those thoughts broke through the anger he felt tightening his chest as he asked, "What becomes of me then?"
He received no answer. He didn't need to hear her answer to know what it was. He heard the truth spoken from another woman's lips. He would be no different than Grissom or Haskell.
Gloria had been right to leave him.
Heather sighed as she leaned on the desk and intertwined her fingers. She was thinking. "Nate Haskell was freed by his female fans; yes?"
"His brides, he calls them."
She gave a nod as she told him, "But they are neither to him. He's the master; they play by his rules. They are his pets. Once he has no use for them, he will kill them."
"How do you know that?"
She smirked, saying, "Haskell kills his pets." He was surprised but shouldn't have been as he regarded her. "It was interesting how Haskell didn't kill the one bride, but the other bride did. There's a rivalry there, between all the women. They're fighting each other to be his one and only. Not realizing that he doesn't value any of them as equals. They're the ones you need to get to. You can use them against each other. Their rivalry is stronger than their loyalty to Haskell. They'll give one another up if they think Haskell loves one of them more than the other. That's all I have for now; I'll get some rest and go back over it again tomorrow."
Standing, he shook her hand as he told her, "Thank you, for your help."
Leaving the house, he got into his car, sat for a long moment, and then grabbed his laptop and turned it on. Going to the website, he typed in his password and then remotely turned on the listening devices and the cameras. As he watched the video of Heather standing in the sitting room, studying the books on her shelf, he wondered how much trouble he'd be in if anyone found out that he illegally tapped her phone and put cameras in her house to conduct surveillance.
Then, he decided, it didn't matter. He needed to be one step ahead this time. He wouldn't let Grissom get the best of him again.
Agent Moore thought he was the one that would catch Grissom, but he was making a big mistake by ignoring him and his advice. Grissom was already ten steps ahead of them, and all they were doing was exactly what he wanted them to do. This time, he would be the one setting the trap. He would find him and bring him in.
HASKELL
"Where are we?" Vivian asked as they arrived at their destination.
Getting out of the car, he took in a deep breath of the cool crisp air as he told her, "This is where the magic happens. Welcome to heaven on earth."
Grabbing the keys out of the car, he started walking toward the cabin by the lake. He opened the door and walked inside as he looked around, noting the changes. Tom Donover had been there recently. He was going to have to find him.
They needed to talk. He couldn't have Tom in the cabin for a while; he needed to use it. His brides were wanting him, but more importantly, he needed to use them. They had what he needed: money and the ability to move freely. He possessed neither. There were roadblocks and his face was everywhere.
He had to stay low for a while until he figured out his next moves. These brides could entertain him for so long before he had to see them dead. He couldn't wait to kill them. It was all he wanted. As Ray had said, it was the only way he could feel connected. He wanted to connect. In time, he told himself. He had to be patient.
He spotted a radio on the table by the wall and walked over to it. This wasn't his. Turning it on, he opened the lid to the CD player and looked at the CD inside it and then the case sitting on the table next to it. "Pornography?" he questioned as he read the album title before setting the CD case back down.
Hitting the shuffle button, he let it play as they went back out to the car to grab the supplies that'd been bought. The sound of a cello being strummed filled his ears and he smiled. How fitting. He was just thinking of a cello player.
~"Scarred, your back was turned
Curled like an embryo
Take another face
You will be kissed again—"~
How poetic. The imagery of scared, abused women filled his head with those words. Scars on their backs and body, huddled in a corner, curled up into a ball as they quivered in fear. Sobbing for help to come that never did. It was exhilarating. Their fear brought him excitement; brought him life. He lived in their pain and suffering.
Then he took it away as he kissed them goodnight and felt their life leaving their bodies. He couldn't wait to feel that again. Dreaming of it was never enough.
~"I was cold as I mouthed the words
And crawled across the mirror—"~
As he set up the camera to make the videos that he'd use to taunt Ray with, he thought back to their last conversation before his escape. It'd been after the trial. Ray had come to pay him a visit. He could still hear his words in his head; how he felt fear after he'd stabbed him in the back. He could still feel the blood on his hand. Warm and wet and sticky before it turned cold.
He felt as cold as the blood on his hands. Soon, Ray would know what that felt like as well. He would understand how much they were alike. He could taste it.
"Hi, Ray," he said as he saw Langston appear in front of the jail cell. "You... were magnificent on the witness stand. That MAO-A revelation of yours...Delightfully unexpected."
Ray had that smirk on his face; the one that made him think he was better than he was. "You know, a good lawyer never asks a question that he doesn't have the answer to."
Always trying to prove how smart he was. But all he was doing was making this so much more fun. "Beware the sin of pride, Ray," he told him as he leaned against the wall as he sat on the bench and looked him over. "But I feel it was a positive experience, because now I feel even closer to you. Discovering we share more than just your kidney." Even though Ray tried to hide it, he saw the way that bothered him. "Do you have chills, Ray?"
"No. Steady. Calm. Question, though. How long have you known that you were an MAO-A gene carrier?"
"You heard Dr. Corey, Ray–months, maybe...maybe longer."
"No, you must have known before your first kill."
"My first human kill. You talk about a good excuse to start having some fun, huh?" He saw the repressed smile on Ray's face as he said that. "Oh, Ray...it's like a mirror with you. It's like playing with myself, only...better."
"So, how long have you known?"
"Ray, you know my job history and that I never, ever had one in my life. So I had to have income. Blood donations, sperm bank, the odd psychological research study–those cute grad students, they pay good money."
"The first studies on the MAO-A gene didn't happen until the 1970s. How did you know, Nate?"
"I wanted to be the first kid on my block to have one, Ray, so I could blame everything on my father. I just prayed to God to bring me one of those genes, Ray."
"You can't alter your DNA. You either have the gene or you don't," Ray said before he started to walk away.
Oh, no. He didn't get to walk away from him. "Trust me, Ray…" he said as he got up off the bench and walked over to the plexiglass wall. "If you want something bad enough, you can will it to happen. Look at those women; they fight over me, Ray. It's 'cause I will it."
Ray turned around, angrily, as he said, "You're really giving yourself a little bit too much credit."
"No, I'm a chick magnet, Ray, and you know that." He was only needling him now, playing with him, like a cat with a mouse, and he was taking the bait. Ray always took the bait. It was his anger.
And that smug look. "You're a magnet for the walking wounded. Look at you in this cage. You're pathetic."
Staring at him, he smiled. He was done with this. "Whatever. You know what I dream of more than sex, Ray?"
"What?" Ray asked as he stepped up to the glass, getting so close to him that he felt he could touch him. He wanted to touch him. To wrap his hands around his neck and strangle the life right out of his body.
"Freedom," he told him.
"I bet you do. You've killed 14 people. There's no gene that's gonna magically make you free," Ray said as he snapped his fingers. "Not for that."
"Power of positive thinking, Ray. And I'm very positive. I can't wait, Ray, to get out of here and play with you on the outside."
Ray had no idea what was coming. He even told him. He thought he was so smart. Him and Grissom both. They would see. They would know.
"Yeah, well, keep thinking, Haskell. You need all the practice you can get if you want to be good at it."
~"I wait, await the next breath
Your name like ice into my heart—"~
He'd never felt closer to anyone in his life than he did to Ray Langston and Gil Grissom. Both were like him. Only one had done what he had done. The other wanted to do what he had done. Grissom knew what it felt like to connect through death. Ray was still struggling with what he was. He wanted to make him unleash the beast he knew that he held inside. They were the same; he only had to prove it. And he knew how.
Ray's sweet and beautiful wife. He wanted to see Gloria with fear in her eyes as he took her; seeing her begging, pleading for death, or better yet, yelling out for Ray to come and save her only for him to let her down.
Oh, the heartbreak. The anguish. He wanted that more than anything. Three days with Gloria was something he'd dreamed of doing once he got his freedom. And now that he was free, he had to find a way to get what he wanted.
~"A shallow grave
A monument to the ruined age—"~
He stepped over the floorboards where his women lay buried underneath in the ground. Vivian, the blond one, smiled at him as she turned on the video camera. Around her neck was the Star of David necklace. He wasn't even Jewish. They believed that they wore it because they were special. That he loved them.
Oh, they were special all right. Every time he saw that necklace on their necks, he was reminded of his first kill. As he touched her, he touched Tiffany Cohen. The first. His one and only truly special woman. You always remember the first.
She wasn't his first human kill, but she had been his first as the Dick and Jane Killer.
~"Ice in my eyes
And eyes like ice don't move—"~
The first kill in this cabin. Her dead eyes staring back up at him in the moonlight. The blood on his hands. He had gone outside, walked naked to the lake. Then he reached down and scooped up the sky full of moonlight in his hands, watching as the dark blue water mix with the red of the blood, and then poured it over his head.
Alive. It was the best bath he'd ever had in his life.
~"Screaming at the moon
Another past time—"~
Smiling at the memory, remembering her screams as he stared at the necklace around Vivian's neck. The little crazy bitch. He couldn't wait to kill her. To make her his…forever.
"What's the camera for?" she asked him, interrupting his trip down memory lane.
"For me. I have a message for Ray."
~"Your name like ice
Into my heart
Everything as cold as life
Can no one save you?—"~
Another woman appeared behind Vivian; he smiled as he saw her eyes. They were pale blue. She was also blond. His preference, but the two women he wanted most in the world weren't.
Vivian turned and saw the other woman as she asked, "Who are you?"
"Tina," she said as she walked inside and shut the cabin door. "Nate, sweety."
Vivian didn't like that as she turned to look at him. "Sweety?"
He smiled at both of them. "Now, now, girls, you both are extremely special to me. I need you both."
"For what?"
"First, Vivian dear, we need money. That's another reason for the video camera. We're going to get ourselves two million dollars."
~"Everything as cold as silence
And you never say a word—"~
"How are we going to get that much money?" she asked.
"Your father."
She started laughing as she said, "That's a brilliant idea. He owes it to me for everything he did to me. We'll make him pay, Nate."
"Oh, yes, we will. Then we'll use it to put on a performance in L.A. and invite Gloria to play cello. Something that a woman like her can't so "no" to. Living with Ray, I know she can empathize with battered women," he said mostly to himself than to the other women in the room.
He liked Tina; she didn't talk much.
"Ray, as in Dr. Langston. You want his wife?"
~"Your name like ice
Into my heart—"~
She had to ruin it. He looked over at Tina as he smirked angrily at her. "Yes, that Ray. And yes, his wife."
Walking over to the tables, he searches them over for the photographs he'd told Tom Donover to take for him since he couldn't do it himself, thanks to Ray. He spotted the envelope and grabbed it.
Opening it up, he pulled out the photographs and smiled. "Not a bad job, kid. I could've done better."
Turning to his brides, he said, "Each of you will get your targets. You have to get them for me." He handed one photograph to Vivian and the other to Tina. "We have time to work out how, but you will get them for me and bring them to me, alive."
"What are their names?" Vivian asked.
"This," he said as he pointed to the black woman in the photo that Vivian held, "is Gloria. Gloria Langston. Ray's wife. And this," he said as he flicked the photo of the brunette that Tina had. "This is Sara."
"Whose wife is she?" Tina asked.
He smiled at her as he said, "The question is: whose wife is she going to be?" Looking at the picture, he saw the eyes of the woman staring back at him. "Vivian killed Robin. I'm down a bride. Sara will be mine."
And Grissom…
~"Your name like ice—"~
…wouldn't be able to do anything about it.
~"—into my heart."~
TBC…
Disclaimer songs used/mentioned: "I've Been Loving You Too Long" by Otis Redding and "Cold" by The Cure (The string instrument used in this song is the cello.)