A/N: LAST CHAPTER. Please, ensure that you've read all chapters first. I posted 4 this week. I will post the epilogue tomorrow.

This chapter, this song, and this ending has been on my mind ever since I wrote the first chapter to Aberrations. I had this chapter outlined before I ever wrote the prologue to Aberrations and almost completely written by the time that I wrote the prologue to Obsessions. Finally getting to the end as a writer, I'm a little nervous and sad, but also excited.

Thank you everyone, again, for taking the time to read this 2-part story; it was the only story I ever wanted to write, and it has been so satisfying.

Ch. 10: The Fly Never Wonders Why

Six Months Later

Straightening in the seat, he decided to tell him the truth. The entire truth that he knew about himself. The deepest, darkest knowledge that rested at the bottom of the depths of his soul.

As he peered into the eyes of Dr. Langston, he told him, "Norman Mailer wrote in "In the Belly of the Beast" that "We are all so guilty at the way we have allowed the world around us to become more ugly and tasteless every year that we surrender to terror and steep ourselves in it."...And you wonder how I can kill. It's the same way I can put an ant under a magnifying glass with the hot sun shining down through it. Or, how I can pull wings off of flies...Because, I can. I have no faith in humanity. That's why I don't mind killing the worst of it."

~"When I pull the wings off of the fly

The fly never wonders why I did it—"~

There was never a doubt in his mind that it wouldn't work. Everything had been set up and put into play long before he'd even made it known what was happening. A long con was when the subject of the con was manipulated into believing that it was their idea to begin with.

Nate Haskell believed that he had initiated the game. The serial killer thought he had been the one to make the first move using real people as his pieces. He thought he was the one in control. Nate Haskell had been the subject in the con, just another pawn in his game, but he hadn't been the only one.

As he moored the boat up to the boat dock, he heard barking. Multiple barking from two dogs.

The satellite phone rang almost two months after he "died" in Los Angeles. Picking up the phone, he answered, "Hello?"

"Hey. It's me."

Smiling into the phone upon hearing her voice, he sat down at the table as he asked her, "How'd it go?" even though he could guess.

"I'm finally free. I signed the immunity deal nearly a month ago but now it's official. The legal process took forever, but, Heather and Sally let stay with them. They really are good people. Anyway, I can finally leave the state now. I can go anywhere, do anything, change my name…All I want to do is see you. I don't want to ever run from you again. What's burning in my heart…is you. Us. You were right, you know. We are the same."

It was her choice. Once she got her freedom, she could leave everything, even him, and just go. Her words, however, were exactly what he wanted to hear. He'd been right. They were the same. And all she wanted was him. "Go to Los Angeles. There's a bank, First Los Angeles Bank, in Santa Monica. There's a safety deposit box in your name. A new identity for you is already waiting. This way you don't have to go through any more long legal processes and you can disappear. All of the documents and ID are official. Once you see the name, you'll know what to do next."

She was silent a moment before asking, "If I go to L.A., can I adopt a friend?"

Adopt a friend? He worked that around his head and then smiled into the phone, "He's going to need a new name."

Laughing a little, making him close his eyes as he listened to her laugh. He missed that laugh. She then said, "I can think of another dog to name him after."

Jokingly, he asked, "Hank?"

"How'd you know?"

He laughed. "That's fine. Edmond needs a friend."

They said their goodbyes and hung up. Looking out the window, he gave one last look to the shoreline of El Salvadore, before he charted a course for Maryland.

The barking quickly turned to a whining as the dogs sniffed the air as his presence grew nearer. It was a beautiful early autumn day and the leaves on the oaks that covered the property had yet to turn to gold and fall to the ground. The river water was steady and calm and still a little warm. Pulling his sunglasses up off his eyes, he smiled as he spotted both Edmond and Hank—the dog formally known as Rex—running down the dock, tails wagging and yelping with whines. Then Edmond nearly rocketed into his arms.

He caught the boxer and had to kneel down to his knees as the dogs licked his face and in a desperate attempt to get them to pet them everywhere and all at once, they rolled and twisted and wiggled all over his chest and legs. Taking a moment to oblige the dogs, he petted over both and scratched behind their ears before commanding them to stop and calm down. Sara had said that Hank had become a quick learner to the German commands and he obeyed immediately while Edmond obeyed but only barely as his legs did a tap dance over the wooden dock while his tail thumped and wagged relentlessly. His dog had missed him dearly. He grabbed his bag off the dock and started for the house with the dogs following.

It was up the hill and across the open yard. A single story home, garage, a vast garden, and trees for miles. A forest of trees between them and the Potomac River. On the other side of the river was the state of Virginia. The property was private, secure, and in the middle of nowhere. The nearest neighbor was a mile down the road in both directions. It was perfect.

As he neared the back of the house, he saw the door over the covered deck open. He knew that through the back door was the kitchen. Upon seeing her walk out, dressed in a sundress that she hardly ever wore, he dropped his bag as she dropped the cup in her hand.

~"When I pull the wings off of the fly

The fly never wonders why I did—"~

The cup shattered on the deck but neither cared as she stepped down the steps and right into his arms as he pulled her in for a kiss. He'd been waiting six months to do that. Her hands grabbed the back of his neck, his favorite spot, as he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her closer as the kiss deepened.

Finally, pulling back and getting some air, he heard her say, "Took you long enough."

He just smiled then kissed her again before telling her, "Do you know how long it takes to get from the Pacific Ocean to Maryland by boat? Even cutting through the Panama Canal didn't make much of a difference, especially since a hurricane—"

"Shut up," she told him before she kissed him again, causing him to laugh into her mouth as she stepped back, pulling him with her.

As they made their way up the steps and into the house, he couldn't help but think about how all it came together. The plan he'd laid out in order to get her the immunity deal. Her freedom. No prosecutor in their right mind would try to prosecute not only the hero who saved Ray Langston's life, but the hero who shot and killed two wanted serial killers. And since being granted immunity, she was free to legally change her name and move away.

The house was his, the one he'd bought in the name of Harold Melville. Sara's new name was Alice Sarah Melville; his wife. She would always and forever be his wife, no matter the name. That was all he ever wanted her to be.

She was all he ever really wanted in life, other than his own freedom and anonymity so that he could do what his heart desired. Right then, his heart desired her.

~"You know they didn't ever have to love me

No, no, no—"~

The whole world believed him to be dead. In a way, he was. Gilbert Grissom was dead. Having died in the marina in Los Angeles; lost as the rip-tide and current took his body out to sea. Or at least, that was the official report. All the blood he'd left behind. The witnesses. His death had become the truth.

~"And no one will ever love them now—"~

And as he told Dr. Ray Langston: "I don't hide lies, I hide truths."

~"Oh, oh, but they

They always wanted somehow to save me—"~

Thinking back, he tried to remember how and when it started. The idea had been festering for a long time. He knew once he turned himself into the police back in Vegas after Warrick's death what the endgame had to be. It had to end with his death. It was the only way to get his freedom. There were a lot of things to consider and too many variables.

That was where the long cons came in. Every variable had to do exactly what he needed them to do in order for his plan to work. They all had a part to play, including the woman in his arms who was leading him to the master bedroom. He felt her hands slide up under his shirt, inviting a moan to escape from his lips.

Pushing her through the bedroom door, he felt Sara's leg move up his and hook around his waist. Grabbing her thigh under the dress, he moved against her as she pushed herself harder against him. His body was being set on fire, his desire for her growing as he hoisted her up so she could wrap her other leg around his waist before he lowered her onto the bed.

~"Why, oh, why?

For pity's sake, they should've saved themselves

Oh, oh, but you—"~

He grabbed her left hand that was latched to the back of his neck and gripped it in his as he moved it from his neck to above her head; through his fingers he felt the wedding ring on her ring finger.

~"You always said I never missed a note—"~

Kissing her lips, her neck, he listened to his wife's moans as Sara squirmed under him. Thinking back to when he asked her to marry him, staring up at the stars in the sky, he knew one truth in that moment: she wasn't going to say no.

~"I only ever wanted to be with you—"~

He had given her exactly what she wanted and needed in their relationship. He had given her complete control over it. Once she accepted him for what he was, he had no other choice. It was the last thing to offer her, the only remaining string of the web that needed to be woven in order to complete it. She had wanted control. Even in the times when he had wanted it back due to his own compulsion and yearning, he knew that if she kept it that she wouldn't be able to resist coming back to him to have it.

She would be lost with him. She wouldn't want to tell him to stop. The control was what she enjoyed, what she wanted, was what was burning in her heart. And he gave her all the control; all the power.

Much like he enjoyed killing.

That truth, the realization of it, had quieted his troubled mind and soul. He'd been fighting that truth for a long time. He hadn't wanted to accept it. Accepting that he enjoyed killing meant that he was evil. And, he was. But an evil man that did evil things to stop evil could exist. It didn't have to be killed. He didn't have to die.

And now since he accepted his fate, accepted himself for what he truly was, he couldn't wait to find another opponent to play with. The thought of Sara being by his side in the game, playing with him, was the final push he needed that drove him over the edge. Not just with his love for her, but his desire to have her in every way possible.

He yanked up her dress and then reached for his belt buckle.

~"I only wanted someone to play

Play, play, play—"~

Haskell walked into the house as if he belonged there. He did belong there; it was his childhood home in Los Angeles. "Daddy, I'm home!" he called out in amusement as he walked into the living room. Upon not seeing his father, he headed toward the kitchen, walking right by the basement door. "Daddy, daddy, come out where–"

He opened the basement door and grabbed Haskell around the neck, covering his mouth with his hand. "Shhh," he said into Haskell's ear.

He knew what Haskell was thinking. How? Haskell wanted him to come out to play, but he hadn't expected him to be there in that house; waiting for him like a spider waiting for its prey to get caught in the web. This wasn't anything Haskell had planned.

As he injected Haskell with the paralytic, he told him, "You play my game, Mr. Thorpe, I don't play yours." Haskell's body went limp in his arms as he moved them both back through the basement door and down the steps. "You know, there aren't too many houses in California with basements. I suspect your father bought this house specifically for that reason. Privacy."

He dragged Haskell over to the table and strapped him down. Staring down at Haskell, he smirked as he grabbed his head and turned it so Haskell could see the other person he had strapped down on a table in the basement. On a table next to him was Haskell's father: Arvin Thorpe.

"I know how much you wanted to kill him. But, like you said, only those who have done what you have done can understand you. What you do is take. You take from people the very thing they want the most." He grabbed the scalpel off the table as he walked over to Arvin. "You wanted to be the one to kill your father. You've fantasized about it for years. Every man you killed was a representation of him. You wanted to make him suffer, to die a slow, painful death. You wanted to see his pain and fear as he knew it was you who ended his life. I'm going to take that from you, Mr. Thorpe. Your father's feeling no pain. There's no fear in his eyes," he told him as he placed the blade of the scalpel on Arvin's neck as he kept his eyes on Haskell. "And when I cut his throat, it'll be a blissful release into death."

He saw the rage that sparked in Haskell's eyes; it was beyond anything he'd ever seen in anyone's eyes. Other than his own. He knew that rage.

"I am going to enjoy this," he said right before he slid the blade deep into Arvin's neck, across the carotid artery and watched as the blood flowed out of the opened slit.

Watching Arvin Thorpe's death steadied his breathing, quieted his mind, and filled his chest with such relief it caused him to feel...Joy.

Pure joy.

Realization dawned on him as he stared down into the dying eyes of Arvin Thorpe. He did enjoy it. He felt it for the first time since he started killing: joy. A truth settled into his soul and mind, quieting the confusion and turmoil that had resided inside of him for years.

He thought he wanted death because he wanted to die. He thought he was among the dead and the reason he killed people was in part to feel alive. Though part of that was still the truth, another truth settled inside his mind.

Why did it take this long for him to feel it? It used to be nothing. He used to feel nothing when he killed, only a sense of doing good to having killed evil.

That was because he used to hide before. He used to push everything down and not feel a thing. His intellect had always been a shield to cover his emotions. He couldn't let himself feel anything, not even joy.

But now, ever since he was opening himself up and letting himself feel, he was finally feeling what killing brought him. Buried under that sense of doing good was pure joy in the act of taking a life. Killing made him want to kill because it brought him not only purpose but joy.

Looking over at Haskell, he saw in his eyes an evil man who'd done many evil things to innocent people. He felt the desire to inflict pain and suffering into him for the pure joy of it.

He nearly smiled but caught himself as he told Haskell, "You wanted to kill me, Sara, Ray Langston and his wife. I'm going to take that from you too. And once I've taken from you everything I can, Mr. Thorpe...that's when you'll die."

Digging through Haskell's pockets, he found his cell phone in his pants pocket. Taking it with him, he left the basement.

He put the phone on the table after checking the text messages.

He poured himself a drink as he thought and walked the floor. Then, he grabbed the phone, sat down, and poured himself another drink.

Then called Heather. He needed to talk to Sara.

He had a plan.

~"When I pull the wings off the fly—"~

Knowing that law enforcement agencies would flag the sale and it'd get back to the LVPD, he had placed an order for marijuana seeds and salvia divinorum, Latin for "sage of the diviners", extract in Ray Langston's name to be delivered to Arvin Thorpe's house.

He spotted the delivery man heading for the front door of the house. Opening the door for the delivery driver, he took the package that required a signature and signed Ray Langston's name; a perfect forgery of the signature from his signed autobiography that Heather had picked up for him.

Salvia divinorum was a fast-acting hallucinogenic plant that could be sold as seeds, leaves, or liquid extract. The DEA, though salvia wasn't illegal, classified it as a hallucinogenic drug and several states had passed laws to regulate its use. The side effects of the drug included visual distortions and hallucinations, intense dissociation and disconnections from reality, disorientation or dizziness, synesthesia, cartoon-like imagery, improved mood, and uncontrollable laughter.

Combine it with THC and it was capable of incapacitating anyone who smoked it. Nate Haskell had been combining the two in order to incapacitate his victims for years. Ordering them together should raise some flags, especially for anyone searching for Nate Haskell since his escape.

Taking the package, he shut the door and then tossed the box into the trash bin that was outside the back door. He grabbed the hammer off the kitchen table and headed back down to the basement.

He had a wall to finish building.

~"The fly never wonders why—"~

Her breath caught as he pushed into her. A gasp and cry as it has been far too long. God, it'd been way too long since he had her. Taking a breath to settle himself down, he let it out as he started to move slowly, easing himself in and out as she arched her back.

She had surprised herself with the lengths she went to for him, for the both of them, but it hadn't surprised him. He knew she had it in her ever since he saw what she'd done to her abusive boyfriend who she'd killed in Los Angeles. She hadn't hit him once.

Oh, no, not his girl. She kept hitting him. Her fight for survival was strong, just as his was. She would always fight to the death. As she gasped as he drove deep into her, he caught her mouth in his and kissed her deeply as he put himself in her place and imagined how it had played out.

How she had killed Tina.

The ground under her shook; her body rolled, jostled, and she opened her eyes. She was surrounded, enclosed in a small space that was moving. Stretching her legs out, she hit something solid. Rolling onto her back, she tried to kick up and hit metal. Closing her eyes, she listened and heard the road, car engine, and tires. She was in the trunk of a car. Her hands were bound behind in front of her but not tightly enough as she was able to free her hands.

Feeling around, she found the jumper cables. Pushing against the back of the trunk, she felt the seat go down. Peering into the car, she saw the driver. A blond woman; one of Nate Haskell's "brides". Tina Vincent. The radio was blaring music and it was dark in the car; dark outside. Not a single streetlight. They were in the desert. Hopefully with the darkness, and the music, Tina wouldn't notice her climbing onto the floorboard.

Once on the floorboard, she pushed the seat back upland then slid up into the backseat, directly behind Tina. Grabbing the seatbelt, she pulled it around herself and softly clicked it into place.

She had no other choice.

Holding the ends of the jumper cables in both hands, she tossed it around Tina's neck and pulled back hard as her grip tightened and held on tight.

Tina struggled in the seat, her hands coming off the wheel, her legs jerking as the car slowed and drifted right off the road and into the sand. As the car turned, Tina's knees hit the steering wheel as she struggled, the car spun to a stop as the wheels dug into the sand bunker as she pulled on the cable harder and Tina stopped struggling.

Dropping the jumper cables, she unbuckled her seatbelt, unlocked the doors, and got out of the backseat. She opened the driver's door and pulled Tina's dead body out of the car. Then she searched her pockets and found a cell phone. Getting into the car, she turned it off and pocketed the keys.

Grabbing Tina's body up under her arms, she dragged her further into the sand bunker and then covered her body. The elements, bugs, and coyotes would take care of her. Heading back to the car, she searched the contacts in the phone and saw a number for Nate Haskell.

If all had gone well, then when she called that number, Haskell wouldn't be the one to answer it.

Dialing it, she closed her eyes as she hoped to hear his voice on the other end. The ringing stopped and she heard him ask, "Sara?"

Smiling into the phone, she told him, "I've got Tina's phone."

With relief, and a smile in his voice, he said, "That's my girl."

"There's a text on here for her to drop me off at the Penwick Hotel in Los Angeles. Gloria will be waiting…?"

"The Penwick has been abandoned for years. As for Gloria, Ray's wife, she's safe."

She smiled into the phone as she got to the car. "Any suggestions on how to get a stuck car out of a sand bunker?"

"Don't floor it, it'll spin the tires and you'll only bury the car deeper. You're going to have to dig out the tires, create traction by turning the steering wheel back-and-forth, wet the sand, or use the floor mats to help, and…be patient. If you have to, put it in neutral and rock the car back-and-forth while turning the steering wheel and push until you get it back on solid ground. Sand is actually easier to get out of than snow. You'll be fine."

"And if none of that works?" she asked.

"...Call for a tow?"

She smiled. "See you soon. Love you."

"Love you too, darlin'."

~"You know they never really ever had to love me

No, no, no—"~

Her hands were ranking nails over his chest, his back as she urged him faster, harder, as her breath started to hitch and then catch as she lost the ability to breathe. She was coming; her hands grabbing his hair, pulling, as he bit her shoulder and came right after.

Feeling her hands rubbing his back, he lazily kissed her mouth. It took time for them both to come back, for their hearts to stop pounding in their chests. Once he started to move as he realized he was probably putting too much weight on her, she stopped him as she looked up into his eyes.

He saw her love for him. The trust she put in him to give her exactly what she wanted, always. Spilling out of her mouth, he heard the words he longed to hear, "I love you."

~"But no one will ever love them now—"~

His mouth twitched into a smirk as he tilted his head and stared down at the woman under him on their bed, his wife, as he told her, "No one will ever love you…not the way I do. No one but me could ever love you like this."

"Promise?" she asked as she reached up and touched his face.

"Promise," he told her as she pushed up and kissed him.

~"Oh, oh, but they

They always thought that somehow they could save me—"~

Sara walked up the stairs as she saw him straightening up. With the music playing so loud, she signed /Langston's here./

He gave a nod as he moved to the staircase leading down into the kitchen and turned the corner and headed into the basement. Pulling on the night vision goggles, he grabbed the knife off the table and headed to the dark corner of the dark room that he had constructed.

Then, he waited.

He left Langston on the floor in the basement as he grabbed his gun off the floor and headed up the stairs. He slipped the magazine out of Langston's gun and removed the first five bullets. He pulled a bullet, the one Sara was going to shoot him with, from his pocket and inserted it into the magazine. It was only half filled with gunpowder, reducing the kinetic energy of the propellant.

Then he reinserted three of the bullets he had removed back into the magazine. Those were to kill Haskell. Then the one he placed on top, the bullet Haskell was going to shoot him with, was only filled with only enough gunpowder to fire it out of the gun. Since he was going to make sure the barrel was right up against his side before the trigger was pulled, he didn't want any cracked ribs.

Haskell was in the last bedroom down the hallway that had been his father's room. Upon seeing Sara in the tiny bedroom-Haskell's old room-securing herself with the flexi-cuffs, he walked in and slipped the razor blade into her palm. Tilting her head up, she kissed him.

Signing, he told her /Ray will be up here soon. Remember, shoot Haskell 3 times./

She gave a nod and took a breath. He knew that she'd be fine. From all that target practice they had together on the beach, she was an excellent marksman.

Moving to the bedroom where Haskell was paralyzed on the bed, he intentionally placed the gun on the table by the bed before he removed the syringe from his jacket pocket. He leaned down and jammed the needle into his neck to revive him. It'll only take a few seconds for him to be able to move again. He'd have no idea what was happening, but Haskell wouldn't care.

A gun was placed right in front of his eyes on the table. In the bedroom was Sara, hands cuffed behind her back, and coming up the steps would be Ray Langston looking for his wife.

~"But why, oh, why?

For pity's sake

They should've saved themselves—"~

"I won," Haskell said as he jammed the knife through his jacket and into the blood pouch that was attached to the bulletproof vest he wore. "Do you feel it? Your life leaving your body?"

He grabbed Haskell's right shoulder as he tensed, but not from pain. Being pushed against the wall, he pulled Haskell along with him. Holding his shoulder tightly in his hand as Haskell twisted the knife around, he told him, "I told you, Mr. Thorpe, you will die, and the spider that's going to kill you–"

~"But you

You always said I never missed a note—"~

Dropping his hand from Haskell's shoulder, he let go of him as he made a fist and then pointed his thumb and pinkie fingers out on both hands and lowered them down to his sides. The ASL sign for /Now./

~"And nobody ever knew me like you do

You do—"~

"–Is my wife," he told Haskell as Haskell's eyes widened in realization.

Bang!

Haskell's body jerked forward before he stepped back.

Bang! Bang!

Two more shots rang out as Haskell fell against him. Blinking up at him–one blink–two blinks–and then his body swayed as his knees buckled and he hit the floor. Dead.

Sara looked down at Haskell as she said, "Who's the bitch now?"

Her eyes locked on his and she steadied the gun; this time at him. She wouldn't hesitate. It was there in her eyes. The conviction.

Taking a step forward, over Haskell's body, he smiled at her right before a gunshot rang out.

Bang!

A bullet hit his chest. The impact sent him stumbling back into the wall and onto the floor. For a moment, he couldn't move. The pain rippled through his body from the released kinetic energy. The force of the impact against the Kevlar vest hurt like hell. Any closer and it would've cracked his rib.

Reaching up, he felt the blood on his hands. She'd hit her target. Moaning against the pain, he got up to his knees and then his feet as he stumbled out the bedroom and down the hallway, making sure he pressed his hand against the blood pouch.

Blood dropped from his hand, the hole in the pouch losing all of its liter of blood before he made it to the backdoor. Moving his hand to the other blood bag on his side where Haskell had shot him, he pressed his hand to it as he headed towards Arvin Thorpe's truck that was waiting in the alley.

After Nick turned around to run up into the house to help Langston, he drove away. No one was following him. Langston was too busy keeping himself from dying from a non-fatal stab wound. And Sara was helping him. He heard sirens and had to speed away, making sure to burn the tires down the street as he left, leaving a trail.

He lost another liter of blood in the truck as he drove erratically enough but not so much as to get pulled over. Then he saw the police lights and heard a siren behind him. As he approached the pier of Redondo Beach, he swerved the truck and spun it right into the palm tree. Getting out, he headed toward the dock.

More blood dripped down his body onto the pavement and the dock before stumbling and collapsing at the end of the dock. He laid there as he saw the running, approaching steps of the police officer. He pressed his hand into the blood pouch, letting it all out.

Not a single drop was wasted.

Once he was satisfied with the evidence, three liters of blood would be accounted for. No possible way of survival. The tide was going out. They would assume that he was taken out to sea.

Gone forever.

Rolling onto his back, he stared up at the night sky before closing his eyes and turning once more, dropping into the water.

He felt himself sinking, deeper and deeper, before his leg sent out a kick as he started to twist and turn. Opening his eyes briefly to look up, he spotted the blinking white light and swam up towards it.

Breaking through the surface of the water under the floating dock, he took a breath before grabbing the underwater scooter and goggles that he'd secured to the underside of it. Once he had the goggles over his eyes, he released the tracking light, took another breath, and then dropped below the surface of the water as he turned on the scooter.

The GPS tracker took him right to the boat that had once been dry docked for nearly twenty years at Redondo Beach. It was the boat that he'd bought under the name of his alias Robert Waters in the late '80s. Once on the deck, he yanked off the jacket and tossed it into the marina, more evidence, before removing the tactical bulletproof vest. Attached to the vest had been three blood pouches that were now empty.

He turned everything on, started the boat engines, and then headed out of port. As the boat disappeared into the darkness of the night on the ocean water, he finally let out a sigh of relief.

~"You always said it's gonna be okay, okay—"~

It had been put in motion long before Sara wanted an out. His death was the only option, the only path that guaranteed freedom for the both of them. He'd only been waiting for the right time.

~"I only ever really wanted to be with you—"~

Langston was sitting across from him in the prison interview room. His eyes took his eyes, gazing into him. Langston was staring into the abyss and he knew. At that moment, the doctor saw him for what he was.

"I think, Dr. Grissom, that you were born without empathy. I don't think you were born a psychopath. I think you were made into one, whether that's a sociopath, I have no idea. I just know that you have no idea how to relate to other people. You say you were in love, I honestly don't believe you know what that means. You say you've told me the truth, but I know how much you had to lie to preserve your secret."

Langston was right, except for one thing: he never once lied. That wasn't what he did. He manipulated the truth within the truth to hide the truth.

Truth was…

He knew one day she would want an out. She was a runner. It was what she did. And he knew it. That was why he started changing. Gradually, over time, he made small changes until she had no choice. Until she had her hand on the door, bag over her shoulder, ready to leave him.

Reaching out, he wiped a tear off her cheek, making her look up at him before telling her, "You're the runner, Sara, that's what you do. It's okay if this is too much. You can say "stop"."

And she could say "stop". The game could be over at any time. She was the one in control. But, she wanted him. She wanted everything that he could give her.

He saw it as she turned into his hand right before she broke. She wanted to escape life as a fugitive, out at sea. She wanted out. "I can't breathe here," she finally choked out as he pulled her into a hug. As he let her cry against him, she told him, "I love you so much-"

"I know," he told her.

"But I can't do this."

"I know," he said again, Whispering the words into her ear. "You shouldn't have to."

Holding her, he smiled slightly as she'd done exactly what he knew she would do. She gave him a reason why.

It was time to plan his death. It was time to set them both free. To end this. She'd been listening to a cover of "Wild Horses" and he couldn't help but think of the song lyric: "Let's do some living after we die."

Whispering into her ear, he told her, "I'll get you out of this. I'll find a way."

~"I only wanted someone to play

Play, play, play—"~

They were sitting in the cabin on the boat; the sun high in the sky as they were moored on a small dock on a beach in Peru. Her hands tightened in his as she gave a nod. He knew she didn't like it, but this was what they had to do. She needed immunity; he needed her to be free of being a fugitive. This was the only way.

"This isn't goodbye," he told her. "There may be miles between us, but we are never far apart. Love doesn't measure itself with miles, it's…measured by the heart. You'll always have my heart."

Smiling softly at him, she asked, "Who said that?"

He wrinkled his head in confusion as he told her, "I did, just now," before smirking slightly.

She smiled. It was soft and loving. He was going to miss that smile until he was able to see it again. "Okay," she said before taking a breath. "How do we do this? I mean, where do we start?"

He'd been thinking about that. "We need to make a scene. Maybe even get it caught on a camera phone. Evidence is what we'll need, you will need, in order to prove anything. Once you leave, you have to act like you're on the run from me. Don't use your credit cards, get cash and use it. You can't use your alias for any hotels or rental cars or bus tickets. And when you get to Vegas, if you need any help with anything, you can always call Heather. She's my friend."

"And your only friend who isn't a member of the LVPD."

"It'll be hard, but I believe in you. If anyone can do this, you can." He saw the determination in her eyes; her conviction. She was ready.

She let out a breath and said, "I'll have to convince them that you're a monster, that I think you're a monster. How can I do that? What do I say—"

"You say…" he regarded the table between them and realized what he had to tell her.

He had to tell her the truth.

He was a monster. He'd known it all his life. She just didn't know it. She would believe his words to be a lie. But like any good manipulation, that was where the truth was hidden. He didn't hide lies. He hid the truth because he never lied.

They ask for a lie, tell the truth...and the truth becomes the lie.

Lifting his eyes to the eyes of the woman he wanted more than anything, he told her, "Say…that when you were eighteen years old, I became obsessed with you. You wore a ponytail, hair pulled up, and under all that makeup that you wore as a disguise, I saw your pain. But, I also saw what you were capable of. I would watch you and sketch your face in my sketchbook. Over and over. You know, I purposely detached that battery cable in my car to have an excuse to be there, waiting for you after you got off work? Then I followed the bus to your apartment. I thought someone might mistake me for being a stalker…I guess I thought that because I was acting like one."

"Oh, you did now," she said with her usually teasing voice and smirk when she thought he was teasing her.

He wasn't teasing. He waited for her. Like a spider waiting for a fly. Then once he had her…like the Devil's Flower Mantis, he became a very patient man. It took time. It had taken years.

"You tell them…I'm a master of controlling people's perceptions of the truth. I find a way in by studying them. By figuring out how they work. I found out how you worked. What made you…you. Tell them that I manipulated you for over a decade because I had no choice. It's what I do. I tried not to. I never wanted to do it. I actually didn't think at first that I was doing it, but…As I told Heather once, about how I behave, I knew your past, the sexual abuse and how you were controlled by men…So, I presented you with the exact opposite. I gave you a choice. I never pressured you for anything. Granted, I didn't want sex. Sex…Sara, that's not what I wanted from you. I wanted you to understand who you are. How we…You're like me. You're not a fly, though I caught you like one. You're a spider."

"We're spiders?" she asked in confusion.

"Of course. I put spider venom in instant coffee grounds and kept it on hand to incapacitate anyone who drank it. I use a paralytic to sedate my victims, much like a spider uses its venom to immobilize its prey."

She suddenly grew serious as she said, "You're serious? About that last part, I mean," she said quickly, letting him know that she only thought that last part was the truth and not all of it.

Oh, Sara, darlin', he thought as he looked at her, it was all true. This was why he thought he could actually trust her. She was so much like him that her love for him, like his for her, was blinding.

She was equally obsessed with him.

"I can't trust anyone, except for you. Everyone else...I view people, society, as insects. They're nothing but a science experiment to me. I'm not as deranged as Nigel Crane, but…Making people subjects in my experiments is my way to show complete and utter contempt for not only my victims, but society in general. Sara...the ones I kill are nothing but ants to burn under a microscope and flies to pull the wings off of and watch die. I only engage with three types of people: those I want to kill, those I want to play with, and then there are the select few who I want to do both with. Take Nate Haskell, for example. I want to play with him, and then I want to kill him. This isn't his game. It's mine. But," he shook his head at her as he told her, "Don't tell the FBI that last part. They wouldn't understand…But you do, though, don't you?"

She was looking at him; hearing his words and the tone in his voice. The detachment; how cold his voice was that it sent shivers up her arms. He could see the goosebumps on her flesh. Then, she shook her head at him, saying, "And I have to believe all of that? Gil…I'm not like you. I can't shut down like that and not feel anything in order to sell a lie."

He wanted to smile. She loved him so much that even when he told her the truth, she didn't believe him. Manipulating her wasn't something he wanted to do. He loved her as best he could love anyone. It was that he had no choice. It was what he did. It was how he worked. He'd told her as much. Understanding how people worked and then using that knowledge to his advantage was all he ever did.

He used them all. Every. Single. One. Even though he called them friends, and thought of them as such, that didn't stop him from manipulating and using them as he worked his way around the web of truths in the games he wanted to play. Philip Kern, Ray Langston, Heather Kessler, Sally Mills, Catherine Willows, Jim Brass, Nicholas Stokes, Greg Sanders…and Sara Sidle.

And he wanted what he wanted. He always did. And what he wanted was to play a game. He generated questions and used them to find his answers.

How could he play a game without any other players?

"And which one am I?" she asked him.

He did smile then as he told her, "I want to play with you, for as long as I can. You're…you're the only woman I ever wanted…I knew the moment I had you. It was in the hotel room in Santa Cruz, in the bathroom….when I first took your picture." Taking her hand in his and turning it over, he rubbed at the faint scar on her wrist. "But…you should tell them that you're the last one. That you're both. It's a lie, but…I have faith that you can make them believe you."

Sara squeezed his hand as he kept rubbing his thumb over the scar. She gave a nod. "I probably won't remember half of what you just told me, but I'll do my best."

"That's all you can do," he told her as he brought her wrist up and kissed the scar before getting up from the table and letting go of her hand.

Going outside onto the dock and walking across it into the sand, he spotted a kid taking a video of the beach and some friends who were playing in the water. He walked over to him with a handful of cash in his hand.

"Hey, kid, speak English?" he asked.

"Si," the boy said, "I speak English."

"Want to make some money?" he asked as he held up the cash. "All you have to do is take a video from right here of me and my girl. Wait for me to get back inside the boat, then start recording. Once you see my girl leave in the taxi, you can stop. Deal?"

The kid didn't hesitate as he took the money. "Deal."

"Good. I'll give you another hundred if you actually do it," he told him before turning around and walking back to the boat.

As he walked back into the cabin, he gave a nod as Sara grabbed up her packed bag. Holding up his left hand, he signed to her /I love you./

"Love you too," she told him right back before leaving the boat.

He waited a couple of long moments before running after her without any shoes on his feet. In his mind, he was already convincing himself of the lies. It wasn't hard.

He was the one to blame for all of this. His obsession with her was, and had always been, his weakness.

~"When I pull the wings off of the fly—"~

His girl was a runner. But, she was also a killer.

He knew it because he knew her. He'd been able to read her since they first met. Sitting on that bath tub in that hotel room in Santa Cruz, looking down at her as she shivered in lukewarm bath water. She had told him without even realizing it.

She told him about her mother. Her father. How she had killed her abuser.

In his mind, a game formed. One that wasn't temporary but long lasting. A way to never play alone ever again. He wouldn't have a constant opponent, but a constant ally. A partner for life.

Through the tangled up thoughts that weaved the spider web, one string at a time, he asked her: "I want to take your picture? May I?"

Sara looked away, resting her hand on her crossed arms, as she told him, "I'm not in the mood to smile."

"You don't have to," he told her as he left the room.

After he'd taken the pictures of her that he wanted, capturing the most beautiful specimen he'd ever seen on film to be able to look at whenever he wanted, she asked him, "What's my story?"

He handed the camera over to her, letting her take a picture of him, as he smirked at how easy it had been for him to get her to accept him. She wanted to accept him. It was written all over her face and in her eyes. She wanted someone to save her from herself.

But, she didn't need saving. No. What she needed was to understand that fire that burned in her heart. The anger that resided inside was going to kill her unless she directed it in the direction that she needed to direct it in: at the abusers. She was like him. She just didn't know it. Not yet.

She needed to emerge from her cocoon.

Taking his camera back, he told her, "Only you know your story. You know your beginning, where you are now…and only you know what your dreams are for the future."

His dream for the future had been revealed to him that night. She had become more than his obsession. She had become his dream. His future. And now, no matter what, no matter where he went, or where she was, he would always be with her.

He had made her his wife...forever.

~"The fly never wonders why I did it."~

TBC…for the epilogue.

Disclaimer song used: "The Fly" by Dave Matthews Band (which can only be found on YouTube and iTunes...I think. Just Google it.)