Chapter 3 – Not at the Jeffersonian Anymore


Bones


6 hours earlier…

"I can't believe Thomas Vega is dead," Angela said, as I looked over his body just before Cam would begin her autopsy.

"People die every day, Ange. It's a part of life," I replied.

Angela shook her head while she also offered me a sad smile. "Yeah, but it's not every day it's someone you know." She walked around the body, her lips turning downwards into a frown. "Especially someone that has gone through an emotional situation with you."

I looked up. "You're referring to the fact that Hodgins and I were kidnapped last year."

Angela dipped her head. "Yes, sweetie. I am referring to that period last year where I thought I almost lost my best friend and the man that I—"

I stared at her when she didn't finish her sentence. "Man, that you what? Man, that you entered into a compatible partnership where you also happen to have coitus with?"

She laughed. "Uh, very romantic. Something like that."

I resumed looking at the body, my attention on the two burn marks on his chest, just above his heart. "The high voltage of electrocution so close to his heart, definitely caused the heart attack, which I am certain Cam will confirm is the cause of death."

"You should have seen when Booth slammed him on the table when you were missing… it was scary and hot all at once," Angela said wistfully.

I looked up at her again. "Booth slammed Vega?"

Angela grinned. "It was hardcore. Right after he learned you were taken. Vega told Booth only way you would survive would be if we paid up. Said you would be toast—I mean paraphrasing of course—if we didn't pay."

My forehead furrowed. "So, Booth's reaction was to slam him on a table?"

Angela laughed again. "Yes. And to promise to severely harm him should something happen to you." She looked at me her eyebrows crunched together. "What?"

"Booth's actions are a reasonable conclusion that he very much cares about me."

Angela's eyes go wide, her mouth falling open slightly. "Sweetie, I am pretty sure he would kill for you, or even die for you. That isn't just care about you. That is a I love you kind of response."

I stood there pondering her words. I always knew that Booth displayed signs and characteristics that he cared about me. His possessive feelings to protect me and watch out for me. At first, I thought it was annoying—I know how to protect myself—but now, I find it charming and admirable. It made Booth who he is. It was why he was not only a successful sniper, but a remarkable F.B.I. agent.

Our aligning interests for him to solve murders and me to find the truth in their bones, has turned out to be why our partnership is so successful. Why we catch the bad guys and give justice to our victims.

It was hard to deny our intensifying attraction to each other these days. I find Booth pleasing to look at, and he has more than once told me that he thought I was beautiful. Science would say our reaction to each other is due to the central dopamine, which produces neurons in the mid-brain region, making our attraction to each other more productive if we wanted to act on that attraction in a sexual capacity.

"Earth to Brennan!" Angela called, breaking through my thoughts.

I blinked. "What?"

"You we're doing that, in a trance kind of thing again."

"I care about Booth. Immensely," I said, a moment later.

She chuckled. "I know. Well, that when you say care, you really mean you love him."

I shot her a glare. "I don't love Booth. I care about him… a lot."

"You love him," she corrected again.

"Ange…"

"Ok, you ladies are going to want to see my newest experiment," Hodgins said, coming into the room and interrupting our conversation.

Ange and I looked at each other, the way we always do when Hodgins comes barging in all excited looking for an audience to his experiments. At least it tabled our conversation on another topic I didn't want to address right now.

Angela and I followed Hodgins to his workstation where he had several watermelons lined up. He pulled out two pairs of safety glasses and handed them to Angela and me.

"Uh, Hodge, what is all this?" Ange asked.

Hodgins grinned. "Testing out the theory of cause of death on the Vega case."

My brows were pinched together, as I still held onto the safety glasses. "While I admit this could be something interesting, it is not pertinent to the case," I reply.

"The man was killed by a taser. Of course, this is pertinent to the case," he argued.

I shook my head, extending my hand. "That's just it. We already know he was killed by a three-million-volt stun gun. How or why does this help us?"

"I agree with Brennan on this one," Ange adds.

Hodgins's face falls a little, looking more annoyed that we aren't as excited as him for the experiment. Probably because it would mostly take away his ability to yell, king of the lab once his experiment proved his hypothesis.

"Look…we know what kind of murder weapon, but as always it is important to provide the details or create a replica of the right one." He looks at the two of us, and when I am about to open my mouth to argue, he continues, "ok, this is the Grave Digger we are talking about here. Someone who is conniving, calculated, and very dangerous. When we catch this bastard, I am making sure we tie up every loose end so there is no doubt left in the jury's mind."

Hodgins looks over at me, a silent plea passing between us. Even though I still don't think this experiment warrants all this or is that pertinent for us to get the conviction when we get on the stand, I can understand Hodgins need to scientifically give the court and jury a visual rendering of what took place.

Booth always tells me that the jury doesn't always want to her the—scientific- Mumbo-jumbo—as he calls it, but the human emotional concept of the story. We often argue this point that it is the science that tells the facts, gets the warrant and conviction…but I can't fully argue that appealing to lesser intelligent people on an emotional level hasn't help proven our case on occasion.

I put my safety glasses on in support. "Fine. Proceed."

Hodgins picks up his first choice of stun gun going to the fruit to deliver the voltage, the same time Cam walks in behind us. We all hear the crackle from the mechanism hitting the fruit, just as the three of us—Ange and I taking the brunt—of the gooey, sugary insides all over our hair, face, and clothes.

Hodgins looks up at us with an apologetic look. "Wow. Who would have thought a three-million-volt stun gun can do all that to fruit?" The three of us aren't laughing as we pick pieces of fruit off us. "I guess now would not be a good time to say, king of the lab, huh?"

Cam presses her thin lips together. "You think."

I pick another large piece of watermelon from my hair. "I need to change," I announce, walking away from the lab. Ange and Cam follow after me. "Cam, I don't have another clean outfit here at the lab. I am going to run home and I will be right back."

Cam's heels on the pavement click in faster succession as she scoots ahead of me, turning to walk backwards as she faces me. "Uh, I, don't think that is a great idea. Booth said to stay here until he is with you. We should wait for Booth."

I snort. "Booth is not the boss of me. Besides, I am more than capable of taking care of myself."

"Yes, yes, I know. But Booth—"

"Will be just fine," I interject, cutting off her argument. "My apartment isn't far, and I will be right back. In fact, I'll be back before Booth arrives to pick me up for that appointment with the state attorney."

I move around her and start walking again.

"I still don't think this is a great idea," she calls after me.

"Duly noted," I holler back as I raise my hand in the air.


Twenty-five minutes later…

Even though I was sure that I was in no immediate danger, I calculated how angry both Cam and Booth—specifically more Booth—at knowing that I left the Jeffersonian without his bodyguard services.

As I entered my apartment, I poked my head in first take a quick look around and make sure everything was exactly how I left it this morning when I locked up. Everything indeed had been exactly how I left it.

I sighed, opening the door, walking all the way in and locking it behind me. "I never used to be this paranoid before working with Booth," I muttered.

I placed my keys and bag on the counter of my apartment and made my way to my bedroom and bathroom. By the time I flipped the light on in my bathroom, my shirt and pants were already removed and shoved in the hamper as I worked my brush through my hair to make sure I got all the remnants of watermelon out, and I was sure I looked more presentable.

I quickly finished pulling on my new pair of pants as soon as I heard my phone ringing from the opposite end of my apartment where I had left my bag.

I raced over to grab my phone, answering as soon as I saw Booth's name on the caller ID. "Hello?"

"Bones!"

I roll my eyes, cause even with him only saying the one word, his tone already alerts me that he is extremely angry with me. "Booth. Okay, listen. I know I wasn't supposed to go anywhere—"

"Your damn right…"

"But…it was just to come home and do a quick change, and I am headed back now," I said, my eye catching something near the desk to the side of me.

There was a piece of paper sitting just on the edge of my desk, something that I recognized hadn't been there before. Something I know hadn't been there before. I had just sat at my desk last night working on notes and personal items, and everything had neatly been put back in place. I know I had not left a single piece of paper on my desk when I had left this morning.

I still held the keys in my hand that I just had picked up from the bowl I left them in when I got here. I figured if I told Booth I was already on my way back to the Jeffersonian he would be less upset with the whole situation, which is exactly what I told him.

"No. Stay there and I will come and get you and pick you up," he said through the phone.

I clear my throat as I approach my desk and start to get a look at the paper, even though I am starting to get an uneasy feeling in the bottom of my stomach. Booth would say this is a gut reaction, but there is no scientific proof that anyone's gut can actually factually do this.

"Booth, I'll be fine. It will take less than twenty minutes to get back. You'll see. Nothing to worry about," I reassured over the phone.

As I finally reached the desk, the piece of paper was fully visible now in my hands. It wasn't a written hand note, but something that had been typed on a computer. In large bolded, black font. It only had three words typed on it.

WE MEET AGAIN

"Stay there. I'll come get you," Booth's voice on the other end of the phone ordered.

"Boot—"

My response was cut off with a grunt at as soon as I started to feel a jolt of pain on the right side of my torso. That gut feeling, I was having was enough to heighten my senses, making my fight instincts take over. I had moved just enough out of the way, that I didn't get the full intensity of what I knew to be a stun gun.

The Grave Digger had been in my apartment. Waiting for me.

I turned; adjusting my stance so I could fully look at my attacker. There was no originality, dressed in black pants, long sleeve black turtleneck, and a black mask covering their entire face but their eyes and mouth.

"It's you…" I croaked out.

The person before me, lifted their head, but said nothing as a response. They weren't interested in talking. I realized that my phone that had been to my ear when talking to Booth, had fallen and was laying on the floor when I had been shocked. The intruder in front of me also looked towards the same area, their eyes sparking with the same recognition that it wouldn't be long before Booth or the police arrived. They knew I was on the phone with Booth the moment they attacked me.

I could hear Booth shout my name through the phone, the standoff continuing between me and my intruder. Their expression—even hidden by the mask—the way they carried themselves, they too weren't intimated by getting into a hand-to-hand combat with me. They also knew how to fight. They were confident and determined.

So was I.

What was most surprising was that one of the most insightful clues now that I had come face-to-face with what I knew to be the Grave Digger, was the fact that the Grave Digger was a female. About five-four in height and anywhere from one-hundred and twenty-five to one-hundred and thirty-five pounds in weight. Average for a female and based on body structure and muscle composition, almost even more difficult to incapacitate their victim.

Which was why the Grave Digger was always preplanning their attacks. Made sure the details to the kidnapping and transporting of the unconscious body were always painstakingly and methodically run through like a dry run over and over. Always the best time of day with less witnesses, easiest access points to incapacitate and drag a body, and transporting them to a location where almost no one would be checking in on the place. No security or patrols.

It isn't that a female could be a successful serial killer—the Grave Digger was proving that—just that only eight percent of serial killers turned out to be female. I was now more than intrigued to know the identity behind the mask.

She attacked first, coming at me with her stun gun aimed and ready. I was quick to block, making sure my skin stayed clear from the prong mechanism. I doubted based on effort to get into my place and make themselves known to me—in addition to the fact that Vega's murder scene did not have a note—that the Grave Digger had different plans for me then just attempting to murder me in my own apartment.

I brought my leg up, to kick her back, putting more space between us. We sized each other again, the Grave Digger holding onto the stun gun even harder. The fact that she wouldn't let it go, only told me more that she was comfortable with her ability to incapacitate her victim. All this time…she was always playing with her victims.

She attacked again at the front, trying to grab my arm, but with both my hands free, I grabbed hold of her shoulder, delivering a blow to her solar plexus. The Grave Digger stepped back, hitting the column connecting my front entryway and my kitchen. I attacked seeing that her back was literally against the wall. She struck me with a punch before I could fully block.

I groaned, stepping back, before I advanced again. I grabbed hold of her wrist holding the stun gun holding it out so I could use my momentum to flip her on her back. She was on the ground, but quickly recovered in kicking out my ankle, causing me to fall on my back as well.

We tussled back and forth, each of us on top at one point landing a blow to the other. I hit her again with another swift hit to the head, before rolling away to get back on my feet. The Grave Digger did the same.

We were both good in the practice of martial arts. We had to be fighting for the last five minutes, and I could start to see the desperation on her face. Either she was going to have to abandon her plan at getting me—Booth certainly making sure she wouldn't get another chance—or she needed to subdue me now.

I needed to finish this.

I advanced; but the Grave Digger had one additional trick up her sleeve. Something I hadn't foreseen. With her free hand, she reached into her pocket, opening her palm to blow some kind of powder in my face. Not only did it sting to the point of what pepper spray would be like, but it caused me to gasp as if I was unable to breath in air.

The Grave Digger pushed me back against my counter, her hands around my neck. Our eyes locked, hers filled with a rage and excitement that had me feeling a sense of dread and fear. She squeezed at my throat making breathing even harder, but not enough to knock me out—just immobilize me as she brought the stun gun towards my face.

I was going to lose. It was about being strategic at this point. I was going to have to do something that was going to cause a lot of pain and be captured. I just hoped it was enough for Booth to find me in time.

The phone that was still lying on the floor…I could hear Booth's voice on the other end. "Temperance!"

I took the moment to break free…enough that I could turn, my back to the Grave Digger as I put my own plan into action. I felt the prongs hit my neck, and then the volt of electricity as she whispered into my ear, "Time to sleep."

I fell to the floor, my body convulsing. It wasn't enough to knock me out, but enough to keep me on the ground. Everything went quiet. The phone that had still been connected, was where the Grave Digger turned her attention too. She bent down to pick up it.

"Bones, answer me!" Booth demanded.

The Grave Digger looked at the phone and then back at me, walking over towards me. Her lips turned upwards into a sickening smile, before she put it to her ear, her smile growing even wider. I knew that Booth was saying something, but I couldn't make out the words. The pain in my body was excruciating.

The Grave Digger closed the lid shut on the phone, walking back over towards me as she looked down at my face. The last thing I could think of was Booth, before the back of her hand with the taser hit me again.

I slipped into darkness.


Present day…

I blinked slowly, trying to bring everything into focus. It's no use, with everything being dark around me.

I'm lying down. My hands are no longer bound, but they are at my side, and based on the fact that I am lying down, where I am it's cramped. I can tell that I can't just sit up or get up.

I'm buried alive again.

I close my eyes, refusing to let the panic take over. Logic. I have to keep my wits and logic and use that as an opportunity to get out of here. This is definitely too small of a box to be in to be able to breathe for a full twenty-four hours. I will definitely be dead in a max of two hours if I don't find a way out.

I attempt to search my pockets for anything that could give me light or a means for escape, but I locate nothing. Until my hand comes back to my side and there, I feel something slim, long, and sharp. I grip the item in my hand, feeling each edge, the smoothness of the object, and the best advantage points in gripping the item.

"A nail filer," I say out loud.

But why? I didn't have this item on me specifically when I was taken. I know I have one in my purse, but not on my body. That could only mean one thing. The Grave Digger put this item in here with me when she sealed me in. But why?

I notice on one of the ends of the file, a round button. I press the button, a smile light illuminating in the darkness around me. I use the light to start looking from my head to my toes.

I was put in a coffin.

I try and push at the lid, but it doesn't budge more than an inch. I am completely locked in. The fact that I was placed in here with a metal nail filer doesn't make any sense…unless it was done on purpose. The Grave Digger wants to see if I could escape. Escape on my own without the help of anyone else, like Hodgins. Did that mean I wasn't buried alive? What would be waiting for me on the outside if I were to make it out?

My mind was already made up. Trying to find out the unknown on the outside was going to be a hell of a lot better than staying in here and suffocating to death.

"Okay, Grave Digger…game on."


A/N: I hope you liked this recent chapter.