Chapter Thirteen
Images flickered in Nick's memory, very few making sense. His brain felt lighter than air, his neck the only thing seemingly keeping it from floating away. He remembered Hank's worried face up close but his voice calling from much farther away. Wu was there too, more grim-faced than usual. And Matthew, taunting him about something.
By the time Nick finally felt himself solidly return to his body, he blinked open dazed eyes. Early morning sunlight spilled into what appeared to be yet another hospital room, his second in about as many days.
Nick simply laid still, basking in the feeling of being between asleep and awake, not yet encumbered by the weight of past memories.
The door to his room was open. Nick placidly watched as people occasionally walked past, content to remain undisturbed.
A young man clad in scrubs stepped into the room, reading a chart. He looked up at Nick, doing a double take when he saw that Nick was awake.
"Detective!" he exclaimed. "You're awake! How are you feeling?"
Nick gave the question some thought. "A bit foggy, but okay."
The young man nodded knowingly. "I bet. That's a common symptom from the drug we found in your system, though a version of it we've never seen before."
"Drug?" Nick felt his brain sluggishly kick-start into gear.
"A strange derivative of Rohypnol," the young man answered. He looked at the machines beside Nick and scratched a couple notes into the chart in his hands. "What do you remember?"
The prompt brought forth more memories at once than Nick knew what to do with. "I . . . my brother. He gave me something." Urgency sharpened his tone. "I need to see my partner. Hank Griffin. Right now."
The young man was unfazed by Nick's demands. "He asked to be called as soon as you woke up. Is there anyone else you would like me to call?"
The denial was instant on Nick's tongue, but he bit it back. "Um . . . Frank Rabe? His contact should be in my phone."
The young man's eyebrows lifted. "Mr. Rabe is here, actually. I saw him not too long ago. He was checking in on the Prince."
Nick gave the young man a sharp look.
Unbidden, the young man woged into a creature that reminded Nick strongly of a rabbit, his human ears growing and extending outward.
"Mr. Rabe arranged for your care to be seen to by wesen," the young man explained. "The better to watch out for threats since we know what to look for." His features shifted back to human once more. "Shall I see if Mr. Rabe is free?"
"Please." Nick nodded.
The young man nodded and turned to leave.
"Wait!" Nick suddenly called.
The young man stopped and turned back, an expectant look on his face.
"Captain Renard," Nick said. "The- the Prince? He's okay?"
The young man nodded. "His highness was very lucky. His Hexenbiester guard was able to stem the blood loss. His surgery repaired the damage, and he's doing well. He woke up not too long ago, actually."
Nick nodded, taking in the news and the relief it generated. "That's good. Thanks."
The young man nodded at Nick, then left.
The solitude finished off the crumbling wall that had blocked Nick's memories from coming forward. They spilled over him like a tsunami, images of the victims intermingling with Matthew's blasé confession. Shame and humiliation filled Nick. How had he missed such an obvious possibility? Matthew hadn't made any secret of his disdain for wesen; hell, he'd flat out told Nick time and again how much he disdained them.
Nick was so wrapped up in his shock and grief that he missed Frank's arrival.
"Nick?" Frank asked gently.
Nick turned to the doorway, eyes immediately taking in the lawyer's slumped shoulders and weary expression. A new weight seemed to have settled over him, new lines etched around his eyes, though he still appeared as impeccably dressed and coiffed as ever.
"It's Matthew," Nick told him. "Matthew's the Huntsman."
Rather than react with surprise, Frank merely nodded and moved to Nick's side.
"You knew?" Nick asked, hurt and betrayal edging into his voice.
"We didn't have proof," Frank told him gently. "He covered his tracks too well. But yes, we knew."
The realization was almost too much for Nick, threatening to tip his world on one end. "You . . . you never said . . ."
Frank's eyes sharpened slightly. "We tried. A couple of times." He sighed. "But, with no concrete proof, we couldn't really press the issue."
"You keep saying 'we'," Nick pointed out, still wrestling with his rolling emotions. "Who's 'we'?"
"The prince," Frank answered. "Myself. The council. The wesen we assigned as guards."
The admission only deepened Nick's distress. "Everyone knew but me?"
An oddly fond look crept onto Frank's face. "Nick, you have a wonderful quality of readily defending your friends. Unwavering faith in the people you believe in. Unfortunately, that can work against you and blind you to their true natures at times."
The words were kind, but Nick could find no comfort with them.
Another memory suddenly clicked into place. "Mac!" Nick exclaimed. "Matthew . . . I think he was going to go after him! Is he okay?"
The growing grief told Nick the awful truth before Frank could utter the words.
"Mac . . . it was fast," Frank finally said. "He wouldn't have felt a thing."
Nick's eyes stung with a sudden rush of tears. "But you said . . . there were guards?"
Frank looked away. "Two were assigned to you. Neither one survived."
Nick closed his eyes in pain. Three more deaths. Three lost lives because of him.
A gentle touch on his arm drew his attention. Nick opened his eyes to meet Frank's serious gaze.
"I'm sorry, Nick," he said quietly.
Nick's eyes lowered. He swallowed thickly against the lump in his throat. Taking a steadying breath, Nick reached over and tugged the IV out of his arm.
Frank's eyebrows drew together. "Nick?"
Nick pulled off his pulse oximeter and tossed his blankets aside. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and slowly slid to his feet.
"Nick, what are you doing?" Frank asked.
"Matthew has Monroe," Nick stated. He shuffled to a nearby cabinet in search of his clothes. "I might not have been able to stop him from leaving a trail of victims in his wake, but I'll be damned if I let him add another innocent life to that count." He opened a drawer and pulled out his clothes.
Frank moved to block Nick's path to the bathroom. "He's too dangerous! What's to stop him from making you his next target?"
"I don't know, but I have to try!" Nick exclaimed. He shouldered past Frank and strode into the bathroom, remembering at the last moment not to slam the door closed behind him.
Frank stared at the closed door, racking his brain for the words that would change Nick's mind.
"Rushing off without a plan is suicide," he called to Nick. "And a guaranteed way to fail. We have to be smart about this."
The door was silent.
"Don't do anything rash," Frank continued. "Look; meet with the council. Let's come up with a plan together."
The door swung open and Nick emerged. He strode back to the cabinet, tossing his hospital gown onto his bed along the way. "While Monroe's a prisoner of my homicidal brother? I can't wait that long."
He opened another drawer and withdrew a plastic bag that held his personal effects. Tugging it open, he pulled out his phone and checked the screen.
"Nick, please think about this," Frank pleaded.
"I have." Nick met his eyes, resolute. "Too many people have been hurt because of me. Because I was too blind to see who Matthew really was. I won't put anyone else's lives at risk while I clean up after my mess."
Closing the drawer, Nick called up a number on his phone while he strode from the room.
Frank watched him go, then looked down as he pinched the bridge of his nose. With a weary sigh, he dropped his hand and walked out of the room.
The trek back the way he'd come was made in silence despite the roar of his thoughts filling his ears. Half-made plans, fail-safes, and strategic arrangements of their people chased one another in Frank's mind.
Frank paused outside of a door, knocked gently, and entered. "Your highness."
Sean Renard was just as Frank had left him, sitting propped up in bed with his arm strapped to his chest. His eyes were as sharp and alert as ever despite the pain medication he was on, zeroing in instantly on his returning visitor.
"He knows now," Frank said to the unasked question. "He confirmed it."
A quick flicker of sympathy passed across Renard's face and was immediately quashed. Renard nodded.
"There's more," Frank said. "The Huntsman has taken Nick's Blutbad friend."
Renard stared at him for half a second, then shoved his blankets off of his legs. He winced slightly, twisting his body around to climb to his feet.
For the second time that morning, Frank found himself protesting against a hospital patient's move to leave. "Your highness, what are you doing?"
"Our time frame has just shortened," Renard replied. "Get my clothes."
Frank reluctantly went to the cabinet where one of Renard's guards had placed a fresh change of clothes. "Why do you say that?"
Renard gave him a wry look as he gingerly started to hobble across the floor. "With Nick on the move and hunting for the Blutbad, he won't stop until he finds his brother. We need to be ready for when that happens."
Frank returned to Renard's side and took his arm, steadying him. "I never said Nick left the hospital."
With minimal support from Frank, Renard shuffled towards the bathroom. "I can't imagine anything short of death would stop Nick from rushing to rescue those he counts as friends. And even then, I'm not entirely certain Nick still wouldn't try."
Frank couldn't argue with that assessment. "With everything happening, I doubt Nick has done more than glance at the oath for the Vertrauentrank. He may not be ready to bond."
"Nevertheless, we'll need to have everything prepared on our end." The two paused in the doorway to the bathroom. "The rest, we'll figure out when the time comes."
Frank grunted. "Not the best strategy, but I suppose it's the best we've got."
Renard leveled an imperious gaze on Frank. "Gather the council for an emergency meeting at our secondary site. Call in the guard, and any contacts who can be placed strategically for drawing the Huntsman in."
"Yes, your highness," Frank replied. "When would you like to meet?"
"Now," Renard replied. "The Huntsman has more than worn out his welcome. One way or another, this ends tonight."
The precinct appeared to have finally fallen into the abyss of chaos by the time Nick arrived. Somehow, police officers, reporters, and men and women in suits filled the lobby and spilled past the temporary security setup that had been set in place. Nick managed to squeeze around people unnoticed, intent on finding Hank.
The crowd thinned slightly the further Nick moved away from the lobby only to grow once more as he arrived in his bullpen. Fighting back a sudden surge of annoyance, Nick maneuvered around the press of bodies.
Wu spotted him first, appearing beside Nick as if from thin air. "Nick! Hey, I thought you were in the hospital."
"I was," Nick confirmed as they reached his desk. "Now I'm here."
Wu rolled his eyes, but then softened his gaze. "You heard about Mac?"
Grief clouded Nick's eyes. "Yeah."
Wu clapped a gentle hand on Nick's shoulder. "He was a good man. A good cop."
Nick nodded, meeting his gaze. "He was. And we're going to nail Matthew for him, for Arnold, for all of them."
"So it's true then?" Wu's hand fell away. "Hank mentioned it before he left to report to Lavelle; ordered the APB."
Nick stiffened his spine, lifting his chin. "Yeah, it's true. Is that where Hank is? With Lavelle?"
Wu glanced over at Renard's office. Nick unconsciously copied the move.
"Looks like they've moved to the conference room to brief the team," Wu stated. "You sure you're up for this?"
He could have been referring to Nick's recent release from the hospital, Mac's death, the revelation of having a serial killer for a brother, or some amalgamation of all three. Nick's answer was the same, regardless.
"You better believe it," he replied, making his way to the conference room.
There was a group of about six or seven cops gathered at the open doorway to the conference room. No one was inclined to move, but once they realized who Nick was, they cleared a path for him into the room.
Hank was standing at the wall that held the victims' photos, speaking to an overstuffed room of police officers. Standing beside him was a tall, muscular man with dark skin and a shaved head. Nick didn't know Captain Lavelle very well, but he knew the older man was well-liked and respected by those who worked for him.
Hank's eyes landed on Nick first and he nodded in acknowledgement, but he didn't skip a beat as he continued filling everyone in on the victims and their manner of death.
Captain Lavelle noticed him next. His expression was inscrutable as he studied Nick. Nick gave nothing away in return as he took a space against the opposite wall that had been cleared for him.
". . . confirmed that the man responsible is U.S. Marshal Matthew Becker," Hank announced. Another officer near Hank began passing around what appeared to be copies of photos that were from Matthew's personnel file. "He is to be considered armed and extremely dangerous, highly skilled in close-quarters combat and with unknown access to a variety of weapons. Approach with extreme caution."
"Any ideas on where to start looking?" one woman called out. Nick thought she looked familiar but couldn't place her.
Hank glanced at Nick. Nick shook his head.
"He's not from around here, so start with the usual," Hank answered. "Abandoned buildings, drug dens; shake down your CIs. Someone somewhere has to have noticed a stranger lurking around."
Lavelle's deep voice resonated around the room. "Pair up and see Lieutenant Acosta for quadrants to patrol. She's running the command center from here and is coordinating the grid search. Do not, and I cannot stress this enough, do not search alone. We've already lost several good cops to this bastard; don't give him more."
The men and women in the room stood, clustering in groups of two and three as they began shuffling out of the room. Nick hung back, offering tight smiles and sharp nods to the officers who greeted him.
Hank made his way through the thinning crowd to Nick's side. "I still think you should've stayed put, man."
Nick lifted an eyebrow. "I seem to recall a certain partner who refused to stay in protective custody despite being stalked by Oleg Stark."
"All right, all right." Hank gave him a concerned look. "You sure you're okay?"
"I'm well enough to help track Matthew down," Nick returned.
"As admirable as your determination is, Detective, I'm afraid that's not going to be possible."
Nick and Hank turned as Lavelle approached them, the captain's expression an odd mix of stern and sympathetic.
"Sir?" Nick asked.
"According to my files, you were hospitalized twice in as many days while working this case," Lavelle stated.
"I'm fine-," Nick began.
"Furthermore," Lavelle continued, cutting Nick off, "the killer in question also happens to be your brother. Your involvement presents a conflict of interest."
"Captain, I only just met Matthew a few days ago!" Nick protested.
"I don't care if you only met last night," Lavelle countered. "A blood connection between you and the suspect would give a sense of impropriety to the DA."
"Sir, Nick would never allow any connection to interfere with the job," Hank stated.
"Nevertheless, I want this by the book." Lavelle glanced at Hank briefly, then looked back at Nick. "I'm benching you on this one, Detective."
"Captain!" Nick cried.
Lavelle lifted a hand. "My decision is final, Detective. I'm also placing you on medical leave; while I'm sure you are feeling all right, I'm not feeling all right with those two back-to-back hospital visits." His expression softened slightly. "We've got this, Detective. He won't get away with this."
Lavelle looked at Hank, giving him a nod, then turned and left.
Hank gave Nick a sympathetic look. "I know you don't want to hear this, but maybe Lavelle's right. This case hasn't exactly been a walk in the park."
Nick was hanging onto his bubbling temper by the skin of his teeth. "Matthew is my brother. My responsibility. I should be helping to find him, and you know it!"
Hank held up his hands in surrender. "I know, man, but Captain Lavelle has a good point. Try to at least take today to recover. I'll work on Lavelle and see if I can get him to agree to let you back on duty tomorrow."
"Tomorrow might be too late!" Nick argued.
"It's the best I've got." Hank placed a hand on Nick's shoulder and squeezed it gently. "Nick, whatever happens, it's not your fault. None of this is on you. You know that, right?"
Nick gritted his teeth mulishly, refusing to answer.
Hank squeezed his shoulder again and patted it, then turned to head back to the bullpen.
Nick glanced around the empty conference room, taking in the evidence of their time working on the case. He could feel the ghosts of their past selves, of Hector and Mac, of them working as a team to track down their serial killer.
While the killer himself sat among them the whole time.
Nick glared at the photos of the victims on the wall, but his eyes were seeing other images flashing past like a slideshow. Nothing that Matthew did gave Nick any indication that he was anything other than he appeared . . .
. . . or did it?
Renard's warning to watch Matthew's interactions with wesen rang in his ears. Matthew loathed wesen; he'd made no secret of that. He'd been trying to convince Nick that wesen were evil and needed to be culled since they met.
Nick shook his head. Despite the stories he had been hearing of his Aunt Marie, he just couldn't reconcile that his family could be so bloodthirsty and cruel. Surely his parents-.
Nick's thoughts skidded to a halt.
His parents had sent Matthew to live with their grandparents to begin his Grimm training, but had kept their Grimm heritage a secret from Nick.
Why?
The mystery swelled within Nick. Why keep him in the dark and not Matthew? It couldn't be because they had assumed only Matthew would have the ability to see wesen; the ability had been shared between their mother and aunt.
Nick couldn't fathom how his aunt had managed to keep such important information from him. Especially given his family's penchant for keeping such meticulous records.
Time ground to a halt.
Records.
Nick spun on his heel and jogged out of the room.
A frantic search of Aunt Marie's trailer yielded no new books or journals with information about Matthew or past Huntsmen.
A second, slower search uncovered an unexpected false drawer in one cabinet. Despite the sudden rush of excitement, the only thing inside were dusty vials with powders labeled in German. Nick wasn't entirely certain that Marie had even known about them.
The third search was far more meticulous and lasted well into the afternoon. Nick sank onto the cot in despair, staring around at the utter mess he had made all for naught. Opened doors and drawers, books pulled off of shelves and placed in haphazard stacks, weapons strewn about, and there was nothing to show for his efforts.
Nick fell back on the cot, staring in dismay at the ceiling. He had been so sure his aunt had kept a personal journal. She had to have written about Matthew. She might have made a point to keep her secrets from Nick, but she still kept them there in the trailer. She would have kept Matthew here, too. Nick was certain of that.
Something on the ceiling caught his eye.
Nick frowned, eyes zeroing in on a seam in the metal ceiling of the trailer. There was something different about it . . .
Slowly, without taking his eyes off of the seam, Nick rose to his feet and climbed onto the cot. He lifted his hands, hovering briefly over the ceiling before pressing against it. He felt around the cool metal, occasionally knocking as he searched for imperfections.
One sharp knock echoed deeply back at him. Nick froze.
Hollow.
His heart began to pick up speed, his hands not far behind. Nick began to push and slide against the ceiling, looking for movement.
There.
It was tiny. Designed to look like the rest of the ceiling; a latch no bigger than Nick's little finger. If Nick hadn't been searching, he would never have known it was there.
A couple of careful prods lifted the latch straight out at a ninety-degree angle from the ceiling. Nick tugged at it, managing to twist it. With another tug, a section of the ceiling began to slide aside, right at the seam that Nick had been staring at.
Excitement bubbled up in Nick, and he slid the panel the rest of the way open.
A small storage space, no bigger than the size of a standard cooler, had been hidden away above the cot. Inside were at least ten notebooks of various sizes, some framed photos, and a small ornately carved box.
Gently, Nick gathered the contents and lifted them out of the storage space. Climbing off of the cot, he sat down and carefully laid the treasures on the cot beside him.
The photos were unfamiliar to Nick; a man with sharp features stared back at him from one. He appeared in another, holding a much younger Marie Kessler and looking at her with such love that it sent a pang echoing in Nick's heart.
The box opened easily. Inside were more photos along with various trinkets and souvenirs that had clearly meant something to Marie. Nick set the box aside with the framed photos, promising himself to spend more time with them later.
The notebooks were not quite as old as the Grimm journals Nick had barely begun diving into, but they weren't exactly new either. Each one, however, was filled cover to cover with his aunt's tidy script. Nick took a moment to let the familiar twinge of grief wash over him as he thumbed through the pages.
As the moment faded, Nick steeled himself and began to scan each page, line by line, for some reference to Matthew or the Huntsman.
The first journal was carefully discarded behind Nick on the cot. A second followed after another twenty minutes, and a third after that. When the fourth journal turned up no results, Nick felt worry begin to worm its way through him. He didn't know what exactly he hoped to find in his aunt's journals, but he didn't have anything else to go on.
Nothing about Matthew could be found in the fifth journal, and by the sixth worry was turning back into despair. Nick was beginning to convince himself to give up when his eyes skittered over the word 'Matty' in the eighth journal.
Sucking in a sharp breath, Nick reread the name, then retreated back to the start of the entry. He noted the date with some surprise; apparently Marie had met with Matthew shortly after he and Marie had moved to Portland.
On the scale of betrayal Nick had been dealing with over the last week, the revelation shouldn't have slid quite so high. It certainly wasn't the worst thing either Marie or Matthew had done by a long shot, but Nick couldn't help the flutter of upset. Ruthlessly shoving it aside, he turned his full attention to the entry.
I thought I had imagined seeing him. After all, the odds of running into him were far too slim. And yet, who should appear on our doorstep the next day but Matty?
It has been five years since I last saw him, but he hasn't changed a bit. I know Kelly had hoped that mom and dad would tame him; train him to only hunt the bad ones, but I fear they merely sharpened the axe.
Matty claimed he was just stopping by to say hi, but I don't believe that. Especially not with the sudden deaths of a few Blutbaden on the other side of town. I'd like to believe he's unaware of the danger he's courting so recklessly in a known and protected canton, but something tells me that not only does Matty know, but he's hoping to provoke a response from the prince.
I honestly don't know which scenario I'd prefer.
Nick turned the page, so wrapped up in his aunt's memories that he gave a little start when a folded piece of paper slipped free and landed on his lap. Glancing between it and the journal, Nick set the journal aside and carefully opened the paper.
It opened into a single sheet, soft with age and addressed to him. The date in the top corner told Nick that it had been written just a couple of weeks after the diary entry. After a quick internal debate, Nick swapped the letter for the journal to finish the entry.
A quick scan revealed little else. Matthew had made claims of an innocent visit with family and Marie didn't believe him. No other entries in the journal made any further mention of Matthew.
Satisfied, Nick returned to the letter.
Nicky,
If you're reading this and I haven't already told you about Matthew, then I am so sorry. I wanted you to know the truth, but your mother insisted you never find out.
I can't say much; even this letter is a huge risk. I wasn't even going to write this letter, but I saw Matty at your school, watching you.
I can't stress this enough: stay away from Matthew.
Nick gave a snort. "Yeah, worked that one out on my own."
Your parents discovered that Matthew could see wesen by the time he was five. They thought they could help him, but they were wrong. He was only six when he got his first taste of blood.
Nick sucked in a sharp breath.
We hoped our parents could tame his urges, and for a while it seemed to work. Your parents were even talking about bringing him back home. But during one visit, a couple months after you were born, he tried to drown you.
Nick's heart skipped a beat at that.
Fortunately, your father was close by and was able to save your life. But at that moment, we all saw the monster behind your brother's face.
Mother and Father insisted they could train him. They didn't see his face as Reed was trying to save you. I did. So did Kelly. Sadly, our parents could not be convinced. Though I have no proof, I will spend the rest of my life wondering if he also didn't have a hand in our parents' deaths as well.
Do not trust Matthew. Do not seek him out. If he tracks you down, do not believe his lies.
I am so sorry to have kept so much from you. Your parents hoped that by shielding you from the truth of our heritage that they could also shield you from following the same path as Matthew. Please don't judge them, us, for mistakes made from actions born from love.
Watch your back.
All my love,
Marie
Nick stared blankly at the letter, his mind already spinning in several directions. So many questions he'd been carrying, uncertainties on his mind, suddenly made sense.
Matthew's psychopathy, years in the making and from before Nick was even born, did little to assuage Nick's guilt at missing the signs. Carefully folding the letter, Nick tucked it back between the pages where it belonged.
Now what? Nick frowned at the mess of journals on the cot. While he appreciated the new insight into his brother's actions, it didn't exactly give him anything to go on. In fact, the only true new piece of information Nick had was that Matthew had been in Portland before. Surprising, but not exactly-.
Nick went rigid.
If Matthew had been in Portland before, and had been killing wesen then, he would have needed some place to stash his weapons. A search of his credit and movements now had yielded them no results; Matthew was far too experienced to make such rookie mistakes. But a search going back over the last fifteen or so years . . .
Quickly fumbling with his phone, Nick managed to unlock it and dial the number he needed.
"Wu! Hey!" he greeted, breathless with excitement. "Can you do me a favor?"
