Seized
Summary: Don Flack is first to a murder scene and awaits the NYPD to join him. But as he waits, someone grabs him.
A/N: I don't know how to trace a call, so I tried my best to describe without actually… describing… if that makes sense… And I always try to get in a post every two days, but this was a little late 'cause I don't have internet at my dad's house.
The honed edge of the blade was pressed against his wrist, against a vein, giving him a sharp pain that ran through his arm. It wasn't enough pressure to break skin, but almost. With a flick of his wrist, it would dig deep and draw blood. But he didn't press any harder, just kept it there with his eyes closed and his breathing uneven. The room was totally silent. His heart was pounding a tattoo in his chest. He was scared.
No. Don dropped the knife to the floor. If I give in, he wins. We cannot let him win. He remained still, looking at the ceiling with his jaw locked. Still his heart pounded, and no matter how deeply he took in breaths, it wouldn't slow.
Suddenly, he began to thrash, screaming out and kicking his legs. He slipped to the floor and continued thrashing, trying desperately to free himself. Don stopped, chest heaving, and tried pulling his feet apart. There was no avail, so he pulled harder, grunting. Still no luck. He threw his head back and screamed again, yelling at the top of his lungs and lashing his body around again. After moments of doing this, he stopped once more, gasping for air.
"Damn…" he gasped out. He lay on the floor thinking, raking his mind for any chance of escape. He wiggled his hips for a moment, trying to keep the weight from his hands. Then it came to him.
Don looked to the side at the knife; he moved his way across the floor to reach it. His finger tips grasped it and he laughed. Slowly he lifted his hips from the ground and moved his hands under. They reached his waist, reached his belt. He slid the knife between his pants and his belt, then sawed at the leather. It began to give away, making him cry out in accomplishment. Finally it broke and he tossed the knife to the side.
With his pants much looser, they were a size or two too big, Don wiggled his hips again, feeling the pants slip from them. He stopped to kick off his shoes; he kicked them over with the knife. Grinning, he finished slipping his pants from his hips, then twisted around, moving his body and sliding his pants down his thighs. Once they were below the knees, Don moved his feet and kicked his pants off. With the pants went the tape binding his feet together.
"Yes," he murmured, laughing. Again he lifted his hips, moving his wrists under them, trying to pull his hands from behind his back. It took a few moments of working, but soon he had his hands laying on his stomach.
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"From your specifications," Lindsay began, looking up at Stella, "we have five men." She handed Stella the piece of paper. Stella grabbed it with her free hand; in her other hand was Carlos' cell phone, opened to the contact list. She took a moment to scan the sheet, then the contact list. One name stuck out on both.
"David McDowell," Stella said. "Community service for drug use. Picking up trash on the freeway. Residence near the murder site." She grinned at Lindsay. "There is a 'Dave' in the phone. How much do you want to bet this is our guy?"
"Who's our guy?" called a voice. Stella turned and gave a smile at the man.
"David McDowell." She handed him the sheet.
Mac took the sheet and gave it a glance. "Do we have motive? Can we place him at the scene?"
Stella shook her head. "But we have a witness who said she saw a man who fit his description hassling our victim moments before his death."
"That's not enough," Mac said tiredly. "The court will never issue us anything to find him out. The Dave in the phone won't answer Danny's or my calls."
"Did you get through to anyone on the phone?" asked Lindsay.
"Only one. Seth."
Lindsay held her hand out for the phone, which Stella still held. "Let me see the number." Stella handed her the phone. Lindsay took it, finding 'Seth' and looking at the number. With her phone out, she dialed the number and held it to her ear. On the third ring, he answered. Quickly, she covered the phone and mouthed for someone to trace the call.
"Hello?"
"Yes, this is Detective Monroe, NYPD. Is this Seth?"
After a brief pause, he shakily said, "Yes."
"I understand another of our detectives has contacted you before."
There was the sounds of Seth moving around, probably going to another area. While he did this, Lindsay put him on speaker phone. Once the sounds stopped, he said, "I'm sorry about that. I'm just… scared."
"Why are you scared?"
"Dave. He kidnapped a cop and now… I don't know what to do." His voice was panicked.
"'Dave'?"
"David McDowell."
"Seth, where are you?" Lindsay prodded. "We can help."
With that, Seth hung up. Lindsay did the same, looking up at Mac and Stella. "Did you get him?" she asked hopefully. Mac gave a small smile.
"We have an idea of where he is. Uptown Queens."
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No time after Mac told the rest of his team the area where they thought Don Flack was being held, most of the NYPD was surrounding the area. Danny was paired with Sheldon and the two were knocking on doors searching. So far there were no leads to jump on; no one knew the man or had any idea what they were talking about. They kept at it, though.
Finally they came upon a building where the door was raised and a pair of stairs led up to it from a parking lot. There were tire marks as if someone was running from something, or being chased. Sheldon and Danny met eyes, then both drew their weapons. Danny was first up the stairs with Sheldon on his heels. He rapped his fist on the door, calling a, "NYPD, open up!" They waited, getting no answer. Danny grabbed the handle and turned it; it gave easily under his grasp and freed the door. Slowly he pushed his head in, giving it a glance.
It was an empty room, clear of anything. No evidence of any 'foul play' that recently went on. Danny walked in, looking around, with Sheldon right behind. While Danny looked around the main room, Sheldon opened a door that was on the right hand side. After a short look inside, he turned his head to yell over his shoulder. "Danny, come look at this."
The blond walked over and peered over his shoulder. The corners of his mouth turned downward, frowning. Inside the room were around fifty pots, scattered under fluorescent lights, and what looked like marijuana growing out of them. When the doctor approached them, he nodded as if in agreement. "Marijuana."
"And still no Flack."
Sheldon pressed his finger tips onto the soil of one plant. "Haven't been watered in a few days. I'd say the last time they were watered was before we found Carlos' body."
"So this might just belong to Carlos."
Danny scanned his eyes around the small room until his eyes caught something on the corner table. He walked towards it, pulling a glove out as he did. He used the glove as a barrier between his hand and the object. It was a wallet. Danny opened it and glimpsed at the interior.
"Found a wallet. It belonged to Carlos Hernandez."
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Dave walked in the room where he held the cop, wanting to give him another beating, wanting to unleash some anger. But as he entered the room and looked for his play toy, he was missing. There were a pair of pants laying in the middle of the floor, the knife beside the pants. For a moment he was puzzled. Abruptly, someone jumped onto his back, pulling him to the floor. Dave gasped when he hit the floor. He knew it was the cop.
Don chuckled, digging his knee into the man's lower back and pressing his elbow onto his shoulder blades. "There's no way I'd ever let you win," he hissed. For a moment, Dave made no effort to get free.
"You really are smart, aren't you? No wonder you're a pig."
Don gritted his teeth, pressing down his knee; Dave yelped in pain. "I'm tired of your 'pig' talk."
Then, Dave began to laugh; it wasn't a fake laugh, but a laugh like someone had told a joke. "I overpowered you once, I can do it again." With that, he pushed off of the floor, sending Don backwards. Dave got up, sneering. He brought his foot back, bringing it into Don's side. The cop cried out, rolling onto his other side and beginning to scurry away. The man grinned, lurched himself onto Don, and held him down. "Wimpy man," he taunted.
For a moment, Don laid still, staring into the eyes of the man holding him down. He remained calm, thinking of ways out. His hands were pressed between his and the other man's stomach. So he turned his hands, pressing the tips of his fingers onto Dave's stomach and pushed, digging his nails into him. Dave yelped, lessening his hold and allowing Don to push him off.
Don flipped onto his stomach and worked his way towards the knife. Dave grabbed his ankles, but he kicked furiously and reached out to the knife. Just as the man began to pull him back, his hands grasped the knife. Dave turned him onto to his back again and clambered onto him. But as he held Don down, he felt a sharp pain and paused, looking into Don's eyes.
"You will never win," Don told him, pushing him off. Dave held a hand onto his stomach, gasping for air and coughing. The blade of the knife was dark with blood to the hilt.
Once he caught his breath, Don worked his way to his feet and headed for the door, dropping the knife on the floor. He held his hands to the knob of the door, turning it and pushing the door open. Just outside the door was a chair where Seth was sleeping. He approached the chair, then gave it a kick. Seth jolted awake, looking around until he saw Don. His eyes grew and he shied from him.
"Seth, give me a phone," Don ordered. "And find the key to these cuffs."
Seth handed over his phone without a second thought, then jumped up to look for the key. Don flipped it open, then dialed the police department. It went right through.
"Hello, my name is Detective Don Flack and we need an ambulance at…" He paused and looked at Seth. He mouthed, Where are we, at him. Seth gave him the address, and Don repeated it into the phone. After he got a reply, he ended the call. He waited a moment, then dialed Mac's number and waited, holding it to his ear with both hands.
"Seth, is that you?" Mac answered.
"Try again," Don retorted.
"Don? Where are you?"
Before Don could repeat the address again, there was a gunshot and Don fell to the floor. The phone slid across the floor, Mac's voice getting weaker and less audible. When Don turned his head behind him, Dave was holding a revolver out and smirking. Seth's eyes grew massively, backing up into the wall and staring down at the two, bleeding men. As he hit the wall with his back, he felt and remembered his pistol in the back of his jeans. For a moment he just stood there, staring from Don to Dave.
Dave, groaning and laughing at the same time, began inching his way towards the doorframe and Don, who had passed out. "Seth… get me some help."
Seth made no move.
"Seth… help me!" screamed Dave, then he stopped and coughed some blood on the floor.
Seth moved his hands behind his back, touching the pistol.
"Seth!"
Slowly Seth took the pistol out and held it, aiming for Dave's head. Dave froze and stared unbelievingly at the kid. "I'm done too, David."