A/N: Many, many thanks to Mingsmommy and Losingntrnslatn for putting up with me and for all their advice. It is truly appreciated.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
January 2, 2008
"Doctor Rosenthal, this is the Las Vegas police." Brass' voice was loud and filled with authority. "Open the door."
They are here. Just as I knew they would be. Though much sooner than I imagined. But I am ready. With a quick flick of my wrist, I slice through the tape holding Elizabeth's ankles.
"Get up." Using my free hand, I grab her hair and tug, pulling her inexorably toward the edge of the bed. "Now."
Her body follows her head and she moves forward, struggling to push to her feet, her eyes leaking tears as I continue to exert pressure on her scalp.
Her legs give way and I hear her sharp cry through the gag as a handful of hair rips from her head. She kneels there, gasping for air, refusing to help me or herself.
She has accepted her fate and that angers me more than it should. Perhaps it is the anger imbuing me with superhuman strength, because I reach down, grab her under the arms and pull her with me into the bathroom. She is well over three hundred pounds of dead weight and her useless legs scrabble to find purchase as the carpet burns the skin off her heels.
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Brass was standing to the right of the door with Porter beside him. Waleski, holding the battering ram, was positioned on the other side. All three pressed their backs into the concrete block wall. None of them moved as they listened intently for any sounds coming from the room.
"Malachi Rosenthal." Brass knocked on the door again. "Open up. This is the police."
This time he heard a voice, muted and indiscernible, followed by a thump. His gut clenched as he silently weighed his options. They could continue this game all night, or he could end it now. But if the woman was in there, he couldn't afford to waste time. She might not have much to spare.
Again he pounded on the door. "Last chance, Dr. Rosenthal. Open the door or we'll open it for you."
When he was met with only silence, Brass signaled Waleski. With the blood rushing in his ears he held up three fingers.
Three……
Two…….
One…….
As the last finger fell, Officer Waleski slammed the battering ram into the door just below the knob. With a crash, and the screech of metal on metal, the portal flew open and slammed against the interior wall.
Brass burst through the door, his eyes and gun sweeping low. He could feel Officer Porter at his back, the man following him through the door with his gun sweeping the space at eye level. Brass saw the rumpled bed with its fresh blood stains, the matted brown shag carpet and the cheap dresser with the television bolted to it. The smell of blood, coppery and dark, was mixed with the unmistakable scent of urine. Years of accumulated dirt and grime, the echoes of those gone before, mixed with those in an odor that had Brass fighting his desire to gag.
The room was lit by lamps, one on either side of the bed, and a hanging fixture over the requisite table and chairs in the far corner. His mind catalogued the location of each piece of furniture, filing it away for later. His gaze continued around the room in a clockwise motion until he came to the bathroom door. There he stopped.
"Gil was right," flitted through his brain only to be shoved aside for more pertinent data. A woman stood framed in the doorway, blood seeping from a wound on her thigh and one on her abdomen. Her hands were behind her, her arms obviously bound. Duct tape clung to her ankles. Her brown eyes were watching him, a flicker of hope lighting them for a moment before fading away.
Brass could hear the quiet whimpers from the woman, along with her ragged breaths. He could hear Waleski calling for back up and the words 'hostage situation' punching holes in the still air. He could hear Grissom outside, arguing with the officer about being allowed in the room.
"Keep him out." Brass ordered, never taking his eyes off the woman. He waited until he heard the not so quiet curse of acceptance.
Tension was a tangible thing. It was like wading through molasses; every movement slow and deliberate, every breath a fight.
"Elizabeth Bethune?" Brass kept his voice quiet as he straightened and moved further into the room. He watched as she nodded slowly, both of them conscious of the scalpel resting like a lover's kiss against her jugular. With his eyes locked on hers, hoping he appeared calmer than he felt, he said, "Just try to stay calm."
A bead of sweat ran along the back of Brass' neck, tickling past his collar. He fought the urge to wipe it away. He couldn't afford a moment's distraction. Not now. Not when there were lives on the line.
Brass turned his attention to Malachi. The man was in his late thirties or early forties. He stood behind Elizabeth, using her as a shield. The arm he had wrapped across Elizabeth's shoulders was tanned and muscular. The hand clutching the scalpel was steady.
Remembering his training, Brass ran over in his head what he needed to do. Keep the perp calm. Establish a rapport. Don't let the situation deteriorate. Get the hostage out alive. All-in-all those things made sense. But he knew better than anybody else how quickly these things could go south.
The whoop of sirens signaled the arrival of more police and soon the room was awash in the red and blue pulse of their lights. Outside, radios crackled and doors slammed and voices called out instructions. The entire scene took on a sense of urgency it hadn't had before.
Brass blocked out the noise and with his voice steady, he addressed the doctor. "Look, why don't you let Elizabeth go? She hasn't done anything."
"Actually, she has." Malachi's words were calm, his voice low and pleasant.
His composure sent a frisson of unease up Brass' spine. This guy was way too cool for the situation. At this point, most people would be screaming, cursing, begging for you to let them go, bargaining for their lives. But this guy was like ice. Not a hint of anxiety. Not a bead of sweat. He was like a serpent just waiting for his chance to strike. And for a moment, Brass wondered if Elizabeth would make it out alive.
"I understand…" Brass began in an attempt to get the man to lower his guard.
"No, you do not." Again, they could have been discussing the weather. "And you never will."
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I want to laugh. That man…that detective…thinks he understands me. He thinks he understands my motives, my drives, my Mission. He knows nothing. Less than nothing.
I watch him watching me and I can smell his fear. For all his years on the job, he still believes Elizabeth and I are leaving this place alive.
"I want to speak with Gil Grissom." I smile. "Now, please."
"I'm afraid that's not possible." His voice is still calm despite the way my request must have troubled him. "We can settle this without bringing anybody else in."
"No, we cannot. I want to speak with Mr. Grissom." I pause for a moment, feeling the power growing within me. "Consider that my first demand."
The insipid little man is hesitating. I know what he's thinking; this whole situation could go horribly wrong and then the great Doctor Grissom will be another liability. Another unarmed person he will have to be responsible for. I see the decision in his eyes, even as he opens him mouth.
"Weigh your options carefully, Detective. You can bring him to me or I will slit her throat and you can carry both of us out of here in body bags." I smile and knick Elizabeth's skin with the blade. "It is, after all, your choice."
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Sara paced the parking lot, cell phone pressed to her ear. "I know, Greg. And I swear I'll explain everything later. I just need you to run this guy for me."
"How long have you been in town?" Greg asked as he entered the name.
Sara closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Two days. Are you doing it?"
"Yes, Obi-Wan. Have a little patience. And a little faith in my multi-tasking abilities." He paused, humming a little as he read what was on the screen. Just when Sara thought she would scream in frustration, he said, "Okay. Guy looks clean. No record. No wants. No warrants. Nothing to explain why he'd be holding some woman hostage."
"There has to be more. You don't just wake up one morning and decide to kidnap somebody and hold them hostage." Sara's long legs ate up the pavement as she considered all the possible reasons for Rosenthal's behavior. "Run him through LexisNexis, Greg, see if anything pops."
"You got it." Greg began booting up the program. "Do you want to wait, 'cause this could take awhile."
Sara shook her head. "No. Just call me when you get something." Pausing, she ran a hand over her eyes. "Thanks, Greg. And remember…."
"My lips are sealed."
Sara smiled when she heard him zip and lock his lips. "Later," she murmured and closed the phone.
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"Why do we need him?" Brass asked, his voice full of scorn. "You not man enough to deal with me?"
He could hear a slight sigh come from Elizabeth, but Brass kept his eyes trained on Malachi.
"Pardon the expression, Doc, but don't you have balls big enough to face me, or do you need another science nerd in here to hold your hand?"
From the corner of his eye, he saw Elizabeth's head bob once.
The man's face remained impassive, but his eyes narrowed just the slightest bit and Brass knew he was pushing the right buttons. He had built his entire career on being able to read people and situations like these tested that ability to the max.
"Think I'm too smart for you? Think I might figure out why you killed those women?" Brass's grin was mocking. "I'll tell you a secret. I already know. And I think you are one sick bastard."
Anger flooded Malachi's face with color. His eyes burned with a cold fire. Brass knew it would only take a few more well placed punches before the man exploded.
"You know nothing." The doctor spat the words, his disdain obvious.
"I know everything." Brass chuckled. "I know you killed them. I know about the drugs. And I know you think Elizabeth turned you in."
"Where is Mr. Grissom?"
"Doctor Grissom, and why do you keep asking for him? We don't need him. I've already solved this case." Brass ignored the voice that told him he was pushing too hard, too far. "His work is done, he's gone home. All that's left now is to clean up your mess and leave it to the lawyers."
"You've proven nothing." Malachi seemed to gather himself together. Tamping down the anger.
With one last card up his sleeve, Brass let the sarcasm rip through the air. "Oh yeah? Let me guess…you think this will all fall apart if you've got an alibi, right? And I bet the little wife will swear on a stack of Torahs you were at home with her when every one of those poor women died."
Brass watched, every muscle poised to spring into action, as Malachi's hand left Elizabeth's neck. He pointed the scalpel at the detective and screamed, spittle flying from his mouth.
"You leave Renee out of this!"
From that point, everything seemed to happen in slow motion. Brass watched as Elizabeth pushed her arms back and grabbed at Malachi's groin. She latched on and began to wrench his testicles away from his body with a feral look of immense satisfaction on her face.
The scalpel fell, end over end, light glinting off the razor sharp blade. It landed without a sound on the carpet at their feet, bouncing once. Malachi gave an anguished howl, that seemed to last for hours, as he slowly sank to the floor. His hands were clasped between his legs, as if he could undo the damage she had done.
Free from his grasp, Elizabeth took a few halting steps forward before falling to her knees, her legs no longer able to support her.
With a whoosh, time righted itself and Brass was moving. The sound of Malachi's retching filled the air, along with the terrified whimpers coming from Elizabeth.
"Porter, keep an eye on him. When he stops puking cuff him."
Shoving his gun in his holster, Brass pulled the spread from the bed and covered Elizabeth.
"Waleski, get the paramedics in here."
Leaning down, he took her hand. "You're gonna be fine. That was a very brave thing you did."
"I…th-thought…you weren't…ever g-g-gon-na…figure it out." Elizabeth's teeth were chattering, adrenaline and nerves making her hard to understand.
He gave a quiet chuckle. "Maybe I'm not as smart as I wanted the doc there to believe."
Before she could answer, the paramedics were pushing Brass to the side.
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Sara's phone vibrated and she walked away from the frenzied scene before flipping it open.
"Sidle," she said as she pushed a finger against her other ear to block out the noise from the crime scene behind her. She listened intently, her head nodding every so often. Closing the phone, she simply stood there for a moment, her back to the chaos, her mind processing what Greg told her.
"Renee?"
Sara heard the surprised question but ignored it, still trying to piece everything together.
"Renee? Please look at me." After a pause the voice continued. "I'm so sorry, Renee. Please…"
When she turned to find the voice, her eyes landed on the perp just as Officer Waleski folded him into the back of the squad car. She watched as his face crumpled and he began to sob.
Shaking her head in pity, Sara moved to find Grissom. She had some information he was going to need.