Thanks again to all those who've reviewed! I'll try to get round to thanking you individually asap, but I wanted you all to know how much I appreciate your kind words.
Enjoy!
With nothing else to occupy their time and the television offering little of interest, Gordon and Alan pilfered John's laptop and did a bit of researching. Jericho, it turned out, was a small town in California where unmarried men had a strange habit of going missing.
Intrigued by this new development, the boys researched further. Over the past eighteen years, three of the missing five men had been discovered in unlikely areas surrounding Jericho, apparently on their way out of town. All five cars had been recovered elsewhere along the stretch of road, abandoned and in perfect working condition. The latest in the pattern was Troy Squire, nineteen years old and with everything to live for. As yet, Troy was listed as a missing person, his body not discovered.
"Weird," Alan muttered.
"I'll say," Gordon agreed. "No town that small can have failed to notice its inhabitants disappearing."
"No, I mean it's strange that the man from my vision isn't there. I thought he might have been connected with Jericho. What does it say they died from?"
"Oooh, morbidity!" Gordon teased. "Should I be worried?"
"Only by your IQ level."
"Right, and you're a genius?"
"I can look if you're scared." Alan almost bounced with gruesome curiosity.
Gordon shook his head. "Not a chance, Sprout, Scott'll kill me. Besides, this isn't a tv show, these are real people and they've got family grieving over them. Let's handle this with a bit of sensitivity, eh?"
Alan stared at him wide eyed. "Wow," he breathed. "You really channelled Dad then."
Ducking away from the awkward moment, Gordon went back to the computer screen.
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Thinking Alan had had enough time in the spotlight, Gordon had nominated himself to tell Scott he thought they should go to Jericho. He'd quickly, and with the minimal of facts, explained where the idea had come from and what it meant.
"Who knows," he'd closed his argument with. "Dad could be there."
Scott hadn't replied for a long time, but stared at Alan. If the kid felt the stare, and Gordon was surprised his shoulders weren't buckling under the weight, he did a damn good impression of not being bothered. Scott's mouth was in a tight line, his eyes diamond hard when he nodded. It was all the confirmation that Gordon would get that his message had been received and understood and the red head had to almost hold his own hand down to resist snapping off a salute. Scott had called his brother's attention and told them their destination.
"It's the only lead we've got," he'd ended his command with.
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Pulling into Jericho, the boys looked around with interest. Ahead lay the bridge, the most common route out of town and the beginning of the road that had been the last journey five men had made. Police tape had been strung across the entrance, several men in local sheriff department uniforms milling about a badly parked car.
"Let's check it out," Scott suggested, even as Virgil swung the wheel of the SUV they had bought back in Boston, much to Gordon's disgust.
"It's like the A-Team," Scott had tried, aiming to appeal to the young red head's taste.
"They had a van! Besides, there were four in the A-Team," Gordon groused. "There's five of us."
"Yeah," Alan had chirped unhelpfully. "We're more like Scooby Doo."
A worried silence followed his words, until John voiced their fears. "Who's Daphne?"
The brothers glanced at one another. Scott cleared his throat. "How's those ID's coming on, John?"
They had turned out great and Scott flipped the glove compartment open now to retrieve them. He handed one to Virgil.
"How's your fed?"
Virgil sighed. "Was it really necessary to make us Marshall's?" Without waiting for a reply, he got out the car.
Scott tossed another card to John. "Go with him. Gordon, we need a lookout."
"On it."
John lifted his hand in farewell as he left also, sauntering casually after his older brother, who'd just reached the police barrier. Cool as a breeze, Virgil flashed his badge in the direction of the young officer stationed there, not bothering to even look at the man, his eyes taking in the details of the car even as he lifted the tape and ducked under.
Obviously, Virgil was going to be bad cop.
John had to work to hide his smile. Wrenching an appropriately serious expression onto his face, he too showed the officer his ID, letting the man see it for a few seconds longer than Virgil had, confident his handiwork would pass the test.
"Don't mind him," he told the officer, nodding after Virgil. "New. Very keen."
John left the man smiling and made his way towards his brother. He could hear Virgil speaking.
"You fella's had another one just like this, didn't ya?"
One of the men, the Sheriff, turned to stare at him. "Who are you?"
"Federal Marshall's." Once more Virgil shoved his wallet forwards, snapping it back and letting his eyes travel to the car again, apparently indifferent to the Sheriff and his men.
"They keep getting younger," the Sheriff muttered.
"You did have another one, right?" Virgil asked, steering the conversation back again.
"Yeah, about a mile from here," the Sheriff's deputy agreed. "What are you boys doing here? You're thinking serial killer?"
Virgil snorted. "You're not?"
"You knew the victim?" John pressed, before the Sheriff could object to Virgil.
"In a town like this, everyone knows everyone."
"Any ideas why a perfectly healthy nineteen year old would take off in the middle in of the night, abandon his car and disappear?"
"We're not sure. Kidnapping ring?"
"Hmm," Virgil didn't sound convinced. He moved off, circling the car and John let him go alone. If there was something about the car, some small bit of information they'd need, Virgil would find it.
"Nothing else you can tell us?" he asked, drawing the officer's attention away from his brother.
"There's never been any ransom, and we didn't find the last guy," the deputy admitted. "The ones that we did recover, didn't have a mark on them."
"Except the holes," the Sheriff added. "Cause of death only. No restraints used, no beatings or torture."
"Doesn't sound like a particularly profitable kidnapping ring," John smiled. "If they didn't want the men for ransom, or for illegal fights. You don't find many slavers that deal solely with men, either. Are there any similarities, asides from the victims all being male?"
"None that we can find."
Virgil rolled his eyes behind the offer's backs, before stepping next to John. With a jerk of his head, and keeping his 'persona' in tact, Virgil indicated they were done.
"Thanks for your time," John smiled, following his brother.
"There's nothing wrong with that car," Virgil muttered.
They nodded politely as men wearing suits strode importantly towards the tape. The men eyed them warily, unsure of their rank of office.
"Agents," Virgil nodded, walking swiftly past.
"Anything we can help you with, boys?"
"Just leaving," John promised, noticing the SUV had gone. He saw Gordon appear out of the corner of his eye, point and disappear again.
Out of earshot, Virgil sighed. "Fancy a walk into town?"
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When Gordon had appeared inside the SUV with a breathless "Feds!", Scott, now positioned in the drivers seat, had started the engine and driven his brothers away. He stopped down the road, waiting for Virgil and John to catch up. He had worried that they would be caught by the FBI, but declined Gordon's offer of going back to 'spring' them. Instead, they'd waited, until Gordon's fidgeting had gotten on his nerves.
"Alright," Scott sighed. "Go take a look. No hanging around and be careful not to be seen."
"Gotcha." Gordon snapped out of existence.
"That's kinda freaky," Alan commented. "It'd be easier to handle if there was a noise, a pop or something."
"It'd be nice if anything Gordon does came with a warning," Scott answered dryly.
Gordon was back then, looking as if he'd never moved. "They're on their way," he reported.
Not long after, Virgil slid into the front passenger seat. "Must have been an outside source that made the driver stop," he said, without preamble. "Skids suggest he braked hard while the engine was flat out."
"What about the door?" Scott asked, starting the engine again and easing them onto the road.
"Wasn't forced, opened from the inside is my guess."
"The driver?" Gordon suggested.
"Maybe," Virgil shrugged. "I'm not exactly trained as a CSI."
"The motel's just round the corner," Alan interrupted, even though no signs graced the road. But just as he'd predicted, a small, squat building appeared from behind the bend and Alan nodded. "That's the one with the wall."
Scott was about to question his littlest brother, but glancing in the rear view mirror, he decided against it. Something about the calm, sure way Alan appeared made the decision for him. Wordlessly, he drove into the parking lot.
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While Scott booked a couple of rooms and made small talk with the owner about a 'family get together' Gordon had a look around the motel. He met his brothers by the car, looking pale and a little worried.
"What rooms are we?" he asked, his nervous gaze resting on Alan briefly before returning to scan Scott's face.
"11 and 14. What's wrong?"
"I think Dad was here," Gordon explained. Without another word, he turned away, leading them across the poorly lit parking lot. Pressing his hand to the door of room 17, he disappeared. They could hear chains dropping and bolts sliding and when the door swung open, Gordon's pale face shone at them.
Virgil, who had been acting as rearguard, scanning the area for anyone who might see them, was yanked off his feet when Scott grabbed the collar of his jacket and pulled him into the room. Stumbling, Virgil felt his knees go weak when he caught the sight before him.
Alan's wall, it turned out, was actually Dad's wall. They all recognised the handwriting, the meticulous attention to detail, and the system he used when pinning together his information. The Tracy brothers stared at it in silence for several moments.
"Dude," Gordon breathed, breaking the tension. "No wonder you couldn't read it, Sprout."
Their fathers writing wasn't necessarily untidy, but he'd written over other notes, scribbled out or circled words in printouts and appeared to have written his thoughts on any available paper, regardless of whether it was pertinent to the printed information.
John busied himself scanning the words, running his finger along the wall, apparently able to follow his Dad's patternless research. Gordon wandered to one end, drawn by photo's, some of live, smiling men, others of corpses. Scott turned Alan away quickly, steering him towards Virgil and the rest of the wall.
"I'm, going to check outside," Scott said softly. "Maybe Dad left something for us."
"I'll search the room," Virgil agreed, taking Alan's shoulder in an unmistakable gesture of 'and I'll keep Alan away from the nasty stuff'.
"Hey," Gordon called. "He's stuck a woman up here too. That's not our spirit's M.O."
"Must have had a special connection to her," Virgil suggested. "That can cause a change in pattern."
He nudged Alan in the direction of the nightstand as Scott left.
"She's been dead a long time," Gordon continued. "Before the others. Drowned. Might have been the one to start it all."
They were silent as they continued their tasks. Dad, as neat as ever apart from the wall, hadn't left much sign that he'd been there. Even the threadbare towel had been placed neatly in the loop after use. Alan, bored, was drawn back to the wall as Virgil discovered a half eaten burger. Joining his youngest brother in an effort to moderate what he was viewing, Virgil offered his opinion.
"It's safe to assume Dad left in a hurry."
"There's the bridge," Alan pointed out as Gordon joined them.
"It does seem to feature all through this, doesn't it?" he asked.
Alan let his eyes wander. Here and there he saw 'Jericho' within the newsprint, but his attention caught on a page torn from what looked to be an old book. There was a highlighted paragraph describing a murderess in a white gown, at least that's what Alan interpreted the words as. It had been written centuries ago, and the phrases and spellings made little sense to the twelve year old, long and rambling, sentences that knew no end. Alan was about to alert John's attention to it, if nothing else he'd no doubt love the style, when Virgil's phone rang.
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"Dude, five-oh," Scott hissed into his mobile, before snapping the device shut and slipping it into a hidden pocket in his jacket. And Gordon called him paranoid.
Spinning, Scott assumed his most pleasant 'can-I-help-you?' expression and greeted the Sheriff as he moved away from the obviously worried owner of the motel.
"Evening." The man, large and casual, ambled towards him with practised ease. His eyes, however, gave him away, hard and suspicious.
"Officer," Scott nodded, cool military persona coming to the fore, worried older brother firmly tucked away.
"You arrived today?" Not waiting for an answer, the Sheriff glanced at the shiny SUV sparkling in the lot. "That your car?"
Scott managed to look surprised. "No, sir," he replied. There was an awkward pause as another guest of the motel climbed into a dusty pick-up, the only other vehicle in the vicinity. Scott glanced at the Sheriff. "It's a rental."
The Sheriff smiled. "Some men came by this afternoon," he said. "Caused a bit of a stir among my boys. Claimed to be Federal Marshall's."
Scott raised an eyebrow. "They weren't?"
"They were not. Men matching their descriptions checked into this motel. They had a companion matching your description with them."
Scott returned his smile. "I'm sure there are many men matching my description, officer."
"I'm sure there are," the Sheriff agreed amiably. "But we don't get many coming through here and we don't get any breaking and entering."
Without warning, the Sheriff spun Scott around, pushed him against the wall and cuffed him.
"Tell me, son," he drawled. "Is anything you've told me true?"
Scott smiled. "It really is a rental."
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Virgil snapped his phone shut. "Out the back. Everyone."
"I'll catch you up," John told him, as Virgil jimmied open the window. "I need to take care of some of this stuff."
"They'll catch you at it," Virgil protested, linking his fingers together so Alan could step in them. Virgil hoisted the boy towards the window and he scrambled out, dropping down lightly on the other side.
John locked his ice blue eyes on his brother. "We could be handing them Dad on a plate."
"Be quick," Virgil ordered. "Come on, Gordy."
Once out of the room, Alan pointed towards the wall. "There's no door."
Virgil leapt at the wall, scrambling for hand and foot holds and swinging himself onto the top. Straddling the thick blocks, he turned to reach down for Alan, but Gordon waved him on.
"I've got him," he said, wrapping his arms around the boy and vanishing.
Virgil jumped down, landing in a crouch from which he sprang up to race towards his brothers. Alan was backing away from the copper haired Tracy, shaking his head wildly. Virgil skidded to a halt before him, kneeling to match his level.
Alan was taking breaths in, three huge gasps, but not exhaling, his small hands thrashing wildly in the air, trying to fend Virgil off.
Virgil cupped Alan's face in both his hands. "It's alright, Allie. You're safe, it's me, just breathe. It's alright."
Alan choked, expelled the air held tight in his lungs and almost collapsed against Virgil.
"It's okay, little brother," Virgil promised, stroking his thumb against the wildly fluttering pulse in Alan's neck. "It's alright. You're safe."
"Virge!" Gordon hissed from nearby, worried by Alan's reaction and the fact he could see Scott being handcuffed. "Keep moving! I'll get John."
Virgil didn't have time to answer, Gordon blinking out of sight before he could open his mouth. Standing, Virgil lifted Alan in his arms, the boy limp and unresisting, arms twining around his older brother's neck and face buried in his shoulder. John and Gordon appeared suddenly, Gordon announcing he was going to get himself arrested too.
"What?" John argued.
"No, he's right," Virgil agreed, shifting Alan and surprising both his other brothers. "Scott may need someone to help him get out. Be careful Gordon."
"You'd better move too," the red head replied, for once deadly serious. "They're coming this way."
Virgil nodded and Gordon was gone again. In the distance, they could hear him demanding to know what they were doing to his brother. Virgil caught John's eye.
"Split up," he instructed. "Double back to rendezvous in three hours."
"Take care," John whispered, before turning and sprinting up the street. Virgil spun in the other direction, Alan silent and shivering in his arms.