Disclaimers can be found in chapter 1.

Chapter 6:

Pain. Pain in his head, pain in his shoulders, pain in his back and arms, the next time Martin came back to awareness it was because of the wracking pain and his instinctive move to roll away from it brought greater pain as he pressed heavily on one side in essence grinding his handcuffed arms and his shoulder into the ground as his weight rolled over top. Once he eased to his side, the pain on his arms and shoulder lessened slightly but the movement quickly brought rise to the next problem, dizziness, nausea and the roaring in his head.

He lay there gasping against the sensations that wracked his body until the unmistakable sounds of footprints forced his eyes open to see who was there. Once again he saw the blue jean clad legs and booted feet only this time his foggy brain grasped onto a voice, it was the voice of a friend. He had a friend there.

He watched as the figured crouched in front of him and he almost rejoiced when he recognized the somewhat blurry but unmistakable features of his good friend.

"Help me." Martin gasped out the words and felt relief as he saw his friend reach out to him. He felt the hand on his cheek but then flinched in shock as the hand withdrew only to slap his cheek sharply and then he heard laughter. Confused and hurting Martin watched fuzzily as his friend rose and walked to the other side of the room.

"Help you? I'm going to help you; I'm going to solve the riddle for you of who has been killing women."

Martin's foggy brain was having trouble focusing on his friend's words but he strained to listen and comprehend.

"What are you talking about? Where are we? Get these cuffs off me." Martin gasped out the questions in rapid fire and then still as the world grayed around him from the effort.

"Martin, Martin. I guess I hit you too hard with that branch, of course, that fall down that rocky hill didn't help either. You must have left a pretty puddle of blood at the bottom of the hill; you sure left one in the trunk of my car, not to mention you ruined one of my favorite shirts, 'course that bitch's blood would have ruined it anyway but then again, probably not, only one time did I ever get any blood on me and that was because I tried to strangle her by hand, that was the first one. After that I only ever used a ligature, much cleaner."

Martin stared trying to make sense of what he was hearing, then as if a switch turned in his head it all came rushing back to him. The visions flashed through his mind painfully and horribly clear: he was following a car up the Saw Mill River Parkway. He watched the car turn so he cut his own headlights and followed him. He stayed back just far enough to keep the car in sight and saw it turn into a little park. He parked at the edge of the lot and watched as his friend got out of his car and opened the trunk. There was just enough light from the trunk interior for Martin to make out the figure of a woman being pulled from the trunk her hands bond in front of her.

In horror he watched the woman get backhanded as she started to struggle and then she was slung over a shoulder and carried up a path. Turning his interior light off in his car he exited checking and clearing his gun from his holster. Swiftly and quietly he followed up the little path and saw them ahead in a small clearing that had two or three dimly lit decorative light poles that leant a dim illumination to the area and sparkled off the water of the pond.

He stalked slowly forward and only broke into a run when he saw that the woman was being strangled by a ligature tied around her neck. Running forward he shouted at the top of his lungs.

"Federal Agent, get away from the woman!"

He was satisfied to see the jolt of surprise in the man's body as Martin burst upon his deadly little hobby. The woman was dragged to her feet by the ligature and lifted off the ground effectually cutting off her oxygen and making her a shield between Martin and her attacker.

By then Martin had too much momentum. He charged into them and knocked them both to the ground ending up sprawling past them in the process. The impact separated Martin from his gun as well as the man from the woman who immediately clawed at her throat to loosen the ligature, as she was able to breathe again she screamed.

Martin regained his footing first and delivered a solid right fist to the man's jaw knocking him to the ground, now he was between the woman and her attacker. He turned to her: "I'm a federal agent. Run, there's a car at the edge of the parking lot. The keys are in it."

He didn't have time to see if she complied or not because at that moment he was bodily slammed to the ground as her attacker launched himself at Martin screaming in fury. They grappled and stumbled along the edge of the pond with each other trading blows. Martin was amazed at the murderous intent and the frenzied strength in his opponent.

The combatants moved rapidly covering about 40 or so feet in their fight. Martin regained his feet again after having been thrown to the ground by the other man's furious strikes. Martin turned preparing to kick out and then deliver another blow when he caught the silhouette of movement coming toward his head. There was a flash of light and a burst of pain and then nothing.

The visions faded from Martin's mind and he heard laughter.

"I see you've remembered our last little 'run' in the park. Well, you spoiled my fun. That little bitch did just what you said only after I knocked you silly and you fell down that hill, she'd driven away. So, I'm left with you. You're not my type and I'll get no thrill out of killing you so I'll have to find another way to enjoy this. I just have to think of the best way to do it. After this I'll have to move on again. Damn, New York City was going to be perfect, so many to prey upon, and my job was going to have me do so much more traveling than before. Oh, well, I'm all about the thrill, all about walking the edge between life and death, I'll move on and find a new place."

"The thrill? This is all about the thrill? " Martin was disgusted and tried to raise himself. Once again this movement was too much, not only had his head been injured by the blow from the branch and the fall down the rocky slope but the lack of any medical treatment much less water left Martin extremely vulnerable and he felt his grip on consciousness slip again.

As his grip on awareness started to slip away again he heard the chuckling from across the room and as he succumbed his brain finally put all the pieces together that he had been trying so hard not to and the horror of who and what had committed these crimes made him thankful for the beckoning darkness.

As the killer watched Martin's eyes roll back and his features relax in false peace he grinned and spoke again. "It's all about the thrill, Martin. But I changed because of you; I made it so they could be found faster to be returned to their loved ones for closure. You see, I listened to you."

Monday, May 20th

Coffee Area: MPU: 5:55 p.m.

Sam was pouring herself a cup of coffee, her hand shaking ever so slightly, as Vivian approached with a folder in hand.

"Hey, Sam, where are the others?"

"Danny and Elena are already in the conference room. Jack said in about five minutes Mitchell and Clark will join us and we'll have an update on what we've gathered so far, for what it's worth."

Vivian noted the slight bitter tone in Sam's voice.

"Hey, we've got a lot. We've narrowed down the possibilities to two suspects thanks to Martin's research, and we're going to have a fix on both of those two very shortly."

"I know. What's in the folder?" Sam, in customary fashion changed the subject from her own concerns and back to work.

"Lab results. First of all there wasn't any semen in the rape kit but there was evidence of a spermicidal agent, so the rapist used a condom; second…"Vivian took a breath and paused for a moment before continuing, "the blood on the branch was definitely Martin's."

"Great, so Mitchell and Clark can just argue that Rachel Sanders hit him with the branch causing him to fall down that hill and that's why she was able to escape." This time there wasn't just a trace of bitterness; her words were dripping with bitterness and anger.

"Yeah, well that still doesn't explain how Martin escaped and we spent the afternoon tracing those leads also which we get to show them in a couple of minutes."

"You know, Viv, I think I understand why Martin didn't write down the name." Sam looked Vivian straight in the eye as she picked her words carefully, "I think he knew which it was, Cameron or Daniel, I think that's why he couldn't write the name down."

Vivian gave her a slightly confused look so Sam paused a moment and then continued.

"I never told him this but…when he was shot…those first hours we were so busy working the case and there wasn't much time, I mean, everything was moving so fast and it was just Jack and Danny and I and…well I called the hospital every time I had a free moment but…even when the case was over I didn't rush right there…not until almost the next day…actually it was the next day."

Sam gave a small chuckle under her breath, "I hadn't been home in over two and a half days before I finally went to the hospital. I was still wearing the same clothes. I'm sure I smelled, I know I looked awful but I…I couldn't go sooner. Jack and Danny had gone and seen him, Director Fitzgerald was there and said he was a little better but still I couldn't go until…until I called and they said they'd upgraded his condition from grave to critical but stable and they said that, barring any set backs, he had a really good chance of living.

Vivian stood quietly, sensing Sam wasn't finished yet.

"You see, if I had gone while it was still likely he would die… he would die, and I had seen him with all those machines and the ventilator, then it would be real, I mean, really real and that he could be gone and that I wouldn't – " Sam paused to collect herself. Vivian nodded encouragingly and Sam took a breath and continued..

"I think that's why Martin didn't write the name, he couldn't, it would be real then, and even though he knew who the killer was, he couldn't bring himself to face it, not just yet."

Vivian gave her a sad smile which was returned in kind and then both agents turned as the sound of footsteps coming down the hall reached their ears. Jack and Agents Mitchell and Clark were headed their way. It was time for the briefing.

Conference Room: MPU

The seven agents gathered in the conference room to share the efforts of their investigation. The tension in the room was palpable and to further define the divisiveness of the group, Agents Mitchell and Clark sat on one side of the table while Vivian, Danny, Sam and Elena lined up on the other side. Jack, in order to maintain the aura of top dog of this pack, sat at the head of the table.

Jack decided to open up the meeting to set the tone that he was still in charge. "All right. So we've all seen the notes Martin was making by hand, the newspaper print outs he downloaded and the special file he created listing the possible suspects, now –"

"Or fall guys." Mitchell uttered under his breath.

"Excuse me." Sam challenged glaring across the table.

Great, Jack thought, this is going well.

"I said or the fall guys." Mitchell challenged. "Look, we know you want to believe that Agent Fitzgerald is a good guy, but you have to admit the evidence keeps piling up to say different."

"Now hold on a minute," Danny chimed in, his quick temper and his loyalty to Martin causing him to ignore Vivian's hand softly settling on his arm and Jack's glare from the head of the table. "We've got a list of names of people that were with Martin for just about all of those dates and at least three of those names were at most if not all of those places during those times."

Elena picked up the thread in order to give Danny a moment to collect himself. "Martin's list included a Steven, Daniel and Cameron at at least four of those events, while a Tyler was at at least three of them. He wrote down his Aunt Bonnie's funeral but didn't mention who, if any, of the men were there, but it's a logical conclusion that at least one of them was and I'm betting that's the one he's focused on."

"It's also an easy conclusion to say that Agent Fitzgerald conveniently left that list for you to find with names attached to the dates and places that correspond to the disappearances as a way of leading us down a false trail."

Sam didn't look at Danny as Mitchell unknowingly echoed his exact words earlier. She knew that the information they found was far from convincing Mitchell and Clark of Martin's innocence but was, in fact, building the case for them.

"Well, speaking of that supposed false trail, why don't we look at a few other angles that have been checked into." Vivian's soft but authoritative voice sounded. Jack smirked as he realized that he could take a short break from trying to be ringleader in this circus and be a spectator. His team was loyal and good at their work and while the situation was grim with one of their own in danger, he knew that gleam in Vivian's eye and knew that she was about to give Mitchell and Clark something to chew on.

"The lab confirmed that it was Martin's blood on the tree branch, so it's not that large of a leap to assume it's also his blood at the bottom of the hill where his cell phone was found, especially since Ms. Sander's doctor's exam doesn't indicate a fall of that type, beating yes, fall down a rocky slope, no. And," Jack hid the smirk behind his hand as he watched Vivian raise her hand as if warning an impatient teenager to sit back down while never once glancing up from the file in front of her, effectively shutting down Mitchell's next verbal gaffe, "And, if Martin was knocked down that hill by Rachel Sanders, where is he?"

Now Vivian looked up and stared straight at Agent Mitchell. "I mean, the park was in all likelihood empty, no witnesses have come forward to indicate they saw or heard anything happening in that area last night. We pulled all the police files and ran through all the crime reports for the surrounding ten mile radius, which is a pretty extreme radius for someone to walk to with the type of injuries Martin is likely to have suffered from the blow and the fall. No reports of carjacking, no missing people who were last known to have driven that area, no stolen cars, no unusual sighting of anyone staggering around injured; we also checked clinics, hospitals, shelters nobody has reported anyone matching Martin's description or his probable injuries being picked up or seeking treatment.

When Vivian finished her update the room was quiet for a moment until Jack cleared his throat and indicated that the briefing should continue and Sam complied.

"So, we tracked down the men that Martin had listed. We found two Stevens and two Tylers in his address book so it took a little time to sort out who was who and as it turns out one of the Stevens was on the golf trip but not the climbing in Seattle and only one of the Tylers was on all the trips but he hadn't been here for Bonnie's funeral nor has he been in the NYC area for the past six months. However, he does live in Philadelphia and there are plenty of quick transport means to get from here to there so we're pulling his records and we have Lucy searching all the airline, bus, train and rental car agencies looking to see if he left any trace of coming here via those means."

Sam lifted her head from the file that she had been referring to as Jack chimed in with an observation. "That doesn't rule out cash purchases or purchases under an alias," Jack pointed out.

"Which is why," Sam gave him a sharp look, "The Philadelphia field office has sent agents to question Tyler Jenkins from Philadelphia as well as his employer and his family to confirm his presence anywhere other than in NYC during these last three occurrences here as well as during Bonnie's funeral. However, since Mr. Jenkins is cooperating fully and according to the field agents who questioned him face to face, appears genuinely concerned for Martin's safety, I would say he's not our suspect and we're likely to erase him from our list by tomorrow at the latest."

"Which still leaves Agent Fitzgerald as a suspect." Agent Clark reminded the group.

"As well as Cameron who is Cameron Reed, and Daniel, who is Daniel Wakefield." Danny pointed out. "Now, here's where it really gets interesting: it seems that Cameron Reed moved to our fair city about a month ago. We've got calls to his work, his home and his cell and left messages everywhere.

At the same time, Daniel Wakefield has been on assignment for a computer software company setting up a new network for a firm in New Jersey. The firm in question has offices not only in Newark, NJ, but also right here in Manhattan. Seems our Mr. Wakefield has been busily shuttling back and forth for the last four weeks. He was traveling between the two offices when we tried to track him down and it seems his cell phone was stolen a couple of days ago so we've left messages everywhere he is likely to turn up to call us and help us locate Martin."

"So we've got a list of names whittled down to two possibilities," Jack started only to be cut off by Mitchell who didn't like having to share the hunt in these cases that were very personal to him.

"The list still contains three potentials as far as I'm concerned and as the lead investigator on these cases, it stands at three potentials and my number one suspect remains Agent Fitzgerald. Agent Clark and I spent this past weekend doing a little research of our own as we started seeing a pattern develop and that's why our questions were so specific to each to you. You Agent Johnson," Mitchell actually pointed at Vivian across the table a move that caused her to stare coldly at him but unflinchingly.

"You, Agent Johnson, indicated that he gets angry, something that was readily evident in his file even though the action was cleared by OPR. You, Agent Taylor," Mitchell allowed a significant amount of disdain to drip from his tone as he said the name 'Taylor' an action that had Jack wishing he could rip the man's heart out if he thought he had one.

"You, Agent Taylor, typically play the tough cop to Agent Fitzgerald's good cop or choir boy persona. I'm sure that rankles him to no end, and with the temper we already know exists, well, every volcano needs an outlet. Agent Spade, he was probably a bit intimidated by you which is why he never tried anything kinky in bed."

Sam's eyes flashed in anger at the nerve of Mitchell to even insinuate Martin was aberrant in his behavior. "I'm guessing that's why all the women he does rape and murder are brunettes. He doesn't like blondes that much."

"And Agent Delgado, I think you're just overwrought with your daughter's recent kidnapping and it has clouded your judgment. Agent Fitzgerald was instrumental in returning your daughter safely to you so in your naïve thinking that makes him a good guy."

Elena wanted to leap across the table and slap Mitchell for his comments both his degradation of her abilities but his continued insistence that Martin was evil. He didn't know this man, she and her team did.

Jack stood up knowing already that he had lost control of this meeting and realizing that he never had control of it. Only his own professionalism as well as that of his team kept this from blowing completely out of control and turning into a free for all. He never thought that he could be more grateful for his phone to begin ringing than he was at that moment as he heard its somewhat muted ring in his jacket pocket.

Pulling the phone out he silenced the group with a sharp gesture of his free hand and was slightly amused to find that at least all six of the agents respected the phone, if not him.

"Malone."

The other agents watched as Jack's expression became very alert and his gaze flicked quickly to Vivian and then to Mitchell and Clark.

"Right, thank you. We're on our way." Disconnecting he slipped his phone back inside his pocket.

"That was the hospital. Rachel Sanders is awake."

Without a work Agents Mitchell and Clark followed Vivian and Jack out of the office.

In their wake Sam, Danny and Elena stood still, the moment they had hoped for was here, they would get the proof they needed that Martin was innocent. Not one of them believed any differently in their hearts and their minds.

Martin drifted in and out of consciousness and his brain continued to process the words that his friend had said to him. As he slipped in and out of the realm of consciousness his mind latched on to a memory, a memory that was only a few weeks old and that contained images and sounds of a time when he and his now tormenter were friends and not the mortal enemies they now had become...

"I can't believe you've kept doing the Missing Person's assignment for what is it, five years now?"

"Yep, five and counting." Martin replied.

"Doesn't it ever get to you, the sadness, all that sorting through the details of other people's lives and telling people that what they thought they knew wasn't real at all that the person they thought they trusted was really a cheat and a liar?"

Martin looked at Cameron Reed, one of his college buddies and someone he made a point of keeping in contact with along with about two or three other friends from school. "Hey, not everyone is a cheat and a liar. Some people are scared and they run leaving behind people who care and who would help them out of their trouble if only they knew what it was. Yeah, some of the people run because they've got something to hide but most of the time someone is missing because they're hurt or someone hurt them."

"But when you find them so often they're dead. Don't you ever get tired of looking at dead bodies and dealing with the grief stricken families? And what about the ones that you don't find? What about them?"

Martin sighed and wondered where the afternoon peace of a run in the park with a good friend had disappeared to. "Yeah, finding them dead is awful. There's no feeling as good as reuniting a once lost person with those who love them. Most of the time when that happens we just stand back and watch and then leave. It's an amazing feeling. The next best feeling – and there's a huge gap between the two – is the feeling when we bring closure to those left behind. It's better than not bringing closure."

Cameron looked at his old college roommate curiously. "What do you mean?"

"Last week Danny, my partner, and I were able to tell a father that we had found his daughter. She had been missing for over three years. I can't imagine what that father has been going through every second for the past three years wondering, hoping and waiting. I would have loved to go there and tell him, "Hey, we found your daughter and we're going to take you to her." But that's not how this one ended.

It's a terrible thing to take away that hope that people cling to that their loved one might somehow still be alive and just unable to contact them for whatever reason. But there is some relief, some tiny bit of peace that we can give to a father or mother, or sister, or husband when we can say, "Hey, we found them. You can finally lay them to rest in peace." The grieving process can finally begin for that person and the torture of not knowing of hoping and praying and wondering if their daughter or wife or son or brother is all right, are they being tortured, are they cold or scared or lonely, are they hurt, finally that ends and the family can at least have the knowledge of where their loved one is.

The cases that never close, where there is no body, no happy ending, no answers or a gravesite; those are the worst.

Cameron was silent as he thought on Martin's words. The two men began to jog again the habits of an old and strong friendship negated the need for words in that action. After a minute or two of silent running Martin decided it was time to lighten the mood.

"So, are you glad you moved to New York?" Martin asked.

"Yeah, it's a lot different from what I'm used to but I definitely like the rhythm of the city. How about you, ever think of leaving?"

"Hey, you just moved here and already you're trying to push me out. Afraid I'm too much competition with the ladies?"

"Nah, you're always working. Women like someone like me, someone who's around."

"Ahh, I see."

"Besides, I like brunettes."

"So."

"So? Come on, all through college how many brunettes did you ever date?"

"All right. All right. You got me, none. So is that the way it's going to be, Cam, you date the brunettes and I get all the rest?"

"Maybe. Come on, race you."

The two men continued their run through the park each lengthening his stride trying to outrun the other. They ran past slower joggers rounded a corner and started sprinting up a slight rise of the terrain. When they reached the top each man's stride was coming faster and faster as they began sprinting the last bit of the course as if intent to drive the other to exhaustion.

Finally, their strides evenly matched, they reached the end of the course and slowed their pace and then stopped. Exhausted each man bent over with his hands on his knees and dragged in deep breaths, they stumbled around slightly on rubbery legs before collapsing on the ground.

"Fitzgerald, you're getting old."

"Stuff it, Reed."

The memory faded from Martin's mind as he struggled to consciousness. He moved his aching body and the sharp pain that flashed equally through his head and shoulder wiped all traces of the peaceful memory of running in the park with his friend. Disappearing along with the peace of that memory was also the sense that he understood people and had the ability to judge evil from good. Consciousness not only brought an awareness of pain it also shook him to his core as he realized that where he thought he was a good agent, able to discern evil when faced with it, he really was ignorant.

He had called Cameron Reed his friend, cheered him on when he was going for his Master's degree, consoled him at his mother's funeral, laughed and joked with him when golfing or running, put his own life in Cameron's capable hands when they went rock climbing together and in turn had kept Cameron's life safe on those same climbs; all the while he never knew who Cameron Reed really was.

Martin had thought of him as an athlete, a savvy investment broker who more than once he'd turned to for some financial advice; he was someone who had stood by Martin as he had struggled against his father's controlling tendencies and had supported him and sometimes kicked him in the butt through the emotional rollercoaster after being shot had left him unable to run or climb or play golf or any of those other activities that he took such joy from until finally the day had arrived when Martin felt really and truly well again. It was Cam who had come and stood by Martin's side at his Aunt Bonnie's funeral.

Martin felt the ache in his head flare to a throbbing pain that barely competed with the incomprehensible pain he felt emotionally to realize that he never knew Cameron Reed at all and, in fact, all this time he had been calling a murderer, a brutal defiler of women and a despicable 'man' Martin started to choke and gag at the thought, a friend. As the true enormity of the situation took hold in Martin's mind he began to gag as the bile rose in his throat and then he vomited. He heaved and retched and gasped as the bile left his body and he knew the real reason was the disgust at who or perhaps what Cameron Reed was.

Finally with the gorge out of his system he shifted away from the puddle and tried to curl into a more comfortable position which was impossible to find with his bruised and battered body lying on the hard floor his hands cuffed behind him. Unable to find any relief for the pain in his body or the pain in his heart Martin closed his eyes and longed for the relief of unconsciousness but this time he was betrayed by his mind in a different way, this time he lay unable to drift, he was left only to suffer.

TBC…