Disclaimer: Vincent, Jackson and Max are all pains in my ass.

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Chapter Eight – Death Rides a Horse (from the piece by Ennio Morricone, used in Kill Bill)

When he'd left Jackson's, and climbed back into the cab, he had dutifully handed Max the second half of the hundred dollar bill.

"Thirty five minutes," Max said.

"No problem," Vincent replied. "I need you to take me to St. Anthony's. You know where that is?"

"Crazy Ants?" Max echoed. "The looney bin?"

"Pretty much," Vincent replied. "How far away are we?"

"About twenty-two minutes," Max said, starting the cab.

"Good." Vincent thought for a few minutes as Max headed out into traffic. They were a few city blocks away when he suddenly said, "Hey, hang on a second. I want to make a quick detour first." He gave an address. Callie's father's address. If he knew Rochester at all… "How far out of the way?"

"About an extra fourteen," Max replied. Vincent smiled. The guy knew his business.

"Take me there first. I won't be five minutes. Then Crazy Ants. I'll give you another hundred."

"No problem, man," Max said. Vincent settled into silence then. Normally, he would have chatted with the driver, gotten to read him a bit, but he wasn't in the mood. This wasn't like his other missions. This one was personal, and he was distracted by it. It was a bad sign, he told himself. Distractions were just ways to get killed. He had to be doubly careful, but he just couldn't help but wonder…

Callie would have told her father about him. Then again, some little girls kept secrets from their fathers. Callie was, in many ways, still a little girl, although maybe not so much now, since the night they'd spent together.

It sounded so romantic when he put it that way. Was he being romantic about Callie? What did he expect when he found her, anyway? He had no real idea. A natural human reaction to someone seeing a person who had caused them so much grief – and from the last few glimpses he'd had of her that night, he knew she had suffered considerably at his hands – was either anger or fear. Or both. Who knew how it would manifest? He doubted she was stupid enough to attack him, but he had no doubt that she'd try to run away. He had to be careful. Approach the situation with extreme caution. Maybe even make sure she wasn't alone. He might have a better chance if she was with others – the threat of harm to them might make her more docile. It had worked before…with her father…

"We're here," Max said, and Vincent blinked, realizing the cab had stopped. "You want me to go up the driveway?"

"No," Vincent said. He slid out of the back seat. "Hang on a second." He knew Max wouldn't leave him. He'd waited the extra time for him before and knew that Vincent was as good as his word. Still, Vincent felt an urgency to get up the driveway as quickly as possible.

He caught the scent of death before he was half-way there. Fresh death, from the intensity of the smell. It was warm, salty – given time, it would become much more acrid and bitter.

Rochester had gotten in by the side door through the garage. Vincent pulled his gun and moved like a cat in his wake, but when he reached the kitchen, he knew Rochester was already gone.

The bastard had had his fun. Vincent felt an awful twinge in his chest, looking at Callie's father. He'd been a good man, loving his children. Not enough fathers did that. He had had Vincent's respect, even though they'd barely known each other.

There was nothing for it. Vincent turned and headed back out. He had to get to Callie – Rochester was already on his way, he was sure. He'd done this just for fun. He'd known exactly where Callie was already – killing the father was just rubbing salt in the wound, softening her up.

Vincent scrambled to get back into the cab. As they pulled away, he turned and saw another car pull up, this one going up into the driveway. He caught a flash of a familiar face by the streetlight. It was the brother.

"I'll give you two hundred if you can get us to Crazy Ants in half the time," Vincent told Max.

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The group of them didn't make it to the restaurant. Callie threw up on the curb half-way there, and Bill suggested she go back to her room at the institute and get some sleep – she was overstressed. Ray wanted to go with her, but Callie insisted that he not. She wanted him and Lupe to have a nice dinner – in spite of the prelude of vomit, she joked.

She and Bill climbed into a cab, although Callie wasn't happy about it, and he took her back. She took a long shower, and lay down on the bed until the world stopped spinning. It was maybe an hour before she heard a knock at her door.

"Who is it?" she mumbled, but tried to be loud enough to be heard.

"Laurie," came the familiar voice. "I brought some Chinese food. Moo-Gu Gai Pan, your favorite."

Callie pushed the towel off her face, which had been damp from the cold water she'd soaked it in. Now that she was sober again, her stomach was starting to growl, and the mention of her regular dish was enough to jump start her hunger. She got up and let Laurie in.

"So what happened?" she asked as she went back and plopped down on the bed as Laurie put the white bag on the dressing table. "Did Bill call you, or my brother?"

"Uh…both, actually," Laurie admitted, sheepish. "But Bill just wanted dinner and he was asking how he could get a pizza delivered here. I told him I would just bring Chinese, save him the trouble and expense."

"Where is he?" she asked, pulling the bag toward her and digging through it. "How many fortune cookies did you get?"

"He's taking care of a few things down in the patient wing," Laurie said, helping her and himself to the food. He had pulled up the dresser chair beside the bed. "He'll be back soon if you miss him so much."

She looked at him. "Was that jealousy?" she suddenly said, emboldened by the lingering aftereffects of intoxication.

Laurie looked startled, shook his head, shrugged. "Why would I…I mean, that's silly." He shoved a forkful of Kung Pao chicken into his mouth. "I also brought some root beer, I know that's your favorite."

Callie looked at him for a long moment with a faint smile, and then said, "So where are the fortune cookies?"

Laurie handed her the smaller bag. She dug one out, cracked it open, and pulled out the fortune.

"You're supposed to eat those at the end of the meal," he said.

"Sometimes I can't wait," she said. "And besides, I don't know if my stomach can handle Chinese at the moment. A fortune cookie is blander." She took a bite. "See if it stays down."

"What's the fortune say?"

Callie smoothed it out between her fingers. "'Someone is interested in you. Keep your eyes open.'" She frowned. "That's a strange fortune. I've never gotten one like that before. Nowadays they're bland sayings like, 'You're a natural leader' or 'Sunshine and rainbows are good for you.'" She looked up, caught Laurie's blush. Her smile returned. "Eh, who believes these things anyway?" she said, bundling it up and tossing it. "Hand me that root beer."

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Ray and Lupe had a nice dinner that somehow turned out to be a kind of date. Lupe was incredibly attractive, but she was also smart and funny in all the right ways. He had to remind himself that there was a crisis going on. They exchanged numbers, and Ray went to swing past his father's house. It was part of his routine, checking up on his dad, especially now, with Callie being out of circulation.

He felt bad, confining her to the walls of that institute, but safety was the topmost priority. He wished that his father had agreed to go with her. They had had that discussion – Vincent, after all, had visited the house. What if he came looking for Callie there? Ray Sr.'s safety was important as well, but the retired cop claimed he could take care of himself.

Ray was going to try again. There had been a prickling at the back of his neck for the last two hours. It was his cop sense, the thing that told him something was really, really wrong, even when things looked perfectly ordinary.

He caught the thick smell of blood before he was half-way up the walk to the house. He ran the rest of the way. And what he found was the worst thing he'd ever seen in his career, never mind the fact that it was his own flesh and blood that was the victim.

On the wall, written in blood, were the words, "I'm coming, Callie." And there was a drawing there, it looked like a little figure, rounded, stunted. He couldn't quite…

Was it a chess piece? It looked a bit like a horse. Yes, a knight.

Ray stood in the middle of the kitchen, and turned his eyes away from the sight. He pulled out his phone and reported the crime scene. He did not mention that it was his father's house. It didn't matter at the moment. He was a detective. He did things by the book.

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Callie had just finished mopping up the rest of the Moo-gu-gai-pan with one of the "pancakes" that came with it when Laurie's cellular phone went off. He looked down at the caller id.

"It's your brother," he said.

She frowned. "Wonder why he's calling you and not me?" she mused. "Huh."

Laurie looked at her for a second, and then answered. "Yes?"

"Is Callie with you?" Ray's voice was hushed, and it was hard to hear him, as he sounded like he was in his car.

"Yes," Laurie said, nonchalant. Something was really, really wrong.

"Leave the room. I'm on my way – is there anyone else with her?"

"Not at the moment…want me to check my files in my office?" It was a cover, to get him out of Callie's line of vision. She was watching him, and he was sure she could hear the concealed panic.

"Whatever you need to do man," Ray said, waiting for Laurie to finish playing his bluff. Laurie lowered the phone.

"I'll be right back," he said, rising. "Ray wants some information."

"I'll go with you," Callie offered.

"No, hang on…I'll page Bill." Laurie went back to the phone. "Hang on a second, Ray."

"Hurry, man." Ray's voice was…strange. As if he were pretending to be someone else. Straining to be…

Just then there was a light knock at Callie's door, and it popped open. Bill appeared, looking a bit disheveled. "We've got a few problems down in the ward," he said. "I'm going to have to go back—"

"Watch her a minute," Laurie said to him in a low voice, giving him a very pointed look. Bill, who was very intuitive, instantly understood that something had happened, but he kept his mouth shut.

"What is going on?" were the last words he heard from Callie before he closed the door. He started the walk down the hallway, trying to get distance between him and her, but not too much.

"What is going on?" he echoed to Ray.

"Dad is dead." The words were choked. "He's dead, Laurie. My father, Callie's father…I just found him at the house. He had been tied to a chair and cut to fucking shreds." He was barely holding it together now. "I'm en-route. I'm taking Callie and we're getting the hell out of town, or something. I don't know, but I can't…I can't…"

"Ray, calm down," Laurie said, keeping his voice cool and level. "You're upset, it's natural."

"I'm a few minutes away," Ray said between gasping breaths. "I'm…I'm coming…oh shit…" and he must have dropped the phone because there was a thud.

"Fucking hell," Laurie murmured.

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Callie stood up. All of her alarm bells were going off. Bill blocked her way.

"Something is wrong," she said.

"And if it is," Bill told her calmly, "Laurie will handle it. Meantime, you need to stay close to me."

"But you have to go down to the ward," she argued. "I have to know—"

Bill caught her by the forearms. He was considerably strong, and he met her, eye to eye. "Callie, you aren't going to panic. You're going to stay calm. Whatever is happening, you'll know about it soon enough. The ward can handle things without me for a minute."

Callie looked back at him, and for a minute, she seemed to acquiesce to his suggestion. She turned away, and then, slick as an oiled snake, she charged past him, getting just under his left arm and to the door.

Bill was only thrown for a moment. He was on her heels, ready to grab and restrain her if necessary, but she came to a sudden halt when she realized that Laurie was only half-way down the hallway. He was deathly pale, almost translucent. Her unexpected stop caused Bill to slap into her from behind and they both stumbled.

Callie saw Laurie's face, and said in a forceful tone, "Tell me what's going on."

Laurie couldn't speak. It wasn't his place to tell her…but Ray had been near hysterical – for Ray, anyway – and there was no telling how long it would take for him to get here and deliver the news. It might be best if he…

"LAURIE!" Callie shouted, stepping up right into his face. "What the fuck is going on? Tell me right now, right now!"

He looked down at her. His heart was breaking…he had known Ray Sr. for a long time, they had been friends, as much as any two in their professions could be.

Bill got Callie by the shoulders, ready to restrain her. She struggled against him, elbows and heels. "Laurie!" Her voice was at the top of her lung capacity now, shrieking like the squeals of an engine in bad need of a good oiling. "Tell me, please, for the love of God, tell me!"

"Your father is dead," came a voice, not Laurie's, from behind him, a bit of a ways down the hall. All three of them looked.

It was Vincent.

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Vincent had paid Max everything he promised, and got up the walk as quickly as he could. Once he was sure that Max had driven away, he calmed himself and found the back entrance. In the packet of papers he'd stolen from Jackson had been the security codes to get him into the institute. Without it, he wouldn't have had a chance.

But that meant Rochester had it, too. He had to haul ass.

Surprisingly, they were easy to find. He could hear Callie shouting at someone named Laurie—the doctor who was helping her write about him, he realized. She was almost hysterical. He followed the noise.

They didn't see him approach. Vincent dared it as close as he could, but stopped just short of being within eyeshot. They would hear him, though.

Callie was with another man as well, who was attempting to restrain her. He looked formidable – he had a bodyguard's appearance, but was dressed in scrubs. An orderly, maybe a bit more.

From Callie's twists and turns, he could see that she was unarmed. In only jeans and a t-shirt, there was nowhere for her to tuck a gun except into her waistband, and it would have fallen out with all the ruckus she was making.

He had to get her to come to him. And there was only one way to do that. He had to make her rush him. And there was only one way to do that, too.

Finally, her voice screeched, cutting through his eardrums. "Laurie! Please, for the love of God, tell me!"

She didn't know, but they did. So he ended the suspense for them.

"Your father is dead," he said.

The suddenness of his voice surprised even him. All three turned and looked at him, with different levels and flavors of shock. The bodyguard, that Vincent could get so close and he not know it; the doctor, that Vincent was even there, and privy to such information; and of course, Callie.

She looked at him at first in disbelief. Then it melted into anger, and something else…hatred. Blistering, freezing hatred. He'd been looked at like that a few times in his life. Also by someone he'd had an emotional attachment too. It felt the same. He was surprised.

But she did what he expected. At the delivery of such news, she screamed, wordless, and broke from the two men flanking her. They shouted her name, but it was too late. She had her hands out, as if to strangle him, but he easily side-stepped her, grabbing her wrist and twisting her arm. She flopped back against the wall, and he turned to the other two.

He aimed at the wall and fired.

The doctor, who walked with a cane, ducked down and scrambled back, self-preservation kicking in. He did, however, start to shout Callie's name. The bodyguard was quicker, getting back and slipping into a crevice to shield himself. Vincent didn't know if he was armed -- probably not, working in a place like this. At least not with anything lethal.

Then something unexpected happened. He felt teeth on his wrist, and he jerked. His hand released its hold on Callie's arm, and then, for good measure, she kicked him, getting the back of his knee at just the right angle.

Then she ran away.

Vincent watched her go for a second, then looked back at the other two. The doctor was not a threat – not at this distance. But the bodyguard, he was probably going for a weapon stashed somewhere. Callie had a gun. A good bodyguard would be aware of those things. He could easily go get it if he knew where she kept it.

Which bought him a little bit of time. So he turned and ran after her.

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Me: What? I already wrote the disclaimer.

Vincent: That wasn't very nice what you said.

Jackson: Yeah, I mean, what did I do?

Max: I didn't do anything, either.

Me: Oh, all right. Max, Jackson, I'm sorry. Vincent, kiss my ass.

(Vincent steps toward the writer. Jackson and Max step back, unwilling to get in his way. Then, like a Big Damn Hero, Bill arrives.)

Bill: That's enough.

Me: What the hell are you wearing?

(Bill looks down at his "Captain Hammer" shirt.)

Bill: I got another gig. Joss Whedon's Dr. Horrible's Singalong Blog.

Me: Nice gloves.

Vincent: (sarcastic) Yeah.

Bill: Don't you start.

Me: Um, no offense, sweetie, but I'm afraid that Vincent is going to hurt you.

Rochester: Then I'll help.

(Rochester appears in his Iron Man costume)

Me: (throws up hands) This is not a superhero fic! Both of you, out of the costumes, now!

(Bill and Rochester look at each other, shrug, and start stripping.)

Me: Whoah, hey! Vincent, stop laughing!

Vincent: I'm sorry. But you always get what you ask for.

Me: All right, show's over! Everybody go review! Geeze…