Author's note: (tiptoes in and carefully places a big flashing WARNING - BEWARE OF DARKNESS sign in front of the reader) There, that should be clear enough. :)
As always, major thank you to Faux Maven. I am giving credit where credit is due. Half of the explanation of this chapter title I owe to her. Thanks to her clear and precise observations, I did some research and turned a so-and-so first draft into what it is now. Like you said, Faux Maven, a bit of shake and bake can do wonders sometimes! And I couldn't have pulled it off without you. But you know that, right?
- III -
-- THE CAT'S PAW --
The Cat's Paw or Spanish Tickler is, as its second name hints, one of the most fun toys of the Spanish Inquisition. Just like a real cat's paw it has four nails. Well, four long bent spikes really. They are basically an extension of the torturer's hand. Some Cat's Paws are attached to a pole so the torturer can use it from a distance; torturers who prefer a more personal touch hold only the paw itself. The Cat's Paw is used to tear away the flesh of the victim. If you have the misfortune of being submitted to the Spanish Tickler torture, first you are stripped naked, then the flesh from your limbs is scraped away. Because of the shape and size of the Cat's Paw, neither bones nor muscles are spared. After your limbs have been torn apart, they move up your back and torso and eventually scratch your face away. It is a most gruesome torture method, I must admit.
(Un)Fortunately there are two other meanings which are far less cruel (1) the Cat's Paw is a light breeze that ruffles the surface of the water in irregular patches during a calm and (2) another meaning is known from the fable of the monkey that used a cat's paw to draw chestnuts from the fire. It is used by the monkey as a tool to obtain what he wants.
In chapter three, our Madman goes after another member of the Squint Squad. The one he chases fights back like a cat, hence the chapter title, and eventually...Well, you'll just have to read and find out. ;-) The other meanings of the Cat's Paw fit as well. It's after John's shooting, after Booth has discovered the sniper rifle. What happens now is disturbance ruffling the surface of Brennan's and her friend's lives. And of course, since Madman goes after another squint, he uses his victim as a tool for his plan.
Thursday November 15 - Rockville, Maryland - 22:37
So far time was on his side. The night was still very much dark and dreary---perfect for stage two. He'd strike them hard, her small select group of eccentric scientists. In less than twenty-five minutes from now he'd execute the next part of his plan. It would bring her to her knees. Then he'd disappear, but only for a short while. He'd vanish into thin air, would give Brennan time to get back on her feet, and would then return with a vengeance. His eyes flickered intensely dangerous and a low, satisfied grunt rumbled in the back of his throat. She would have been better off if she had been left chained to his basement wall. After he was done with her, she would wish that was the way it had gone.
He snorted as he thought back to the events of a little over an hour ago. Just like he had predicted, local police had come barging in minutes after he had pulled the trigger. From his first row seat on the sixth floor of the opposite building, he had witnessed a group of four officers invade her apartment and drag her away from John's corpse. His lips had been frozen into a cold and calculated smile ever since he had caught sight of the mask of appalling horror she had been wearing. Serves you right, Dr. Brennan, he had wanted to yell. Serves you fucking right for escaping your fate! But he had restrained himself. Shouting or even making the slightest sound would have betrayed his position. So he had been patient, like a spider lurking in the corner of his web waiting for a foolish fly. A bit before ten P.M., he had silently slipped out of the unoccupied apartment he had appropriated and even more silently had used the stairs to descend all six floors. Attracting attention by using the elevator was out of the question. Downstairs he had found the entrance doors unlocked. His smile had turned victorious as he thought I love it when a plan comes together. The doors were wide open inviting him to slip through and disappear into the night.
He had stayed, though, for ten more minutes. Hearing the excited murmurs of a bloodthirsty crowd had teased his senses. It had felt a bit like what the emperors of ancient Rome had done thousands of years ago. Give the people entertainment and they will worship you as if you were God himself. As he had stood there, reveling in the pain, misery and shock he had caused, an SUV he was familiar with thanks to his observations of Dr. Brennan, had pulled up. With avid interest he had seen her partner stare at the crowd gathered in front of her building. He hadn't stayed long enough to catch a glimpse of the horror her partner was bound to experience upon realizing it concerned his anthropologist, but he could easily visualize the agent's actions and facial expressions. I'll see you in a few, buddy, he had thought full of hatred as he had gotten into his car.
In just about half an hour he had traded downtown D.C. for wealthy Rockville, second biggest city of 'America in Miniature', officially known as Maryland. Rockville looked picture postcard perfect. Thanks to recent improvements every house looked neat and cozy, trees lined straight and tidy streets, and some areas were now pedestrians only. Because it was an hour to midnight, lamp posts threw warm glows on parked cars and on a lonely pedestrian making his way home. Five minutes ago he had passed Saint Mary's Church where the grave of F. Scott Fitzgerald was located. For a city this size, Rockville breathed out a remarkable feeling of welcome and homecoming. The corners of his mouth twitched. In about ten minutes time, the peaceful mood of this city would be ruined for a particular someone and would be forever associated with a horrid memory.
He chuckled as he drove on, confidently turning left and right until he reached Beall Avenue. There he took the second street on his right and ended up on Maryland Avenue where he steered his car to the curb and killed the engine. He would have to walk from here on because his destination, Town Square Plaza, was a pedestrian zone. Without uttering so much as a single word, he got out of his car and followed the sidewalk. With the Rockville library on his right, he moved down the street keeping a close eye on his surroundings.
As he turned the corner and crossed the plaza, he glanced over his shoulder at the three-storied building on his right hand--- the Metropolitan Center for the Visual Arts, VisArts in short. Recently built and opened only two months ago, VisArts was easy on the eyes with its clean, straight-cut architecture. On street level there was a contemporary craft shop, on the second floor three galleries could be found, and on the third floor...His lips twitched again. The third floor housed the teaching areas. There naked men stood proudly in front of classes of women, men chipped away with chisels and hammers on marble, and other people threw entire buckets of paint against a canvas or sang off key while they were up to their elbows in clay. Every Thursday evening she came, that long legged, dark haired vivacious woman with soft brown eyes and an infectious smile. Once a week she spent three full hours here, living out her wildest artistic dreams and absorbing new drawing techniques. Why she visited this particular art centre in Maryland while she had all the artistic freedom she needed in Washington D.C. he could never comprehend, but it made stage two of his plan all the easier.
A glance at his watch told him it was four minutes to eleven---only four more minutes to go until show time. He pulled up the hood of his jacket, adjusted his scarf covering his mouth and part of his nose, and pressed himself against the sturdy tree trunks of a small group of trees planted on the far left side of the plaza. The surprising yet delicious coldness seeping out of the bark took him back to the walls of his basement dripping with filthy water from sewers. In between a particularly coppery stream of fluids and a light greenish spot of mold spreading across the dull grey stones, he had chained her. It had been December, almost a full year ago. The air in his basement had been chillingly cold, near the freezing point. Every time someone talked or only opened their mouth, their breath turned into a cloud of hot mist evaporating and blending slowly with the frigid air filling the confined space. How beautiful she had looked, with her piercing blue eyes shooting daggers at him, as he had taunted her over and over again by dangling the keys in front of her nose while teasingly tracing her cheeks and jaw bones. Once she had nearly bitten his finger off, which had resulted in a nasty kick in the gut for her.
How tempting it had been to rip her clothes off and admire the way the cold made her nipples stand out. How awfully close he had come to raking his nails down her smooth skin and hearing her screams echo through his basement. He had loved seeing her jerk and fight against her restraints as he slapped her face from side to side hoping to see it turn all shades of the rainbow before his very eyes. Unfortunately he had never gotten a chance to finish his latest project. Before he could have gotten his tools out, the silent alarm he had installed had gone off. He had just fled his basement through a secret hatch when her partner had burst through the door, gun ready and his eyes full of murderous intent.
Well, there would be no heroic FBI-agent around now to save the damsel in distress. He'd take her innocence and he'd take it good. Since she liked art so much, he wondered how she'd feel about becoming a piece of art herself. With her arms sprawled out, one leg drawn up, and her head slightly rolled to the side as if drifting off to sleep---that's how he'd display her. He'd ravish her body, would leave bloody scratches all over her chest, arms and thighs. In the end, he would dip his fingers in the paint and Chinese ink she carried with her and smudge it all over her skin. She'd suffer---suffer beyond words---and her suffering would make her best friend suffer. He was determined to torment her friend badly enough to make Brennan howl out in pain.
His eyes flickered with anticipation when a group of eccentrically dressed people exited the art centre. They were the only group to leave at this time of night. It was as if fate was giving him a hand at this point. All other classes usually ended at 9 P.M., which would have interfered with his plan, but fortunately her class was an exception. It worked beautifully with how he wanted his plan to unfold.
He easily picked her out, because of her sparkling laugh and well-cut, expensive clothes. Within the next two minutes the group fell apart. Some people headed for the bus stop, others for the subway, which were both a block away. Four people made their way to the parking garages situated behind the ring of stores circling Town Square Plaza. The dark-haired beauty waved at them and started towards Gibbs Street where a fancy red sports car was waiting for her. Her rich fool of a boyfriend would be behind the wheel. He always parked just around the corner because he wanted to kiss her senseless right after she had gotten into the passenger seat. There had been an evening or two when they had stayed around the corner for more than twenty minutes, without a doubt fooling around. That was probably the reason why the car was always parked so far away from the exit. No-one wanted to be disturbed as things heated up. Foolish playing around usually made him sick. Where was the fun if you didn't make your partner writhe with pain? But tonight their childish games would work in his advantage. He'd steal her away right from under rich boy's nose.
Not bothering to withdraw in the shadows his tree provided, he tailed her with his eyes as she casually strolled down the plaza staying close to the arts centre. He glanced around the tree trunk to judge if her class mates were out of hearing range. Then he moved a bit to the side to measure the distance from where he was to the corner of the street. He was about halfway. And so was she apparently. During the minute he had needed to assure himself there were no spectators, she had moved away from VisArts and was nearing the fountain, about ten yards on his left. He nodded.
Perfect.
Without any warning he lunged forward, closed the short distance between them, hooked an arm around her waist, and covered her mouth with his hand to silence all shrieks. Ignoring her protests and avoiding the kicks she aimed at his shins, he dragged her to the group of trees where he had been hiding. He wanted to throw her down, but she was smart enough to hold on to his arm and hook her foot around his ankle, thereby forcing the both of them to the pavement. A disgruntled groan escaped him. He wasn't supposed to be lying on the ground too. Stupid little piece of shi...Moments later he gasped for air when her elbow plunged hard in his stomach. He cried out when she bit down on his hand still covering her mouth. Without bothering to look who he was, she rolled away and got up on her knees intending on making a run for it. That wasn't going to happen when he was around; there was no way he letting her escape!
He dove forward, right onto her back forcing her flat onto the cold and stony ground wetted by spray of the fountain. Now it was her turn to be out of air. Smelling a golden chance, he wiggled around a bit, until he was straddling her and had effectively locked his fingers around her wrists. He lifted himself up a bit leaning heavily on her lower body and hands. She kept perfectly still, probably afraid for her life. A sadistic grin pulled at the corners of his mouth. Now that he had her under control, he was going to play around a bit. He raised himself into a kneeling position with his knees boring down into the back of her knees and forcing her hands behind her back. Not a sound was heard except for the clear sparkling of the nearby fountain. He frowned and pulled some more on her arms---again no sound. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. She was meant to moan in pain when he roughly tugged at her wrists.
Still frowning because of her silence, he got up to his feet and dragged her up too. Her body uncoiled like a spring and before he was aware of what was happening, her fist came flying at his face with merciless speed. She punched his nose and drilled her stiletto heel into his foot. He jumped back in surprise and hurt. She turned and made a mad dash in the direction of Gibbs Street, but her attack hadn't discouraged him. With renewed vigor he went after her. He grabbed a handful of her curls and jerked her back---back to his tree, back to the fountain.
This time she couldn't help but make a sound. It wasn't the toe curling scream he had hoped for, but the pitiful whimpering she produced was enough as he pulled her back flush against his chest with an animalistic growl. He roughly and relentlessly roamed her chest, stomach and hips with raking fingers. She was frozen into place, barely breathing, until his hand disappeared under her short jacket, down the hem of her pants. He heard her cry of despair and sensed she was going to elbow him again, so he withdrew his hand and violently pushed her to the side. His shove sent her spinning around until she lost her balance and went down, roughly hitting her head on the stone side of the fountain. Stunned by of the impact, she could only raise herself onto her knees clutching the side of her head with a trembling hand. He smiled viciously. That was going to leave a nasty bruise.
Perfect.
She tried to get up again, but he was upon her before she succeeded. The sound of a slap faintly resembling the crack of a whip resounded over the plaza and mixed with the ever-cheery splashing of fountain water when he hit her across the face with the back of his hand. With a thud and more whimpering she hit the pavement and curled up on her side. He turned her onto her back and again ran his hand across her lovely features. The whimpering stopped to his dismay. She should have been begging for her life by now. A request which he wasn't going to grant, but she didn't know that. She just laid there, one hand cradling her side, the other one clutching her head, and her vision blurry as blood welled from a cut in her forehead and trickled into her eyes. For a minute he was tempted to beat her senseless, until she screamed out to have mercy. Instead he straddled her, ripped her jacket open and threw her scarf over her head. The beautiful noise of clothes being torn apart filled his ears. A maniacal laugh was stuck in his throat. How he was going to enjoy this! He was going to strip her naked, leave his marks all over her, was going to make her scream out, was going to do everything he had wanted to do to her dear friend Dr. Brennan.
He suddenly cried out when she freed one of her arms and buried her fist in his stomach. What happened next took less than a minute, but he would forever remember the stabs of pain and embarrassment. She lashed out dragging her nails down his face. She karate chopped his sides with her hands as if she was trying to snap him in half, her knee flew up hard enough to diminish his crotch to nothing for the rest of his life, and finally she put one stiletto boot on his chest and kicked him off. With a smothered growl he landed on his side. He didn't move or try to stand, stunned by the pangs of pain shooting up from where he was protectively holding his hands, as he watched her scramble to her feet and run towards Gibbs Street. She stumbled, grabbed her bag two feet on, and without another look disappeared around the corner.
It took forever for him to work himself up onto his knees. Blood poured down his face as he slowly stood up. He would have to hide or, better yet, make a run for it. Any minute now her angry boyfriend would come hurtling around the corner bent upon revenge. If he wanted to live, he'd have to leave immediately and be patient until he got another chance to get his hands on Dr. Brennan's pretty best friend. But first he fished a small package out of his pocket. With the utmost care he deposited it on the side of the fountain. If that bastard doesn't find it, he's even more stupid than I thought.
While keeping his eyes on the empty baby-bottle nipple package, he wiped some blood away from his cheek and grimaced because of the stings his touch evoked. He turned and began crossing the plaza. He moved from shadow to shadow, careful not to be spotted by unforeseen passers-by, realizing he didn't have to kill the woman who had wounded him. Seeing her in her ravished state would surely hurt the good doctor a great deal. His face was grim and he felt like howling in rage. He was going to make Dr. Brennan pay, both for humiliating him by escaping his basement and for teaching her best friend about self-defense. But, despite the escape of his victim, he could easily move on to stage three of his plan without any problem. Only next time he'd have to be more careful, more prepared. His next victim would have to suffer even more because of his failure today.
Are you still there? Really? Excellent. :) Then I'd like to use the opportunity to point out to whoever is interested and/or whoever has read Dying to Catch My Breath that I've written and posted an additional scene. It's called Fearless Breathing and you can find it on my profile. Thanks. :)