AUTHOR'S NOTE: Before we dive into the world of Strappado, I'd like to guide those of you who are hungry for excellent fanfic to Human Puzzle in a Packing Crate. It is written by Labsquint, a dedicated writer I recently had the pleasure of getting to know. Crate has got a bit of everything -- action, suspense, scientific mumbo jumbo, and even some smut! Seriously, if you feel like reading something worth your time, Human Puzzle in a Packing Crate is the story to look up.

A sincere and collective thank you to everyone who reviewed, who added Strappado to their favorites and/or story alert list, and to those who thought me worthy enough for putting my name on author alert. I am flattered beyond words! As for Faux Maven...Damn woman, you saved this chapter and you know it! I cannot thank you enough for sticking with me and pushing me until we both thought this chapter was ready to be set free. I know I can be a handful, but you managed. To say this in very colorful terms: you rock Booth's striped socks! ;)

- IV -

-- THE RACK --

No other torture device has as many different names as the Rack. To the Romans it is known as 'Equuleus' (meaning 'young horse'), the French refer to it as 'Banc de Torture'. In Spanish it is 'Escalera' (meaning 'ladder') while it is 'Folter' (meaning 'frame') or 'Schlimme Liesel' (meaning 'fearful Eliza') in German. The Italians name this device 'La Veglia' and the British call it 'the Duke of Exeter's Daughter'. So many feminine names for a device that was considered one of the most fearful tools of torture in medieval times.

The Rack consists of a rectangular wooden frame with a roller at one or both ends. The victim's feet are tied to a fixed bar at one end, and the arms are tied by ropes or chain to the top roller. As the interrogator increases the tension the victim's joints would slowly be pulled apart. Ultimately the victim's limbs could be torn from the body.

In Greek mythology the bandit Procrustes was said to have a bed made of iron which he offered to passers-by. Once the guest was asleep Procrustes adjusted the bed so that short guests had to be stretched, while tall guests had their head or feet cut off and fed to a giant tortoise. Procrustes died in his own bed after he was captured by Theseus who adjusted the bed to its shortest length and cut off Procrustes' head and feet.

In the previous chapter Angela was assaulted but managed to escape. Now she will be stretched to recount her attack.

Thursday November 15 - Shady Grove Adventist Hospital, Rockville - Close to midnight

Bitterness was all Booth tasted. It tasted foul in his mouth and slowly crept through his veins, poisoning him from the inside. If whoever had shot John had meant to hurt Brennan, he was doing a damn fine job at getting to Booth as well by turning him rigid with anger and spite. Booth had been outsmarted by a man who knew how to handle a rifle and draw up a masterful scheme. And if there was one thing Booth couldn't stand, it was having a cocky criminal one step ahead of him. His grip on the steering wheel painfully tightened when the image of the murder weapon waiting on the coffee table came to him. It had been deliberately put on display to tease and taunt him; Booth was sure of that. If he had doubted whether the message was truly for him, the baby-bottle nipple stretched over the barrel would have convinced him. It was a sign left for the professional sniper to read.

If Angela hadn't been assaulted, Booth would have firmly believed someone was out to get him and Brennan and them alone. But by attacking Angela, the murderer had clearly targeted their entire team as well. Booth felt a surge of bitter anger course through his body. As much as it pissed him off that someone had dared to lay a hand on the team's forensic artist, his mind was entirely focused on Brennan. Whoever was toying with them had succeeded at undermining Brennan's usual poised, rational behavior. By disturbing the predictable life she knew, he had thrown her off balance. On top of that, he had managed to stretch Brennan's confidence in Booth to the limit. After they had received a call from a frantic Hodgins explaining Angela was in the hospital, all of Booth's clever observations at the crime scene, his reassurance they would find whoever shot her boyfriend, and his tentative attempts at conversation had been swept off the table.

Being the one to break the news to her that she couldn't go and see Angela hadn't endeared him to Brennan. He had tried to be gentle when he reminded her of standard procedure, but he had been ignored. Booth had wanted to be offended, but had found he couldn't. In fact, he perfectly understood why Brennan had given him the silent treatment with a couple of dark glares added in as a bonus. They both knew Brennan couldn't simply walk away from a still active crime scene, not an hour after the murder, but somehow Brennan had hoped being his partner would make Booth grant her request. Though the rage of a murderer outwitting him had had him in its grip, it hadn't made him forget how to follow procedure. With mixed feelings he had left her in the hands of local police and a select FBI-team sent to the scene on his request.

A snort escaped him. If Brennan had been an average, boring scientist who loved spending entire days at the lab, none of this would have happened. Booth wouldn't have had to stand his ground and refuse Brennan. He wouldn't have had to witness how Brennan closed up and would certainly not have been tempted to kick himself for being the cause of her mental retreat. And he wouldn't be alone right now in Rockville, Maryland, on his way to check on her best friend who would probably not have been hurt in the first place if Brennan hadn't been teamed up with him. Both incidents---Angela's assault as well as John's murder---brought a familiar, uncomfortable feeling to the surface. He tried to shield Brennan from all the harm chasing bad guys brought, but it was only an illusion. He protected her with his life, but dumped her in the dark and bitter side of the world at the same time. Brennan knew this as well as he did. By demanding to be his partner, she had chosen to walk a very dangerous path. She had accepted the risks and perils that came with the job. She had accepted that horror, pain and death were an inerasable part of their everyday lives. They both led unconventional lives which sometimes---more often nowadays---made Booth wonder if in all the hassle their jobs brought with them, they couldn't find solace in each other. He blinked as he mentally reprimanded himself. Focus.

Because of his thoughts, Booth barely took the time to throw the SUV in park and turn the engine off. With fingers cramped because of the intense mix of guilt, rage and hurry racing through his veins, he fiddled with his seatbelt until it finally popped open. He was out of the car quickly, locking the door electronically as he headed to the hospital entrance. As he briskly walked across the parking lot towards the Shady Grove Adventist Hospital, he clenched and relaxed his jaw muscles in rhythm with his hasty strides. Silently cursing the cold mid-November temperature, he dodged pools of water and rounded the few stray cars that blocked his path to the hospital entrance doors. A sudden chill wind pushed his jacket open and crawled up under his clothes causing goose bumps to race over his clammy skin. It wasn't the most pleasant evening to be out and racing across a hospital parking lot just as he had raced down the I-270, but Booth couldn't care less. All he wanted was to see how Angela was holding up, go back to D.C.---to Brennan---ASAP, and find out whoever was trying to bring them down.

When he stepped through the doors, Booth immediately scanned the area. Finding the E.R. as fast as possible was his top priority. He was tempted to pull the receptionist over her desk when she was a tad too slow for his liking when pointing him in the right direction of the E.R. As he walked away from her, his mind vaguely wandered to the possibility of the two attacks being connected somehow. In all of his years as FBI-agent, he had rarely dealt with coincidence. Two people he knew were the victim of something gruesome on the same night. If that wasn't 'coincidence', he didn't know what was. But with a shake of his head and a slight quickening in his pace, he pushed his assumptions to the back of his mind. He would visit the crime scene later, but now he just had to see Angela. Booth passed the elevator, turned a few corners, and bumped into a nurse who led him to one of the private examination rooms the E.R. counted. He walked straight into the room without a shimmer of hesitation. He had work to do.

"Angela," he addressed the fragile figure with hunched over shoulders sitting on the examination table surrounded by typically white hospital equipment and even more white walls. There was so much white it nearly hurt Booth's eyes.

As Angela cracked him a weak smile, Booth's gaze slid over the nasty looking cut covered in bright red blood crusts on her forehead. He gauged the swelling on her right cheek that was already starting to discolor, briefly halted on her split lip, and finally locked onto a pair of vicious looking scratches running down her neck until they were hidden from view by an oversized dark blue sweater. When Booth made eye contact again with Angela, all words escaped him. From Hodgins' nervous explanation Booth gathered that Angela had been attacked by a stranger and that she wasn't exactly a sight for sore eyes, but actually seeing her in this ravaged state was quite a different matter. Booth gritted his teeth and shoved his hands down into his pockets to hide his balled fists. He turned to Hodgins who was sitting next to Angela, tightly clutching her hand as if holding on for dear life. Hodgins gave him a curt nod before loosening his grip and concentrating on tenderly caressing Angela's hand. So Booth lifted his eyes to Angela again.

"You look like hell," he finally said. She smiled.

"You're one to talk."

Booth's hand flew up to his face as if he wanted to smooth away the lines engraved in his skin by anger, fatigue, and worry. The last two hours had completely drained him. It was close to midnight. Instead of watching television or being in bed, he was running from one crime scene to another. Worse yet, his night wasn't over. After speaking to Angela, he would have to leave her and drive back to D.C. where he'd probably have a hard time convincing Brennan to get some sleep while he stayed on her couch. In a way he didn't mind. At least it would give him the opportunity to keep an eye on her.

"It's been a rough night," Booth vaguely admitted. Until he had questioned Angela, he didn't want to break the news of John's murder to her. She would be entirely focused on Brennan then, instead of on his questions. He didn't want her to cut corners and leave out important details because of her worry.

"Tell me about it." Angela grimaced as she sat up straight. No doubt her injuries were hurting her. Hodgins murmured a few endearments and laced his fingers through hers. Booth had never seen Hodgins like this. It was as if he was scared and enraged at the same time...exactly how Booth felt upon recalling what happened in Brennan's apartment.

"Where's the other half of the dynamic duo?" Angela asked as she looked at him, pulling her lips into a small crooked smile. "I guess I can't blame her for not being here. This place isn't exactly what I would leave my warm and cozy bed for." She gestured around sarcastically, wincing quietly in pain. Booth noted how she was doing her very best not to move too much. Whoever had gotten to her had done it thoroughly.

"She couldn't come. I wouldn't let her," he said as he approached the examination table.

"You wouldn't let her?" Angela frowned.

"If it helps, it took a lot of convincing to make her stay behind. I was even tempted to handcuff her."

"Handcuffs? My, my, aren't we naughty? Welcome to the dark and spicy side," Angela quipped, but doubt and weariness were evident in her voice.

"Angela," Booth said in a low voice as he frowned. Hearing Angela doing her best at challenging him with sexual innuendos was quite relieving, that much he had to admit, but she shouldn't have to resolve to cheerful banter to hide her emotional wounds. She was trying her utmost to make everything seem normal even though every movement caused her to stifle a grunt or whimper. He felt like kicking and cursing again, if only to let out his pent-up frustration. But he couldn't. He had to focus now. Neither Angela nor Brennan would be helped if he lost his calm. As he maneuvered his hip against the examination table, he cocked his head to look her in the eye.

"What happened, Angela?"

"Are you asking me as a friend or as an FBI-agent?"

"Both."

His answer made her tilt her head to the side and study him wearily. Gone was the flirtatious woman. Just like Brennan whose fuse had been shorter than usual, Angela had tried to put up a façade as if what had happened had no effect on her. But the seriousness of her situation began to dawn on her. Booth could read it in the spark that slowly disappeared from her eyes and the nervous twitching of her fingers. Angela nodded slowly and knowingly as if she had read his mind. She looked away as she sighed and fiddled with the over-sized sweater Hodgins had given her. Her eyes flicked around the room, focusing on everything she came across, before hesitantly settling again on Booth. Hurt threw shadows in her eyes, intensifying the strange light that was burning in their depths. She was lost in her thoughts for a moment, without a doubt reliving the whole incident, before answering.

"I was walking to Hodgins' car when he grabbed me. He..." She paused, glancing at the white cover of the examination table. Hodgins comfortingly squeezed her hand as he shot Booth a warning look. Booth nodded reassuringly at him as if to say he knew his boundaries when it came to questioning victims. Shaken from her staring, Angela quickly shot Hodgins a small smile, ignoring his dark glare, and then continued.

"He hit me...several times. He threw me on the ground, shoved me against the edge of the fountain and he..." She stopped again. Instead of continuing she slowly tugged her hand free from Hodgins' grasp and pulled up her sweater. A trail of blood red scratches---the result of sharp finger nails having been roughly dragged over her smooth skin---trailed down and stopped right above the hem of her jeans. Booth's eyes first widened and were then narrowed making the anger blazing from them almost palpable.

"Did he...?" he began.

"No," Angela retorted. "But I'm pretty sure that's what he was going for. I kicked him, scratched his face, and ran away." Both Booth and Hodgins breathed out audibly.

"What time exactly were you attacked?" was Booth's next question. He tried to sound calm and collected. What had happened had seriously alarmed him, but he didn't want Angela or Hodgins to notice. Hodgins already had his hands full with worrying about Angela. He was solely focused on making her feel better. If Booth wasn't careful, he could antagonize Hodgins in his desire to protect Angela from further harm...or Booth's persistent questioning in this case. Booth clenched his fists. He understood Hodgins better than he let on at the moment, but he couldn't let his feelings show. Seeing Booth seem more worried about Brennan than about Angela could also trigger Hodgins' anger. Angela's eyes suddenly widened.

"It's Brennan, isn't it? Did something bad happen to her?" Booth was taken aback by her awfully precise observation. His eyes darted between Angela's bruised face and Hodgins' creased forehead.

"I guess you could say that..." Booth sighed and pinched his nose bridge between thumb and forefinger. For a few seconds he hesitated, wondering if now was the best time to fill his friends in about John's murder. In the end he decided there would never be a right time so he might as well get it over with. He only hoped Angela would still be focused afterwards. "John Percy was shot this evening."

"John Percy? As in John 'the Boyfriend' Percy?" Angela briefly squeezed her eyes tightly shut and suppressed a moan. Crestfallen she ran her hand through her hair. "How did she take it?"

"You know Bones. Always trying to shut out everything and everyone the second things get too emotional. Though in this case I can't blame her." He pushed himself away from the examination table and began pacing around. "They were on her patio when John was murdered. A sniper took him out."

"They were...She was...?" Angela muttered incoherently and blanched a little as Hodgins' mouth fell open. She shook her head and again ran her hand through her hair. "This can't be good. He gets shot and I am assaulted."

"And you are assaulted," Booth repeated, clasping his hands together behind his back and coming to a rest in front of Angela. "Exactly. It's too much of a coincidence, I believe."

"Care to share what's on your mind?"

Booth frowned and seemed to hesitate before saying, "John was shot before 10 P.M. You were attacked around..."

"Around 11 P.M.," she supplied. "Right after art class."

"So around eleven. That leaves us with a one hour window. Our sniper could have easily driven from D.C. to Rockville." A curse escaped him. "He planned this whole thing." Booth ran a hand over his tired face and drew in a deep breath. "Angela, you're a walking crime scene now. You scratched him so you're likely to have skin particles lodges underneath your nails." The three of them looked down on her neatly manicured nails. "And as much as this pains me, we'll need pictures of your injuries."

Hodgins nodded grimly. "I'll see to it."

To Booth's surprise, Angela was smiling. "Scrape under my nails for skin particles, Booth? Someone's been paying attention to Brennan! Just wait until I tell her. She'll be so proud."

Booth only lifted an eyebrow defiantly. "I'm heading over to the crime scene now. Don't forget about those nails and pictures, alright? And do you think you could attempt drawing your attacker?" The second Hodgins and Angela nodded, Booth turned and stormed off. The night wasn't over for him yet.

---&---

Friday November 16 - Town Square Plaza, Rockville - 00:32

When Booth got out of the SUV, a series of bright flashes instantly attracted his attention. He had parked in the middle of plaza, next to three police cars. Because it was now an active crime scene, no-one cared about it being a pedestrians only zone. Whipping out his badge and waving it at anyone who tried to stop him, Booth made his way over to where the flashes were coming from. Just as he had suspected a team of CSIs were processing the scene. A number of small yellow signs with numbers on them marked what they considered evidence and needed to be photographed. They were currently working on a pattern of blood drops and smears near the fountain. Booth turned to the man that seemed to be in charge of everything.

"Special Agent Seeley Booth," he said, flashing his badge for the millionth time that night. The other man nodded.

"D.C. police told me you'd be paying us a visit. Evidence we have already collected is over there." He gestured at the open back of a van where a box with evidence bags was standing. Booth thanked him and went over. Frowning deeply, he rummaged through the box checking labels and verifying contents. He came across torn pieces of clothing, cotton swabs used to collect blood, and...

"Damn it!"

His irritation and anger reached boiling point as he took a hold of an evidence bag. Another, more violent curse escaped him as he studied it. This was the crucial piece of evidence he had been looking for. The empty package of baby-bottle nipples he was holding was solid proof that someone was out to harm his friends. And that someone was also sending him a message. They truly had someone dangerous on their tails. Booth sank down on the edge of the back of the van. He gritted his teeth and tried to regain his composure, but his stare never left the evidence in his hands. He was angry, seriously pissed off, but also slightly frightened because he had a feeling the game had only just begun.

You see that genre label on top of the page -- Suspense/Romance? Well, we've had quite some suspense now. What would you say if I told you we're going to explore the Romance label a bit?