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Chapter Two: Andy Bauer: Demolition Man

Andy Bauer came from a family of devout Catholics, the third child in a family of twelve. He liked football, poker, beer, women- as any straight man would- and blowing things up. It must have been from birth; his parents had claimed that even as a young boy of three, he was fascinated with Hollywood explosions, enough that they stopped showing any of the violent movies. But he had brothers.

His first stint with actual explosives was on a particular Fourth of July when he was eight; he had bunched several firecrackers together and ignited them, delighted as several of them had collided, two caught fire, and several going up into the sky. It was an addiction. By the time he was twenty, he had managed to join a demolition company that took down old buildings, and he found out how poor it was- the meticulous planning, the stiff regulations. And there wasn't much excitement in two seconds of unfiery destruction.

So after fifteen seconds of deep contemplation, Andy quit, packed up his favorite explosives, and went underground, where he blew up things with more substance and fire. There were boundaries of course. He never blew anything up with people in them- which was how he had gotten in this situation in the first place. He had joined up with a group of ex-military arsonists and one had a nasty grudge against his ex-wife, talking about blowing up her workplace- and Andy had been all for it- until it turned out he planned to do it during working hours, which was a no-no in Andy's book, especially when her place of work was a children's daycare center.

He had been against it, and when being vocal about it, the guy had pulled a .45 on him. He had escaped with a new respect for life and had been hiding out in Sin City for a while, playing the tables for easy cash until he figured out what to do with himself. It was then that the state of Colorado was in an uproar over a terrorist bombing on a children's daycare, The fool had been caught, and was even giving names; Bauer had sat in dread, waiting for his name and picture to show up, but none had yet.

That was when he had met Grem- at the time he had thought he looked like one of those Japanese gangsters he had seen in a few films, with his tailored suit- pale grey, black shoes, and black spiky hair- though he looked full white. The jacket of the suit was unbuttoned, revealing a dark blue tie and white shirt. He walked into the dimly lit bar with a casualness he had only seen in people who were regulars, but others watched him with a curiosity that said he was new. He had sat next to Bauer, lit a cigarette, and ordered a Jose Cuevo with the airs of someone who was holding back boredom by a sheer effort of will. He didn't know how a conversation had started, how it had gotten to be about bombs, but somewhere along the line Bauer thought he might be an undercover cop. He then cursed his alcohol induced tongue for being so damn liberal about his life story. That was, until they started showing pictures of that missing policeman in California, which was such a big deal because he wasn't the first law enforcer that had disappeared in the last ten years. If anyone bothered to ask him, well he would say it was nothing more than the works of the ITG that had been plaguing society for decades now.

But it was the mirth and delight dancing around those seemingly black eyes that changed his mind- policeman tended to form a brotherhood of sorts with each other, and nothing pissed them off more than hearing about another getting hurt or killed in the line of duty. Shortly after this, the man wandered out, and before he could mull over the consequences of his loose tongue, his own face appeared on the television, my what a shock that had been, even when he had been waiting for it. He had left the bar quickly, and had only been mildly surprised to see Grem leaning against a white business van, smoking and gazing up at the stars. When their eyes connected, the man offered him a ride, said he was heading home to California, and it didn't seem like a bad idea to hitch a ride right out of Nevada.

He couldn't call home now to assure his family that he didn't have anything to do with the bombing in Colorado for he could already imagine the Feds crawling around his parents property, asking them questions. They would tell them how much he loved explosions as a child. They'd ask all his old co-workers about him, and they would say he had been an unsatisfied man. They would ask the men who gave out his name, and hopefully they would say he had nothing to do with it. But he doubted that though.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he had thought Grem lived in Los Angeles, but no, they drove calmly toward farmland and empty spaces up into a town called Betteravia, he didn't know how many miles from a decent city. The first thing he noticed was that it was eerily empty, he saw no one walking about, the stores looked unoccupied, the houses unkempt.

"Where is everyone?" he asked, speaking for the first time during their long drive. Most of the time he had been expecting to be pulled over, kept darting looks out the tinted windows, but Grem drove like an innocent man, which, Bauer was vaguely under the impression that he wasn't.

"Gone," Grem replied simply, flicking his cigarette out the window. "Most moved to Guadalupe- the next town over- or some other place."

"You mean this place is empty?" Bauer felt uneasiness rush through him as they passed through a broken fence with 'Private Property' signs all along it. They moved toward a large structure, long and mostly of metal, with two tall silos beside it. "What's this?" he asked as they rode to a stop near two large doors.

"This is a sugar mill," Grem sat back in the seat, grinning at him. "Its been abandoned for some time, so I've set up shop. You can stay as long as you want."

Set up shop? What did he make here? Crystal Meth? Before he could reply, the man opened his door and stepped out, and he followed, brushing dark brown hair from his face as the wind blew through the area, hot and dry. There was the sound of wheels and creaking metal, and he turned to see one of the doors slide open, large enough for a truck to back into. A boy slipped through.

He was wearing a red t-shirt, blue jeans, and walked with a strange confidence Bauer had only seen in older men. As he approached, Bauer could see his face- a young face- but it was a face girls would squeal about. He'd either grow up to be a really handsome man, or an unusually pretty one, judging on how he filled out. He had a full, wide mouth, straight nose, two large green eyes framed by thick black lashes, and a full head of black hair that clearly had a mind of its own- or it was the current fashion for teens. The kid stopped before them, giving Grem a quick glance before looking up at him, a faint smile on his face. He really reminded him of his kid brother Andrew.

"Hey there," he greeted, guessing this was Grem's younger sibling, holding out his hand. "I'm Anthony, but you can call me Andy."

The boy grasped his hand and replied with a voice rough with puberty, "I'm Harry."

If the boy said anything more, he didn't hear it, because he had all eyes on the chain of bruises running along the kid's skinny arms.

"Ouch," he commented uneasily. "How'd you get those?" The boy released his hand, glanced down at his arm, then glanced at Grem, who was standing near them, still grinning. The boy shrugged in reply. Acid churned in Bauer's belly.

"Anyway," the man patted Harry on the head good-naturedly. "Harry has been interested in bombs for some time now, and when you and I talked, I thought the two of you had to meet."

Grem hadn't mentioned a kid brother, not anywhere in that conversation at the bar, or on the the long drive here, he was at least sober enough to remember something like that. He grinned down at the growing teenager, masking his uncertainty. Bombs were dangerous- he had no delusions about that- and the idea that he was supposed to teach a young kid how to blow things up sent him into a nervous sweat. He had been careless when he was a kid, and nothing would make Harry any different. He glanced at Grem, taking in his apparently permanent grin and dark eyes; it was the expression of a man who wasn't used to hearing no. He knew Grem was dangerous, knew that Grem knew he was in trouble with the law, and he now understood that his offer of sanctuary resided in pleasing this child. It shouldn't be too hard, he had older and younger brothers, he was good with kids. Besides, he didn't want to go to jail for the millions in property damage he had caused last year.

He studied the boy briefly, his gaze burrowing into the pale green eyes- steady eyes, eyes that did not flinch or waver...unusual eyes that did not challenge, but had the patient watchfulness of a disconnected observer. As if his decisions didn't really matter to him. They didn't belong on a teenagers face.

Bauer drew an eye over his body, lanky, yet completely comfortable- he bet this kid didn't go through the elbows and knees stage. Something wasn't right about him.

But Bauer smiled. "I guess I can show him a thing or two."

Grem's grin grew. "Good. Harry, why don't you show him around the place while I get his bags."

"No-no!" Bauer moved toward the van. "That's alright, I usually like to handle my own stuff." The man smiled at him and turned away, heading for the mill.

As Bauer pulled his bags from the back of the van, he glanced back to see the youth Harry standing in the same spot, hands stuffed in his jean pockets, gazing at him. "Okay," he had a good grip on his bags. "Where to?" He glanced over at the mill and wondered where Grem had gone to. The mill was vast, stretching several acres and surrounded by abundant farmland, though most of it was dry dirt.

Harry pulled his hands from his pockets and silently led him into the mill. As they approached the entrance, the brash cawing of crows made him look up. The whole area was littered with them, black birds sitting on the telephone poles and wires, in the dirt and on the fences and abandoned equipment.

"Damn," he muttered. He didn't like crows, creepy little bastards, and he could thank Hollywood for that, along with practically the whole horror fiction genre. He didn't like how they watched him, turning their heads this way and that, flapping their dark wings and ruffling their feathers.

"You don't like them," he jumped and looked at Harry, who stood by the door, waiting for him, calm green eyes drifting from him to the crows.

"Naw, I always thought they were creepy bastards." The boy blinked at him as if not understanding what could be creepy about them, then entered the mill. He looked back at the birds, still felt they were watching him. He shrugged a shoulder in agitation and entered.

---------------

Michael woke, groggy and disoriented, to a dark room with four grey walls and nothing more. The stone floor was painful to lay upon, and his wounds began to spring to life as the morphine wore off. "Dear God," he groaned as he sat up. Why was he in here? Was this where they had taken Alejandro before they had killed him? He began to shiver, his mouth drying with fear. This was worse than the cage, much worse. It was obvious Grem planned to kill him, like the thousands of others he claimed to have. Was he going to send those wraith-like creatures to kill him? God, what were they? He felt like they were near him at this very moment, probably right outside the door, waiting for him

His time was almost up.

"Oh Maggie," he breathed in despair.

---------------

The mill was vast, and it was dangerous. Parts of it had crumbled, 'in a dust storm,' Harry had said when he inquired, and some of it had burned in a fire not too long ago.

"Several burned to death," he had murmured as they stopped to stare at a burned beam. "One down to mere bones." Bauer had looked down at the kid, stared at empty green eyes and saw no horror.

"So, where's your room?" he asked, to change the subject, and followed him down a series of smoke- stained halls into a large room, where the swivel door claimed was a lounge. The lounge had apparently been converted int o a large bedroom, with a few chipped dressers, and a four poster bed. Dangling from the ceiling above the bed were...Bauer squinted and moved toward the bed.

"Are those...dreamcatchers?" he looked back at the boy, who nodded. They were intricate things, each different from the other in large or small ways. As he moved closer he spotted the skull of a small cat twined into one, what looked like twigs bent through the eye sockets to hold it to the circle. Hanging beside it were many others, many that had the wings of crows and other small birds twined into them. He touched one, and a pure note, a ringing of a bell sounded, and he saw the small bell dangling off of it.

"Where'd you get these?" he asked in a a mixture of wonder and disbelief.

"I made them," the boy replied in disinterest. No wonder he wasn't bothered by the crows- he was too busy killing them.

"Really?" he said casually. "that's a pretty cool skill. How do you do it?" he turned to look at the teen, whose eyes roved emptily about the room before settling back on him.

"I soak small branches in water until they are soft, then bend them into a circular shape. I add stuff I want on it later when it dries and hardens."

"Do they work? They're supposed to keep away bad dreams, right?"

"Yes, but only for dreams, unfortunately." he said it so seriously, that Bauer was almost moved to believe him, but he had never been the kind of person to believe in mystical crap.

They moved from the room, Bauer following him through parts of the large mill, stepping through dirt, water damage, and scorched metal, something he was familiar with.

"A bathroom and washroom," Harry opened a door to a men's restroom. The floor was layered in dirt, but the row of sinks, shower stalls, and urinals were clean.

"Do they work?" he asked.

The teen nodded and moved on, passing through rays of sunlight- Bauer looked up to see the sky through a missing chunk of the ceiling. They passed an area that was fenced off, and by the way the teen paused before it told him that the chained fence hadn't been there before.

"This leads to the basement of the mill. Please don't try to go down there- this is Grem's space," his voice was flat and empty, weird coming from a teenager- they tend to wear their emotions on their sleeves.

"No prob'," he had no problems staying out of other people's business- he glanced at the bruises that stood out starkly on Harry's arms. Yes, no problems at all. "Just show me where I sleep and I'll be happy. Haven't slept in twenty-four hours."

Harry scratched his head, and finally a new, more normal emotion appeared on his face. Confusion.

"I wasn't particularly prepared for your arrival; you're not the usual guest we get." He moved away from the fence and Bauer continued to follow him through a few halls and rooms, most of them empty. The large factory machines had been removed, but they had left their marks on the dirty granite floor.

"What did you guys do with all the machines?"

"Most were taken to other plants in the U.S. The useless ones are on the other side of the mill, outside." As he spoke they passed an area that sent chills up his spine- it wasn't the sight of it, but the smell, a distant odor of blood and feces. The floor was dank with water, and there was a cage in the middle of the room where he imagined electrical circuits and other more fragile machines used to sit. There was a 'Danger' and a high voltage lightning bolt sign hanging in the side of the cage.

They passed that room and opened an office door with the chipped words 'manager' on it, revealing a spacious, if dusty, office, complete with desk, chair, and a long padded bench, which said the manager hadn't gone home often. Probably was the guy who set the place on fire. Bauer placed his bags on the desk and stretched the cramped muscles in his neck, feeling weary. Harry turned in a circle, surveying the office in silent contemplation before looking at him.

"Tomorrow then," he said with a bow of his head and left.

"Where did Grem go?" he called after him, but the boy was already out of hearing range. His instincts said that he wanted to know where Grem was at all times- but at least he was sure that the man wasn't an undercover cop. He opened a bag and pulled out a gray wife-beater. Weariness was coursing through his body- it was tiring business being a wanted man. Bauer laid back on the padded bench and sighed, staring up at the ceiling. What was happening to his family right now? Were they ashamed of him? Were they shocked? Or were they not in the least surprised that his life had turned out this way? He wasn't.

With a sigh, he dug into one of his bags and pulled out a small portable radio, which he turned on to the 'Top Forty Countdown' and shut his eyes. Sleep descended over him quickly.

---------------------

Harry shuddered as the sun dropped past the horizon- he could always feel the sun set within his blood, as if he was attuned to the exact moment when night began. He lifted his head, green eyes turning to one of the large windows near the large doors. Dust floated in the last dimming rays of the light, and he stood, watching them disappear before heading into their bedroom. His eyes spotted a set of keys sitting on the dresser, next to a silver handgun. He grabbed the keys, but paused to stare down at the gun. The message was clear, Andy Bauer was like the surgeon, he was useful until Harry no longer needed him. Then he would be dead.

He took the last piece of bread and cheese and headed for the fenced off basement, unlocking it and descending down into the chill, stepping over bodies as he headed for the Dementor's room. He ran a finger over the cold grey stone and waited impatiently as it dematerialized and revealed the plain windowed- door. He stepped into the threshold of Dementors, felt their fingers run over him, sucking at any emotions that he may have, but getting very little from him. Crossing the dark, frozen room, he approached the door that led to their magical workroom.

Inside was everything magical that they either carried with them around the country, or had just accumulated, like the headless unicorn hanging by its legs from a rope, or the large round cauldron that sat in the middle of the room. Near the cauldron were several rows of tables with smaller cauldrons, Bunsen burners and petri dishes, layered with the feathers and discarded body parts of crows and other small animals. The walls were lined with shelves full of potions, books, and artifacts with dangerous magical properties. Harry approached a shelf full of nutrition potions he had brewed, several magic based antibiotics, numbing agents, ampules of morphine, and syringes. He dropped them in the bag with the bread and cheese, then went over to the unicorn, giving its hide a poke, contemplating whether its flesh was ready to be harvested. Ground to a fine powder, Unicorn hide- which did not rot, could restore elasticity to the epidermis, knocking off years of sun and aging damage. Unicorn eyes could induce prophetic visions, and the uterus of a female unicorn could restore virginity and increase fertility. The hair was, of course, perfect for wand making, the hooves for crafting beautiful artwork, and the blood...The blood of a unicorn could prolong the life of basically anyone, in any fatal situation, whether it be old age, illness, or wounds.

Unfortunately, not only was it highly illegal to kill and harvest unicorn parts, it was also supposed to do damage to the soul of the harvester, but Harry never felt any different when Grem brought them around. They were probably one of the few in the world that actually made a profit off of the creatures. Deciding that the flesh wasn't ready, Harry left the room, shut the door behind him and moved his way through the Dementors.

*Hungry,* the Devourer whispered, and he rubbed his back with a free hand.

Soon, he promised, and the demon grumbled, falling silent again.

The door rematerialized behind him as he stepped over the stiff bodies and approached another door. As he opened it, he was immediately stunned by a blow to his face, knocking him to the floor. A body clambered over him, wheezing, and hit him in the face again- Harry felt his lower lip split as the body pressed into him. Harry lay still on the granite floor, feigning unconsciousness as Michael rolled from him, groaning in pain, then crying out in horror as he rolled right on top of a dead woman. Harry rolled over, grabbed an ampule of morphine as the officer tried to crawl away from all of the bodies, face gray with horror. He filled a syringe with the drug and approached the man.

Michael looked up at him. "Did you help him do this?" he gasped, as Harry approached. He tried to kick him, but Harry grabbed his leg and injected him with a rather heavy dose. He wiped blood from his face as the naked man began to lose consciousness, then dragged him back into the small room. He removed his bandages, searching for infections, then took out his potions.

With the many victims that Grem had given him, he was quick to discover that many of them were too unconscious to administer potions to, they tended to choke on them. So he had embarked on an experimental journey on how to administer magical treatment intravenously, diluting many potions so they were thin enough to travel through the circulatory system. Unfortunately, many of his patients died during the experimental process, since many of the potions weren't agreeable to H2O additives. It had taken many potions books, long hours, and many lives before he had created a new line of intravenous friendly potions.

He treated Michael's wounds, left the food with him, and locked the door behind him as he left. It was outside of the door that he realized something, something that had been simmering right about when he was hit in the face. Anger. He was angry. Harry didn't do angry, it was a useless emotion, something that had been bled out of him since he had arrived in Grem's oh so tender care. It was an emotion that led to stupid acts and bad decisions- but he knew what to do with such emotions. Quickly he returned to the Dementors room, sat on a bench in the darkness, and let them suck away at his anger. There wasn't much of it, but it was there, and they were hungry, always hungry, and they stoked him and drank in his anger.

He wasn't angry with Michael- he was only acting normally- it was Grem that he was angry with. Grem, who had wandered off and left a man alive, which he never did. Grem usually killed his victims when he planned to leave for a while, and it was this that made him angry. And worried. That emotion came too, and the Dementors ate that quickly as well, jostling each other for him- he could hear the rustling of their cloth- he sat with his hands in his lap, staring into the inky blackness. Worry, because this was unusual for Grem, and he didn't know what to do with unusual, or how to respond to it. Bauer, he understood. Bauer was like a substitute teacher, here until he was no longer needed. But Michael? His puzzlement was sucked away too, until he felt normal and empty.

A tune moved through the pipes, startling him, and he looked up in their direction, wondering where it was coming from. He left the room and stood amongst the bodies, listening to...music? The unmistakable sound of music was drifting through the pipes, and he could only conclude that Bauer had a radio. Grem had never bothered to buy a radio, so they never listened to music- in fact, the last time he had heard it was way back in England. There was no music here, and the sound of it was quite strange.

If Grem didn't come back within a suitable time, he would give Michael's soul to the Dementors and his body to the Devourer.

----------

Bauer was having one of those nightmares where he knew he was having one, but didn't have the ability to wake up. What made it a pretty rotten one was that it was perfectly plausible, and in fact, could be happening right now. He was dreaming that the FBI had his family, all of them, down to distant relations, and were in the process of interrogating them, tying them up in dark rooms, shining bright lights in their faces, demanding to know where he was. And they wouldn't say, because they honestly didn't know, because he was poor at keeping in touch with them, and the last time he had called was when he had been in Florida.

They were hurt, frightened, and it was all because of him and his insatiable desire to watch things blown apart.

So he was grateful, but startled, when he was awakened by a pressure on him. He blinked into the darkness, but didn't move, not wanting to alert the person that was standing on him- no, over him. Squinting, he realized it was Harry, his feet planted on the sides of him, reaching toward the ceiling, fiddling with something. It must be the wee hours of the morning- what was this kid doing up? Harry's arms lowered, and he carefully stepped from over him and ghosted out of the room, shutting the office door silently behind him. Bauer blinked at the ceiling, seeing something dark hanging above him. Digging into his bag by the bench, he pulled out his flashlight and shined it at the object, smothering a yelp when the gleam of a small beady eye shone back at him.

It was one of those dreamcatchers...

Bauer shut the light off and relaxed, staring at the dark object, mulling it over. How had Harry known he was having a nightmare? Had he been groaning in his sleep? He blushed at the thought and turned on his side, wishing the bench was a little softer as he drifted off into a peaceful slumber, with the stray thought that Harry's room was too far away to hear him.

---

He woke naturally, and rather stiffly that morning- or was it afternoon? And sat up, blinking blearily at the office. He stretched his arms as he yawned, and felt a stiff flakiness on his left one. Looking at it, he found that parts of it was covered in dark... He blinked and ran a finger over it, watching it come off on his finger, a brownish red, and he sniffed it. Iron. It smelled like- His eyes darted up at the dreamcatcher and yelped when he spotted the blood crusted around the feathered head.

That thing had been fresh! Its blood had been dripping on him while he slept!

Holding his arm away from his body, trying not to be such a girl about it, Bauer went in search of that bathroom, ready to crawl out of his skin.

TBC

Andy Bauer had been originally Jack Bauer- that is, until I saw a commercial for 24, and realized that it was the same name as Keifer Sutherland's character. I was very sad about this, and was reluctant to change the last name, so he better not have a brother named Andy on there!