Chapter Twelve: Here Is Gone
"You're lucky you weren't killed," Brennan said quietly as she helped lead Booth out of the abandoned post office, trailing after the team of paramedics carrying the young woman who survived her ordeal with Epps. Booth sighed heavily and leaned more on Brennan. Her eyes studied his wearied form with concern. Blood still trickled from his scalp, and he was even paler than before. Booth's face was gaunt with tension and still-restrained grief. She felt the sudden urge to hug him tightly and never let go. She wished to take him home and care for him, not as a partner, but as a friend. As someone who could hold him, as some one who could share the grief and exhaustion and pain, and between the two broken shells, they could manage to form a single, whole unit. She wanted to be the strong one; whenever Brennan broke, whenever her ability to compartmentalize failed, and she was human, Booth let her be human.
"You got that backwards, darlin'. If I were lucky, I'd be dead," Booth hinted finally. Brennan felt her stomach roil and the need to care for Booth intensified.
"You helped save that girl's life," Brennan urged. It was the only thing she could think of to reply.
"Great. Maybe I'll only get a minor term in Hell when I do croak," Booth replied flatly. He lifted his arm off her shoulder and trudged toward the waiting ambulance. Brennan paused and watch him leave, feeling useless and defeated. She heard quiet sobs coming from the other ambulance where the rescued girl was trying to retain grip on reality and not go into shock. Brennan's brow furrowed and she walked quickly to the girl being loaded into the back. Blood spattered her shirt from cuts, and her face was bruised, but she appeared to be in good health, considering the situation.
"What is your name," Brennan asked gently to the shaking young woman.
"Ju-Justine Chase," she replied as a blanket was placed on top of her.
"I just need to ask you two or three questions before you go to the hospital," Brennan said gently, but quickly.
"Ma'am, you're going to have to wait until—" a paramedic began to insist.
Brennan ignored the EMT and asked, "Where were you taken? I'm sorry, but I need to know now."
"School," the girl asked automatically, her eyes only giving away the dreading memories. The medics began lifting the stretcher.
"Did he take you anywhere?"
Justine closed her eyes and shook her head. "I think so. I think it was his house to get…chains," she choked out.
"Is there anything you can recall?" Brennan placed her hand on the railing of the stretcher, halting its progress to the back of the ambulance. She felt a paramedic firmly grip her shoulder.
"Ma'am!"
Brennan let go, sighing angrily. "I'm trying to catch a serial killer!" she snapped.
"And Ms. Chase is about to go into shock. You need to let her go."
"Wait…the gravel. The gravel in the driveway was sticky," Justine said as she was loaded in. "I was blindfolded when he led me, but I know the ground felt funny…"
Wordlessly, Brennan lifted the bottom of the blanket and inspected the soles of the shoes while ignoring the EMT's frustrated groan. Pulling a napkin from her pocket, Brennan picked off three tiny pieces of gravel from Justine's shoes.
"Thank you." Brennan locked eyes with the second survivor to date of Epps antics. "This will help."
"Just don't let him get me, please," Justine begged as the doors slammed shut. The sirens sounded and the ambulance sped from the post office. Brennan murmured under her breath, "I promise." Seems like you're making promises left and right. You've already managed to break one by forcing Booth to admit Parker's death. Try to do better this time…
Booth.
He's going to want to know what I've found, that is, if he doesn't walk out in front of a bus beforehand.
A hand tapped her shoulder. She turned, and found Booth already bandaged up.
"Aren't you concussed?" she demanded. "You should be under observation."
"Not for a minor concussion. Just don't let me go to sleep," Booth pointed out. He motioned with his chin and asked Brennan, "What did you find?"
Brennan held up the rocks. "Possibly an idea. I need someone to compare the gravel collected here to the gravel found in the Jane Doe with the riddle game."
"You got an idea brewing in that big brain of yours?" Booth implied. He handed the keys to Brennan and admitted almost sheepishly, "It's probably better if you drive."
"Well, let's just say I'm taking a liberty and jumping to conclusions about something," Brennan admitted. "I guess you can call it a shot in the dark, which, by the way, I hate doing without proper procedure, but I have hope backing it. That accounts for something in a situation like this."
"Hope," Booth said flatly. "Funny thing, I don't remember what that feels like."
Trotting down the corridor to the mortuary, Brennan held the samples collected at the post office like an athlete carrying the torch for the Olympics. Booth followed slowly behind, rubbing his pounding head. "I really don't want Riley getting his panties all up in a bundle for you walking in and taking over the room again. At this stage of the game, I'd think I'd have to shoot him."
Brennan smiled slightly. Taking advantage of the sudden burst of humor from Booth, she added, "I was thinking the same thing. Maybe it's better that I don't have a gun after all."
"Hell, you can have mine."
Brennan cast her eyes to the floor as the door to the mortuary drew near. He said that to me after I broke Epps' wrist…it's only an echo now. Opening the doors to the antiseptic smelling room, Brennan was relieved to find she and Booth would be alone until she called for assistance, preferably, Jake's over Riley's. Booth closed the door behind her, and stood stiffly in his place. Brennan pulled on gloves and began comparing the samples of gravel pulled out of the Jane Doe to the ones found on the bottom of Justine Chase's shoes. She sensed Booth waiting, perhaps struggling to get something off his chest.
"They appear the same," Brennan commented as she analyzed the evidence under the microscope. "I'm going to need a soil and rock analyst to figure out where this stuff came from, and if the two samples are one in the same after all. I am a forensic anthropologist, not a geologist. Could you call someone down who's qualified?"
"Don't know if the Bureau has a geologist on hand. Usually we go to universities or museums to get squints like that. I know we have one or two chemists…hold on." Booth brought out his cell.
Brennan felt another pang of sadness. Squints. She used to get annoyed when Booth called her that.
Booth shut his phone. "They said they'd look. Hopefully we'll have someone, we can't afford to lose anymore time. Another victim is due soon, especially since we botched Epps' plan to murder Justine Chase."
Brennan agreed. A silence descended the room. The air was empty, detached. We were never like this, were we?
"Tempe…" Booth suddenly spoke. She looked at him, surprised, and waiting.
"I…" he began. "I'm sorry. I know I haven't been…easy. I don't know what's going on, where you came from, or if I believe this whole thing is even real myself…" he paused. "I just want to say that if, if it were possible, and we were partners…friends, even…well, I would have liked that very much. I guess what I'm trying to say is that even though I can't believe you fully due to sanity reasons, I believe in you. In another life maybe…I have the sense that we could have been partners, in a world not as shitty as this." He awkwardly folded his arms waiting for a response, for acceptance.
Brennan crossed the room without hesitating, and brought him into a surprise embrace.
"Thank you, Booth," she said quietly. "That's good enough for me."
The doors swung open, and Dr. Riley's assistant Jake walked in eagerly. He paused while Brennan broke the hug, her cheeks as well as Booth's flushing red. "Hope I'm not interrupting anything," he hinted seriously.
"Uh, no," Booth stumbled. He shot Brennan an eye-roll, and she smiled. He turned to Jake and asked, "What are you doing here?"
"Number one, I'm the coroner's assistant, not you," Jake said with sarcasm, but lightened up as he finished, "and number two, I have a minor in geology and of such. I heard you guys needed some help from the conference room."
"Geology and mortuary sciences don't seem to go together," Booth prodded.
"Come on, who seriously says 'I want to grow up and devote my entire life and brain to dead people,'" Jake shrugged.
Brennan raised her hand unabashedly. "I did, in a sense."
Jake and Booth exchanged glances. Brennan sighed and said, "Moving back to more important matters, I collected samples of gravel at the post office and want to know if the gravel pieces are the same type and are of the same origin. It could lead more insight into where the murders took place, and where Epps' location is."
"Piece of cake," Jake boasted as he studied the gravel samples. After a few moments, he murmured, "Yeah…yes, definitely. It's of the same type—aggregate."
"That can be found anywhere and everywhere in the city," Booth pointed out.
"Yeah, but there are particles of pumice and vermiculite stuck on artificially…making it sticky," Jake added.
Brennan questioned, "Who would want to manually add natural formations on like that?"
Jake rolled his chair over to a computer. "If I am correct, this is the composite of gravel found surrounding the one salon chain in the city. This stuff is used for outlining the building, and if I did tests, I'm sure you'd find residue of paint. The pumices and added rocks are used for their puffy, water draining appearance. It's kinda of a useless, but poignant trademark for the place, since the gravel is painted bright pink." His fingers flew over the keyboard and brought up an image of De RoXi Hair Salon. The outside of the building was adorned with pink gravel.
Booth stared at him. "You frequent this place often or something?"
"No, but my girlfriend does. I'd have to run tests to see which of the 9 locations in D.C. were the origins of the gravel in front of me."
"Better yet," Brennan suggested, "Do a search of missing persons who have their residence near De RoXi. Justine Chase said she was led up a driveway that was sticky, blindfolded. Is it possible that some of the aggregate could have been moved onto a neighboring property?"
"Yeah, but I wouldn't know who would want to," Jake said as he pulled up the database of missing persons. "This is a really long stretch," he admitted.
"It may work," Booth insisted quietly. Silent minutes passed. Several more agents ready to close in on a suspect, if necessary, filed into the morgue, as well as Deputy Director Saroyan.
"Agent Booth," she demanded, "when was it FBI protocol to not inform your superior about getting your brains nearly bashed in? You should be home, resting."
"Ma'am," Booth answered intensely as the computer finished its search, displaying only one result. "Injuries don't matter that much when a huge break in a case is made."
"A Rita Realsangre was reported missing several weeks ago who matches the approximate age of our Jane Doe…she lives right next to a De RoXi about ten minutes drive from here, at 124 West Adams Avenue. She might be your girl," Jake said excitedly.
"Any indicators to prove that," Saroyan questioned. "We can't go barging into a residence without a warrant, much less go interrogating without solid reasons."
"Missing persons report mentions that Rita had a broken left arm," Jake added. "Fell down the stairs…"
"Jane Doe's left arm suffered a fracture in the ulna, consisted with a fall," Brennan quickly confirmed. She turned back to the group, "I want to see if Rita's house is owned or if she's renting."
"Why?"
"Because in my professional opinion, if Rita rented, and the rent was paid, Epps' would be residing in her house and pay the rent as not to cause more suspicion than already surrounding her disappearance."
"Who reported Rita?" Booth asked, bouncing off of Brennan's ideas. "If it wasn't someone very close, if Rita didn't have family, that would be perfect for Epps."
Jake scanned the report, "An employer did. No family or close ties in D.C. Lists landlord and employer as contacts. Here's the number of the renter."
Booth squeezed Brennan's shoulder. "Looks like our luck has finally changed." He speedily dialed the landlord's number and moved to the corner of the room to discuss Rita's payments. Deputy Director Saroyan came to Brennan and steadily stated, "Ms. Brennan…I find myself at a loss. If you're right, and Epps is in that house…I believe I owe you greatly. I can offer you a permanent position as civilian consultant, and launch an investigation in the meantime to figure out how you came to know the things you do."
"No offense, but I think it's going to take a lot more than that to get things back to the way I think they should be," Brennan said gently. "But I understand now that people will take me seriously, here."
Saroyan smiled and held out her hand. "You are an unusual, if not sometimes, scary woman, albeit an unusual scary woman with new friends. You're welcome to work in unison with Booth until Epps is caught. I've noticed Booth seems to have a better grip on reality when you're around. How ironic is that?"
Brennan shook Saroyan's hand. "Very," Brennan admitted.
The newly formed pact heard Booth shout, "Yes!" as he hung up the phone. "Landlord says the rent was paid two days ago. Never knew Rita was missing in the first place. That bastard Epps is probably in that house! We need to go get him, now!"
Saroyan held up her hands. "Not so fast, Agent Booth. You need to stay here with Ms. Brennan. We'll send out our best agents to handle the situation. If Epps is indeed there, then they'll nail him."
Booth held onto a sudden spike of rage. "After all this, I deserve to be there to take him down!" Booth uttered.
"You're too close to this case. By all rights, I shouldn't have let you continue working on the case—"
Booth burst to his superior, "That was your own damned fault!"
Cam stood stiffly and motioned for Jake and the three agents to leave the room. They fled like Napoleon's French army, leaving only Booth, Brennan, and Saroyan. Brennan backed up towards the wall, leaving Booth to settle his argument with Saroyan alone.
"Booth, you need to stand down. The only reason why I let you is because there was no solid evidence supporting that Epps did what he did—"
"So let me finish this! I need to—"
"You need therapy Booth. I've held off this long; if Epps is taken down tonight, you're taking a vacation. Understood? Plus, you're concussed."
Booth practically shook with fury, and Saroyan softened up. She placed a hand on his shoulder. "Be human again, Booth. Grieve. It's okay." She removed her hand, and Booth became very still. Brennan bit her lower lip, sensing something wrong.
"I understand," Booth said robotically. "Just call me as soon as you find out if we're right."
"Of course. I'll be there, with a sea of agents," Saroyan promised. She left the room, calling in for agents, SWAT, and D.C. police. Booth turned and punched the wall multiple times before swearing a string of profanities. Brennan let him.
"I should be there," he grit out. Brennan remained silent as Jack Hodgins burst in.
"Are you staying behind?" he asked cautiously.
Booth nodded jerkily. "Good," Hodgins commented. Booth punched the wall once more and Hodgins added dryly, "Dude, I don't care how pissed you get, I agree with Saroyan. You know in your heart it's the best decision." He took Booth's arm and promised, "25 minutes. This thing is going to end tonight. It's in my gut man."
Booth was having trouble forming words, and Brennan noticed, it was resulting in reddening eyes and complete lapse of control over his emotions. "I should be there, Jack," he repeated. "I should be there."
"To do what?" Brennan finally spoke.
"To kill him, Tempe. To make him hurt as much as he hurt my boy," he heaved. Hodgins shot Brennan a curious stare, with an unspoken plead. Watch him. Don't let him do anything stupid. Brennan nodded as Hodgins checked his watch.
"We need to have a sit down and talk when I get back," Hodgins begged of his best friend and partner. "I have to go with Saroyan…please, promise me, you'll stay here. You're not stable. You're giving me an ulcer here, man. Promise me."
Booth turned away and faced the wall. "You better get going," he breathed shakily. Hodgins stared after him, torn between possibly arresting the worst serial killer in the nation's history, and being there for his partner and friend. He locked eyes with Brennan, and she called out, "Go. I know what I need to do." Hodgins nodded uncertainly, but thankfully and left Brennan alone with Booth.
The minute hand on the wall clock finished a full revolution before Brennan made a move. As soon as she stepped forward, she stated as gently as she could, "You're not thinking straight. Your brains must have been rattled when Epps hit you; no matter how evil that bastard is; you can't go kill him. It's revenge, Booth. You don't do revenge—"
"If I were to leave right now, by myself, I could beat Saroyan's team to the site. She's got to get SWAT and other forces together. By a good 5, maybe even 10 minutes," Booth stated mysteriously…calmly.
"But you're not going to do that—" Brennan insisted.
Booth pulled out his weapon and aimed it at Brennan. "I'm sorry. I need to do this."
"You're not going to shoot me," Brennan said flatly. She felt as if she should have been furious, indignant, even frightened that her once friend and partner was pointing a gun leveled at her chest. He risked his life in the past to save hers; she should have felt betrayed, even if this wasn't the world she was used to. Instead, she felt a great sadness. She realized then that the ache in her heart was grief; she was mourning for the past, and for Booth.
"I'm not stable, remember?" Booth pointed out. He actually chuckled, and Brennan's heart broke even more. This had been the final push over the edge…and I thought I was bringing him back…
He sobered immediately. "I'd like not to. I hope after this is all over, you can find a way to forgive me. Get on the floor, lay down. That's all I want you to do. I'm going to lock the door on my way out. It'll automatically unlock itself after 3 minutes, without Riley's master password to shut the place up for good. It's supposed to keep people who accidentally get locked in from freezing when there aren't procedures going on…"
"So you can get a head start to your car," Brennan concluded, breaking off his rambling and reasoning.
"I don't care if you get help after this; I'll already be gone. I'm sorry, Tempe, I really am," he apologized.
You know what you need to do.
To end this all.
Slowly, she lowered her body to the ground and listened as Booth backed out of the room. The door shut, followed by a beep and a latch from the outside.
Three minutes.
You know what you need to do.
Feet pounding. Breathe in. Breathe out.
Arms pumping.
Sprinting.
Brennan hadn't bothered calling for help, or waste the time trying to find a car. Instead, she was running. Running without pain, running like her lungs were able to hold the world. Since she knew she could feel no pain, she pushed her body to the limits. She was minutes away from the house where Booth had sped to minutes earlier; Saroyan would follow soon after. They might pass her in a matter of seconds. Booth might have killed Epps already. Epps might not have even been there. Booth could very well be dead as well. Saroyan or Hodgins might have caught him.
But Brennan needed to try. She knew what she needed to do.
If this was reality…then so be it. Her past, or what she thought her life was; it didn't matter. The here she had come to know was gone. Only the now, the sidewalks under her feet and the moonless sky above her head existed. The world she was in at this moment was so much more worse than the life she had, the life she essentially lost, but she had the power to change it; this much she knew. This she felt in her heart and head, and more importantly, her bones.
And then maybe…just maybe…
She could go home again.