A/N: Chapter seven is finally up! It's longer than any of the other chapters, and I hope it's better as well! Please let me know what you think of it! After this there'll be two or three more chapters, depending, and then, this story will be finished. So we really are almost there…
Disclaimer: However much I wished I could say I own Waking the Dead, I have to admit I don't…
Chapter Seven
The scene in front of her made her bring her hands to her mouth in utter horror.
One police car blocked the entrance to the street they were heading for on the right side. A second one prevented people getting in on the other side. And a third one was standing in the middle of the street to give the officers present some sort of cover.
Grace felt strangely numb. Somehow it was as if none of it was happening to her. She seemed to almost be looking at the events taking place from a distance.
As a profiler she knew this had nothing to do with her. It was a normal reaction in people who had experienced some sort of trauma. But that didn't make it any easier to accept she was the one having to deal with the emotions.
"Come on. Marianne said she'd be waiting for us when we arrived," Boyd told her.
She nodded. In her head she was trying to figure out what she had to say to Patrick. If he only wanted to talk to her, he would definitely want something from her. The only question that remained was what he would be asking her for. And whether she'd be able to give it to him.
Both of them showed their identity cards when they reached the officers near the car blocking the way, and they were allowed to pass through via the small stroke of pavement that had been left unblocked.
Boyd pulled her passed three officers who were caught up in a very heated discussion, although she was too preoccupied to pay attention to what they were talking about at all.
"Doctor Foley, I'm so glad to see you're here," Marianne said as soon as they came into view.
"I hope I can be of any use," she countered quickly.
She didn't want to get Marianne's hopes up. After all, she was not entirely convinced herself that she'd be any better at getting Patrick to surrender to the police instead of staying inside that building than the other people at the scene had been so far.
Instead of reacting to Grace's statement, though, Marianne said:
"Follow me, please. I think it'd be best if we talked somewhere more private."
Marianne motioned for her and Boyd to follow her towards the police van a few feet away. It was the most private place in the vicinity.
Standing behind it they would be invisible to anyone inside the building, Grace realized. Probably Marianne didn't want to give Patrick the satisfaction of knowing she was there just yet.
The profiler deemed it a wise decision, although it was highly unlikely Marianne had made it because of her knowledge what knowing Grace had arrived would do to Patrick.. If he thought he could get anything he wanted by yelling and staying up there, he was probably not going to give up that power very easily. That much she knew. Probably Marianna had seen that as well.
"I believe you will be. You see, Mister Andrews, our Metropolitan Police expert concerning this type of situation, has tried to talk to Mister Brown, but he refuses to speak to anyone but you," Marianne said now.
"Has he said that? In what manner?" Grace inquired.
It was important to get as much information as she possibly could about his state of mind before she had to face him. If she were to persuade him the best thing to do was go with the officers, she could not afford to make any mistakes.
"He yelled," Marianne stated. "He threw a brick to one of the officers to cool his anger when Mister Andrews informed him you were not here, and he demanded we brought you here."
"Very insistent man," Boyd darkly muttered.
Grace softly nudged him in the ribs, effectively silencing him. It wouldn't do for Boyd to get himself into trouble over this, it wasn't his fault. He wasn't even a part of it. And God knew she'd need him later on.
She turned her attention to some more pressing matters than those of whether Patrick was insisted or plain stupid. More precisely to a question she had had since she had spotted the car in the middle of the street.
"These cars on both ends of the street I understand. They are means of protecting innocent passers-by against the anger of the man inside that building. Yet the one in the middle of the street, at least to me, seems to be a way of protecting the police officers against gunshots. Is Patrick armed?"
If he was, she certainly was not going to waste any time. An enraged Patrick was bad enough, if he started behaving violently things could spin out of control within a matter of seconds.
Marianne took her time, trying to find the right words to answer Grace's question. But the profiler was not in the mood to wait.
"I need to know, Marianne. If he doesn't have a gun on him, nobody will get hurt. No matter what happens. But if he just happens to have one and things don't go as he would like them to go, he'll start shooting. And when that happens, even I won't be able to talk back sense into him. You'll never get him out of there when he starts shooting. He will be feeling extremely bad about it. He won't want to do it. But he'll be compelled to do it," Grace told her.
Grace could feel Boyd's eyes darting to Marianne's. She knew he was looking at the woman with an insistent and dark look on his face that would have her cave in very quickly.
Mere seconds later, she was proven right as Marianne took a breath and began to speak anew.
"We don't know for sure. He's kept himself hidden all along, the only thing we've seen of him is his head. And not even half of it, I might add. But a few moments before you arrived, he seemed to be making a motion as if he were holding something. Though whether it was a gun…"
Marianne's voice died away.
"You'd rather believe it was another brick he had in his hand, ready to throw it at whoever decided to get on his nerves next? Or does it seem more likely that he was holding a weapon of sorts?"
"Honestly, I have no idea. You are here to help us figure that out, aren't you? You know this man. You tell me whether we should be concerned about him having a gun or something."
Grace didn't need to think long to find an answer to that question. She did need some time to find the right way to explain everything to Marianne and Boyd, though.
She did not want to scare either one of them. But they needed to understand how Patrick thought if she wanted them to be able to help her get him out of there.
"Last time he pulled a stunt like this, he was armed. He never intended to use the knife he had in his hands when I met him. Yet he did. Even though he was so sorry he turned himself in afterwards."
She looked them right into the eyes before continuing.
"I'm not saying this to get your pity. I'm saying this because you both need to comprehend what this man is all about. Now, the compulsion he has to protect himself will make sure that when he aims an attack on someone, it will be meant to kill. Whatever weapon he has, he will not hesitate to use it."
The worry she could read in Boyd's eyes told her he at least knew what she was talking about. But that didn't surprise her, he knew what Patrick had done to her all those years ago. She wasn't completely sure Marianne was getting it, but there was no time to find out.
"Look," she said, "Just to be safe we should presume he is armed and dangerous. Spread that word. And make sure everybody stays as far away from the building as possible. We don't want any accidents."
She looked over her shoulder when a distant voice reached her ears. Two of the officers were having some sort of discussion. It did not seem to be related to the situation they were currently dealing with. So she turned her attention towards the doors she could vaguely see from behind the vehicle.
It looked so much like the door she had seen in the nightmares that had plagued her for months after her ordeal thirty-five years earlier. Just as ordinary and unspectacular, with behind them the same evil that had crossed her path last time.
She was dragged back when she felt Peter's hand on her arm.
"Sorry… I got a little distracted…"
"Don't fret about it," he told her, reassuringly. "Marianne just said she would talk to mister Edwards and see whether he can get something else than an insult from Patrick. I don't know why she's bothering, though, we all know he'll just tell her to bugger off…"
The last part of that sentence was a dark sort of mutter, yet Grace understood it perfectly.
She allowed Boyd to lead her away from the car, making sure they stayed out of sight and would not be in the way of the other people at the scene.
Grace suddenly felt relieved that Boyd had asked Spencer and Stella to stay at the office. Somehow she felt as if having them here, possibly endangering them, would have made all of this even more difficult.
Being the two oldest team members, Boyd and Grace had always felt responsible for the others. That had been very obvious when Mel had been shot, because Boyd had let himself slip, blaming himself for what had happened. And Grace'd had to fight hard not to do the same.
Shaking her head, she realized Boyd had been there when that had happened. For some reason, she had managed to hold on until he had gotten back control over himself before crumbling down and succumbing to her grief at the office late one night.
"Grace?"
His voice was soft and worried. Yet however much she wanted to say something, she couldn't. Her throat was constricted with emotions.
"Are you okay?" he asked, when he finally spotted her small and fragile form leaning against the cupboard.
She shook her head. Her face was dry. It was if she had been so angry the last month that she had no tears to shed.
Instead of saying something, he wordlessly sank down next to her. Not too close, just close enough for comfort.
Together they sat there, not speaking. Neither one of them moving even an inch. Until Grace found the strength she needed and started weeping, allowing the tears that had been building up to begin rolling down her cheeks.
"It's okay," he murmured.
He pulled her against his chest. One of his hands was in her neck, the other one was on her back.
And so they sat there for over an hour, while Grace cried and Boyd whispered sweet nothings in her ear.
The memory gave her some much needed strength. Knowing Peter would be there for her no matter what calmed her down enough to focus her attention on mister Edward and Patrick again.
Mister Edward was attempting to strike up a conversation with Patrick now, and Grace crossed her fingers, hoping he would succeed.
"Patrick, it's George again. Remember, we talked before," mister Edward began.
"I won't speak to anyone but doctor Grace Foley!"
Patrick's voice was laced with anger, if nothing it was a clear sign he was getting frustrated and it would soon become impossible to talk to him. And there was a slight tremor in his voice, telling the profiler Patrick was agitated and insecure, doubting things would end the way he wanted them to.
When Grace saw the man was trying to think of what to say, she made a decision. She waved him down. Slowly she made her way towards him, motioning for him to hand it to her. The man did so, but only after having looked at Marianne to see whether he was allowed to.
"She's right here, Patrick," Grace spoke, clearly.
Silence fell. Nobody dared to even breathe. Nobody dared to move. They were all awaiting what his next move would be.
"How can I be sure you are really doctor Grace Foley?" he suddenly yelled.
"What if I told you that last time we met it nearly killed me? Or that you apologized to me?" she said.
His face appeared in the window farthest to the left side of the building. It was clear he was hesitant to come and take a look. She wasn't sure whether she had convinced him, either.
"I want to talk to you," he eventually said, still keeping himself hidden.
"And I want to talk to you," Grace told him. "So why don't you begin by telling my why on Earth you're up there?"
Patrick fell silent again, and Grace did not like that at all. As long as he kept talking, she had some idea of what was going on inside his head. Who knew what he was thinking when he didn't speak?
"I won't talk to you like that," came his reply some minutes later.
The profiler swallowed. God knew this could only mean one thing, and it sure as hell wasn't a good one.
"What do you mean, Patrick?"
She had to ask. Not for herself, but for the others present.
"I want you to come and talk to me here. Just you and me. Like old times, remember?" he said.
"Let me talk to the others first, okay? You understand what they're like, don't you? I'll be there in a minute, alright? I promise it won't take me any longer."
"Yeah, I know what they're like. Never understand anyone but themselves, self-centered bastards… You're different, though. Yeah, see you in a minute."
Grace walked over to Peter and Marianne. Peter's face was worried, Marianne's was pale and unsure.
She sighed. This wouldn't be easy…
"You're not serious, are you, Grace?" Peter whispered. "You're not really going in there, are you?"
Marianne eyed her, the same question visible in her eyes.
"I'm afraid I don't have another choice... He won't speak to anyone but me. He trust me, if I go in and talk to him, I might get him out of the building. Last time we met, I talked him out of his hiding place as well."
"Yeah, just not before he'd nearly killed you," Marianne dryly said. "If he's armed, don't you think he might hurt you again?"
Grace felt her composed appearance beginning to crumble. This had to happen now, or she wouldn't have the strength to do it.
"Listen to me. The both of you. I do not want to go in there. My heart is telling me not to, my head is telling me not to. But I have to. If we want to get him out of there, I have to go in. Whatever might happen, or whatever I fear might happen. So please, just… Don't make it any harder than it already is and let me get in there. The sooner this is over with, the sooner we can all go back to our normal lives."
She looked at them, trying to persuade them to let her go and get this over and done with.
When neither one of them spoke she turned towards the building.
"Patrick? I'm coming in, alright?"
He answered affirmatively.
She took a deep breath, gathering every ounce of strength she had. She would need it. God knew she would.
As she wanted to cross the street, Peter suddenly called out to her.
"Grace?"
She turned. He didn't say anything more, he simply pulled her against him and held her close for a few seconds.
As she pushed her away from him, she nodded. She knew why he had done it, and she was more grateful than she could ever explain that he had.
When she reached the door, her heart felt as if it was going to explode. Anger, anxiety and reluctance all battled within her. But she pushed the wooden door open none-the-less.
The house smelt old. There were dark water stains on the walls. The carpet in the hall was torn in several places.
She tried not to think of how the carpet had gotten into such a state while she mounted the stairs. All that mattered was getting Patrick to leave the house without any accidents. It wasn't worth concentrating on anything else.
"Patrick?" she called out when she reached the landing.
She wanted to know where he was hiding. There was no point on stepping into a room she wasn't sure he was in.
"Third door on your left," came his reply.
Grace pushed the door open only to find Patrick leaning casually against the wall in front of her.
"Patrick," she said, trying to smile as if she wasn't scared.
But apparently she didn't quite pull it off, because his eyes narrowed slightly and he began walking towards her with deliberate, long steps.
"I thought you'd be happier to see me," he said.
In his hands was a knife very much like the one he had held the last time they'd met. It immediately brought back memories, but she refused to let herself be dragged back into her past.
"I am happy, Patrick. Honestly, I am. Those asses out there just never give me a moment of peace," she brushed it off.
His hand was now on her arm. She did the best she could to prevent herself from starting to tremble or to pull away, however much she wanted to. It would be a mistake, and there was no room for mistakes.
His hold on her tightened. He slowly began to pull her towards the wall he'd been leaning against when she entered, forcing her to look out of the window.
"They haven't given me a moment of peace, either. Those incompetent bastards have been doing nothing but pester me. I just needed to get away from prison! Is that so bad?"
Patrick was raising his voice now. He was losing control.
"No, it isn't. I worked in prison, Patrick. I know what they do in there. That's why I left."
It was a lie, but he couldn't know. And at least it would get him to talk to her and it would distract him.
"Really?"
"Yeah. I couldn't stand the guards taking out their anger on prisoners who hadn't done anything. Or prisoners being beaten up by other prisoners. I saw some very nasty injuries because of all the fighting."
He was still forcing her to look at the officers on the street. She could see Peter and Marianne standing beside the car in the middle of the street. She hoped this would be all over soon.
Minutes passed. She couldn't say how many, but she realized it must have been at least five. And the longer she stood there, the harder it became not to run away.
"Why do they keep doing this to me? Why can't they just let me be?" Patrick almost pleaded with her, changing the subject suddenly and unexpectedly.
She thought about what to say for a few seconds before replying.
"They're afraid you might have somebody hostage. They don't want to hurt you, but they don't want to see someone else getting hurt either. They're just doing their jobs."
Patrick stared out of the window. His eyes didn't see anything, his mind was wandering. For the second time it took him over five minutes to say what was on his mind. And Grace vowed not to take as long to answer any questions he might have for her.
"Like you?"
"No, not like me. I came because you wanted to see me. Because you're my friend and you need my help."
Again a lie. But she needed to persuade him he could trust her or things might very well go very wrong.
"If you're a friend you would have made them leave," he said, sounding like a displeased child.
"I don't have that power. Not without your help. If we work together, we can make them leave. But I can't do it on my own."
He thought about what she had just said whilst turning the knife around in his hands. She had made a very dangerous move right there, because if he turned down her offer to work together, he could turn against her.
"What do you mean?" he wanted to know.
"Well, you could tell Mister Edward you don't have any hostages. He would be very grateful and it would calm them down. They might even send some of the officers away because they realize they can trust you if they see you're telling the truth."
Patrick nodded. So far things were going great. He poked his head out of the window and did as Grace had told him.
But he did not loosen his grip on the profiler. On the contrary, he was pinching so hard she was sure she would end up with a bruise on her wrist.
Three of the officers now walked towards the left end of the street. Grace knew them to be sharp shooters. They had made the decision to shoot to kill since he had no-one else than her in the building.
Patrick sank down against the wall. He pulled Grace with him so she was sitting right next to him. She could feel his leg pressing against hers. His hand was still around her wrist and the knife was laying on his other side.
And so they waited. She couldn't force him to talk and risk him losing control. She would have to wait.
But Patrick made no move whatsoever. He didn't speak, he didn't move. It was as if he were waiting for something. But she had no idea what he was waiting for.
"Patrick? Are you still willing to talk?" Mister Edward's voice called all of a sudden.
"Depends on what you want!" he yelled back.
Grace tried to keep her breathing even and calm. But she barely succeeded. This was it. It needed to happen now.
"I just wanted to ask you a question," Mister Edward said. "You have what you want. Why are you still refusing to come down?"
Not a good question, Grace thought. But it will prompt him to do something. And an acting Patrick is better than this!
"Because I'm not sure I can trust you!" he spat out.
So that was what he wanted? Then she would give it to him.
"Patrick?" she asked when mister Edward remained silent.
He made a small grunting sound to make it clear he was listening.
"Do you want to leave?"
"Of course I do! I'm getting agitated from being locked up! Why?"
Grace spoke softly, as if she was telling him a secret. He nearly had to bent over to be able to hear her.
"I can get you out of here. But you need to trust me. Do you trust me?"
"I do," Patrick said.
"Tell mister Edward you're coming out. Do not tell him in which order we're coming out. I'll be the first to step through the door. They're most likely to believe it'll be you who comes out first. And you can run if they shoot me."
None of the officers would shoot before knowing who was stepping through the door. But Patrick would believe they would. If she stepped through the door first, she would be outside, no matter what happened to Patrick. She'd be safe.
She could vaguely hear him do exactly what she had told him to. And then he roughly pulled her up and put the knife against her back. She could feel the cold steel through her clothing.
"Walk," he nearly hissed.
She obeyed. There was nothing else she could do. If she refused, he might force her back upstairs and things might get as ugly as they'd been last time.
Every step was one too many. She cursed them all as they went, wishing for them to simply disappear and solid ground to be beneath her feet.
And then they were down. He was pushing her forwards, towards the door. The final hurdle. Once she was out there she'd be safe.
She didn't run. She simply stepped over the threshold and continued walking. But all of a sudden there were gun shots.
Not knowing why she turned around. The first bullet had missed because he had lingered a split second longer than the shooter had anticipated. But as she watched, the second shot hit its target.
She closed her eyes, but she felt the wet splatter of his blood on her chest. Red droplets fell on her hand.
Grace realized her breathing was quick and shallow all of a sudden. Her head was spinning. Her knees gave way.
"Grace!"
As she heard Peter call her name, she felt a sharp pain in her right shoulder. When she touched it with her hand, her fingers were covered in blood. But she couldn't think anymore. She couldn't keep sitting on her knees. She fell on her back, slowly, as if it was happening in slow motion.
Right before she hit the concrete, Peter reached her. He pulled her head on his lap.
"It's alright, Grace. It's alright. You're safe," he whispered.
She felt him put two gingers against her neck to check her pulse.
"Where's that bloody ambulance?" he yelled.
She heard somebody say something, but she couldn't understand what. It just didn't seem to register.
"They're coming, Grace. Please, breathe slowly and deeply for me. Come on, baby, come on…"
He'd never called her "baby" before, but neither one of them was really paying attention. He just wanted her to be okay, and she was too far gone because of her hyperventilation.
"Move out of the way!"
The paramedics had arrived and began pushing everyone out of the way. Soon enough she was hooked up to a monitor that registered her heartbeat and oxygen saturation.
Peter kept talking to her. He kept saying she'd be alright, and he kept promising he wouldn't let go of her. Just as she had made him promise when she had fallen asleep in his arms.
"You have to go now," one of the paramedics told Boyd.
He reluctantly got onto his feet and took a few steps back. But suddenly the machines began beeping shrilly.
"Heartbeat elevated, she's in ventricle tachycardia! Blood pressure's through the roof!"
Peter didn't think. He just ran back towards Grace and grabbed her hand, using the other to force her to look at him.
"Slowly. Breathe nice and slow. Good, you're doing great. He's gone. Relax, baby. I'm here, nothing's going to happen."
The machines beeping subsided. The paramedics just looked at one another.
"Could you ride with us? She's stable now, she seems to benefit from your presence. We have to move quickly."
"You're bloody sure I'm riding with you! I'd have flashed by batch if you hadn't let me!" he growled, tightening his hold on Grace's hand.
"That I'm certain of," the paramedic said in barely more than a whisper, as he motioned for his partner to get the trolley out and help him get the woman in the back of the ambulance.