"What is, the fact that this guy's been watching her…them…for several months, or the fact that Miami's best criminalists didn't notice?" It wasn't clear whether Calleigh was referring to their failure to notice the relationship blooming under their noses, or Ryan and Ben's failure to realize that they were being watched.
Eric picked up a tissue off of the table and read the card aloud: "June 7th. Someone hasn't been taking her antihistamines." He looked up at Calleigh, lines of worry etched across his face. He then began the lengthy task of taking the pictures down off of the walls. It was a minute or two before he realized what he was looking at.
"Cal…Calleigh, I think you should see this." He called out in a weak voice.
"Yes?" She came into the living room from the bedroom where she had been documenting the items Fulton had "borrowed" from Benny.
"He labels the pictures." Eric held up a shot of Ben getting opening the door to her car and read out the caption Fulton had written on the back in blue marker: "It seems like only yesterday Scott drove her to the DMV to get her license."
Calleigh and Eric exchanged a meaningful glance, and started pulling more pictures down from the walls.
"Celebrating her eighteenth birthday."
"Can't sleep on May 4th. Worried about exams?"
"My girl, late for her first day of work."
"Calleigh." Eric's voice was hard and even, but with an unmistakeable tone of alarm. She crossed the room to look at the picture he held in his hands. Ryan and Benny were sitting on a towel at the beach, a picnic set out before them. They were locked in a passionate embrace, their arms wrapped around one another, kissing as if it was the only thing to do. Eric turned the picture over to show Calleigh the written inscription in Fulton's recognizable writing:
"He'll regret the day I get him alone."
> > > > >
"Could you please describe your relationship with one Benjamin Wallace?" Stetler looked straight ahead at Ryan, the coolness of his voice betrayed by the hatred in his eyes. He had it in for all of them.
"It's a good one." Said Ryan, trying hard to stay calm. Don't give him the satisfaction of upsetting you.
"Good? As, what? Co-workers? Friends?" Stetler raised a malicious eyebrow. "Lovers?"
Ryan's face burned hot. They all know. They all know and they're all laughing. Nonetheless, he kept his voice even as he replied. "We date." Keep it simple. Don't say any more than you need to.
"Do you know a…" Stetler shuffled through his papers. "Marjorie Black?"
Why does that name ring a bell? Oh yeah…
"Uh, she lives down the hall from me." What does Marjorie have to do with this?
Stetler nodded thoughtfully. "She said that this morning she saw Ms. Wallace leaving your apartment around 5:45, and she seemed," He looked at his papers. "quote, 'very upset and distraught'. Could you explain that?"
Ryan swallowed. He had done his time on patrol. He knew where this was going. "Ben--Ms. Wallace is OCD. She was upset because she was having an attack." Short and sweet. Short and sweet.
Stetler looked at him sceptically. "But you can see how it looks when your, ahem, lover, runs out of your apartment near tears, and an hour later, no one can find her."
Ryan counted back from ten before he responded, in a shaky tone, "Am I being accused of something here?"
Stetler's face reflected how taken aback he was. "I didn't say that, Wolfe. Guilty conscience?"
"I'm just wondering what I'm doing here, getting interrogated like a criminal, when Benny's out there somewhere, and I could be helping to find her!" He willed the tears from spilling out of his eyes. He stood up and his chair threatened to fall back at the sudden movement. There was an intense moment as he glared at Stetler, fuming, and then:
"Sit down, Wolfe, no one's accusing you of anything."
"It doesn't feel that way."
"Why don't you just give me the details as to your relationship with Ms. Wallace, and then we can both be out of here." His tone was coated with malevolence and wicked intent.
Ryan sighed. "We've been dating for about six months now. And in answer to your next question, we didn't tell anyone at work because we didn't want to give them any reason to doubt our professionalism."
Stetler frowned in that way he had that said, I've got you now. You're caught. "Why would they doubt your professionalism?"
Ryan bit his lip anxiously and looked at the clock. She's been gone almost eleven hours. "We're the youngest employees at the lab, and I replaced--" He cut himself off. Don't go there.
"Sorry, I didn't get that. Could you please repeat that?" Stetler knew what he meant, but he was going to make good and sure he had recorded on the obnoxious tape he set on the table.
"CSI Speedle. I replaced Speedle and I know how unpopular that makes me." It felt so good to say it aloud. The past few years of constant anxiety, of guilt and worry, melted away in that moment that he voiced his pain out loud.
"Other CSI's have made you feel uncomfortable at work?" Stetler had found a thread, and by God, he was going to run with it.
"No, this is a great work environment. But the guy who replaces everyone's dead best friend isn't exactly on your Christmas card list. And Benny is only twenty-one. There are already a lot of reasons to doubt us, without everyone knowing that we're…" He exhaled loudly. "Involved."
Stetler mulled it over as he wrote down a few things in the manila folder in front of him.
"Well, you're both effective criminalists; the relationship doesn't seem to have effected your work in any way. However, I'm going to recommend that you get taken off of her case. Bias, you know."
Neither of them spoke, and then, having been assumedly dismissed, Ryan walked away. Like hell I'm not going to help out.
"And, Wolfe," called out Stetler as Ryan opened the door. "In the best interest of both of your careers, I would suggest you end the relationship if you find her."
Ryan just looked at him for a moment, and then, almost inaudibly:
"Not if. When we find her."
> > > > >
Just another couple feet. Should I go for the trachea? No, I won't manage a kick that high as long as I'm sitting down. Groin? If he lets me in close enough. Shin, maybe.
Benny was coldly calculating the best move to make for when her abductor finally reached her. She was only vaguely aware of his typical villain monologue as he approached the chair to which she was -- somewhat ineffectively -- restrained. Someone's seen way too many action films.
"You know, Ben, you're really lucky to have a guy like me. Even when you really tried my patience, I was always there for you. And I know we can work this out, if you just give me the damn opportunity!" Benny gasped as he reached into his pocket. I'm not ready to defend myself. But surprisingly, he drew a cell phone.
When did he get my cell phone?
"I hope you don't mind that I borrowed it. You were out cold at the time--" He laughed. "So I couldn't exactly ask." He punched two keys and held the phone to Ben's face. Had she not seen, in that split second as the phone approached her face, the name on the screen, she would not have known who would pick up.
> > > > >
Ryan walked into the living room to process with Calleigh and Eric and got the immediate impression that they had been talking about him. They looked up in alarm as he entered, their cameras poised in the air."Ryan. I…I didn't think you'd come." Breathed Calleigh.
He looked from Calleigh, to Eric, and back to Calleigh, suspicion reigning. "Yeah, I was told not to participate but…I can't just stand by and watch. Find anything that might lead us to where she's being held?" He tried to look at the case objectively, pretended he didn't know the victim. But the pictures around the room reminded him otherwise. Benny's slate-blue eyes, her deep brown curls, her adorable dimples…she'll never be just another victim.
Eric regained his composure and began filling Ryan in on the details of Neil Fulton's home. He didn't keep a lot of furniture, not a lot of material possessions…the lack of food in the cupboards led them to believe that he wasn't much of a cook, and mostly ate at restaurants and fast-food joints. The only thing he seemed to care about was Benny. Following her, watching her, analyzing the details of her life…
"And, uh, Ryan, there's some stuff here about you." Said Eric, unsure of how to break the news.
"Yeah, I expect there would be." Ryan was unable to make contact with his co-workers.
"Ryan, why wouldn't you tell us that you two were involved? You could be crucial in finding her." Calleigh's expression was one of pure concern. It was clear that she was not judging Ryan's relationship with Ben; she was worried that they had overlooked vital evidence.
Ryan bowed his head. I never thought things would go this way. "I…we thought it would be better if we were…discreet." Without making eye contact with either one of his coworkers, he picked up his camera and continued to take pictures of the photographs Fulton had taken. Ryan and Benny jogging together at the beach. Ryan picking Benny up from her apartment a few months back. The memories flooded back to him with each picture he took.
She needs to be OK. I need her to be OK.
He picked up his kit and headed into the bedroom, but at that moment, his cell phone rang. Instinctively, he checked the caller ID, and it took a moment for him to appreciate what he saw on the micro screen: Benny's cell.
> > > > >
One ring. Two rings. Damn it, Ryan, pick up the phone! Three rings.
Click. "H-Hello?" Ryan's voice sounded like it was a million miles away. For the barriers that stood between them, he might as well have been.
"Ryan. His name is Fulton. Neil Fulton. He's got me in some sort of storage space. He hasn't given any ransom dem--" Benny's voice was cut off mid-sentence as Fulton pulled the phone away. He had been holding it up to her ear, hoping to increase the sense of power and control he was having. He loved knowing that he was causing this riot, this insanity, this incredible fear. He had seen Ryan and Benny together numerous times, and now he wanted to speak to the ass himself. The guy who had ruined everything.
"Benny! Ben!" Ryan was practically shrieking into the phone now, his voice coming out in near-sobs. When she had cut out, he had instantly feared the worst. Torture? Rape? Murder? He barely dared to wonder.
"Ryan Wolfe. A pleasure to finally speak to you." Fulton's voice was calm, solid. Cold. Almost completely devoid of any emotion, but for the underlying tone of malice. Pure, unadulterated hatred.
Ryan was quick to jump at the opportunity to learn about Benny's abductor. "What do you want? Money?" He actually wondered if it would be worth the time to ask him where she was being held.
Fulton laughed. He actually laughed into the phone, genuinely humoured by the situation. "Oh no, money is no good to me. Not where I'm going. Finally a vacation Benny and I can enjoy together. Say goodbye, Ryan."
"Wait!"
"No goodbye? You'll dearly regret that."
And then the line went dead.
> > > > >
Ryan collapsed onto the chair behind him. He stared ahead blankly. It's all over. He's actually going to kill her. He didn't speak for a long time, and was only dimly aware that Eric and Calleigh were around him, asking him questions frantically, trying desperately to get his attention. He looked at them in vague interest, and felt a quiet calm fall over him.
How nice it must be not to have been a part of that conversation.
Eric slapped him harshly across the back of his head. "Wolfe! Who was that! Where is she? Wolfe!" He was becoming increasingly angry. Just like Wolfe to break down at a crucial point in his girlfriend's case.
Calleigh was taking a more compassionate approach. She knelt in front of Ryan, and in a calm, soothing tone, gently urged him to fill them in, her hand softly stroking his arm.
"Ryan, you have to tell us what she said. Ryan, are you listening?"
It was like he was watching a movie. He was in a daze and the world was spinning around him. And they were running out of time.
Calleigh and Eric were still calling to him, trying to get him to open up, when it all came rushing back to him. It struck him hard in the face, and he found himself struggling to breathe.
"She's in a storage space. I heard humming in the background." He lifted himself from the chair, and moved quickly across the room to the front door. "Industrial district, maybe." He opened the front door to step outside.
"Ryan! Where are you going?" Calleigh's expression was flabbergasted, to say the least.
"I have to find her. Now."
> > > > >
Benny could hear Ryan yelling through the phone as Fulton made to hang up.
"No goodbye? You'll dearly regret that." Maybe it was his tone, the finality of it, the sheer, cold hardness of it, but for the first time, Benny was filled with fear for her life. She had never been in a life-or-death situation before, and with Fulton's last words as he hung up the phone, she feared for the first time that she was going to die at the age of twenty-one. The life she had had did not flash through her eyes; rather it was the life she would not have the opportunity to have that haunted her in those moments.
I'll never get married. Have children. Never get my Ph.D. Never run a marathon. Her eyes were welling up. Never travel Europe. Never win a Nobel Prize.
Fulton was slowly closing in on her, his eyes locked on hers. The look of commitment on his face sent a chill up her spine. He was moving in for the kill. From his jacket he drew the shank he had used to subdue her outside of her apartment building that morning.
I'm dead. I'm dead. I'm going to die.
> > > > >
"Mr. Wolfe." For all the panic and insanity in his immediate environment, you had to love that Horatio sounded as cool and collected as ever. Serious, as always, maybe even concerned. But never afraid.
Everything's going to be OK.
"Yeah, I'm cruising around the industrial district. Got a call from Ben and Fulton. She said he's keeping her in a storage space. I heard humming in the background. Like power lines, maybe." Ryan's voice was shaky and barely audible over the sound of the siren in his Hummer as he sped down the street.
"Alright, I'll get Dan to compile a map marking the storage spaces in the industrial district." Said Horatio as he walked down the hallway of headquarters. Dan Cooper was sitting at his desk, staring at a series of computer monitors, analyzing and comparing video footage.
"OK call me when you know anything." Ryan's desperation bled into his voice.
"Will do."
"And Horatio?"
"Yes?"
"Hurry."
> > > > >
Never go bungee-jumping. Never go on a blind date. Never write a cookbook.
Fulton's eyes were set. This was it. He was committed to this plan; she was his for the taking.
Benny had taken courses on forensic psychology. She was a nerd through and through and genuinely enjoyed reading. So she had learned -- on more than one occasion -- of the theory of "Dead Man's Resolve". Most commonly seen in soldiers as they run to their deaths in a battle at which they are grossly outnumbered, the theory indicated that, when faced with death, many humans will give up and temporarily forget their mortality. They indulge in coup de grace. They let go and go down fighting. However, as this phenomenon occurred to Benjamin Wallace, she did not realize that she was further perpetuating this theory, further proving it true. All she knew was that there was no chance in hell she was going to die without a resistance.
This guy is leaving here with more than a broken nose.
Fulton was only a foot away now, the shank held out before him. First, Ben tipped the chair back onto its two hind legs, to facilitate the kick she accurately aimed to his forearm. The inside of her foot collided with his wrist with force unanticipated by her attacker. Out of pure shock, perhaps, Fulton dropped the shank, and it flew several feet through the air before hitting the ground and sliding across the concrete floor.
Benny did not even permit herself the luxury of thought as she made her next move. She was in the zone, fighting for her life, though she had no real hopes for survival.
As Fulton instinctively leaned down slightly in the split second after she had kicked the knife from his hand, she gauged the distance and aimed another kick -- this one leading with the toe -- to his groin. He doubled over, screaming in agony. She had never kicked that hard in her life. And she had been right on with her aim.
Fulton was on his knees now, tears streaming down his face, his complexion similar to that of a ripened tomato. Benny, a trained fighter, seized the opportunity. In the smallest fraction of a second, she brought up her left leg, in a curved motion, and smashed her heel into his jaw. Almost instantly, blood spurted from his mouth and onto Benny's knees. He spat out a few teeth, spurting red all around him.
Painfully injured, though not lethally, Fulton lay on the ground sobbing. But Benny was no fool; she knew that it was only a matter of a few minutes -- at most -- before he recovered and took her life. She couldn't kill him, not restrained as she was, but the dental bills she had caused him just might do the trick.
The entire exchange took less than five seconds.