Chapter 3- Cold Realization

"Charlie, for the last time, Pi is not a real word!" Alan exclaimed, taking the letter "i" off the Scrabble board.

"It is, Dad; it's in the dictionary for crying out loud!" Charlie countered, putting it back on. Alan sighed. There was no arguing with the boy.

"Fine. But I'm adding two 'l's, an 'o,' a 'w,' and an 's' onto it. Triple word score, thank you very much."

"Man," Charlie muttered. If there was one thing he couldn't stand, it was losing a simple game like Scrabble to his father.

"So do you think Don will come to dinner tomorrow night, Charlie?" Alan asked, watching Charlie squint at the letters, trying to make a word out of them.

"I don't know, Dad," Charlie said. "He didn't exactly have a pleasant dinner with us tonight."

Just as Alan was about to answer, Don broke into the room, gun in hand. His father rose in surprise. Charlie, however, remained seated, terrified by the look of fear in his older brother's eyes.

"What the hell are you doing, Don?" Alan demanded. "Put that gun away!"

"Are you two alone?" Don said, scanning the room. "Have you had any company? Weird phone calls?"

"We're the only ones here. J-just a few telemarketers," Charlie asked, overcoming his shock. "What's going on?"

"Alright. You're coming with me, Charlie," Don said, holstering his gun.

"What?" Alan said. "Don, you're going to tell me what's going on."

"You're coming too, Dad," Don replied. "I'll explain when we get to the office."

"So you've never seen her before," Don said, holding up a picture of Jenna Sanders. Charlie shook his head.

"How about her?" Don went through all nine female victims. Charlie didn't even recognize one.

"Him?" Don said, showing a picture of Keith Brown. Charlie's eyes widened.

"Yes. He's my student. What does he have to do with these women?" Charlie asked confused.

"He's dead, Charlie. Killed by the same man who killed the women in these pictures."

"Oh," Charlie said, leaning back. He didn't know how to respond. He had lost a student before, but had never had one murdered.

"What can you tell me about him?" Don said gently. Now that he knew his father and brother were safe, he felt much calmer.

"He was a good student. Young, but a quick study. Very perceptive, very friendly, but he didn't have any close friends at the college. He told me he didn't come to college for a social life, though, so he didn't mind. He never got into trouble of any sort. I don't understand. How could he… I mean… " Charlie leaned forward.

Suddenly, Alan stepped forward, placing his hands on his youngest son's shoulders protectively. He looked at Don, a hint of anger in his eyes.

"Enough questions, Don. I want answers. Why are we here?"

Don pulled out the photo taken of Charlie and Keith, and showed it to Alan.

"This photo was taken by an unnamed suspect in my case. It was found with several other pictures, pictures of the other nine victims taken of them before and after their murders. Now do you understand?"

"Oh, my God," Alan said, looking down at Charlie. Charlie stared at the picture of him and Keith, obvious fear in his eyes.

"Do you think-" Alan began.

"I don't know, Dad." Don said, sitting down. "A lot of the victim's pictures were taken with friends. Charlie could be a target, though."

"I remember the guy who took this picture," Charlie said. Don glanced at his brother, and pulled out a sketch of the killer.

"Is this him?" Charlie nodded. The same man who had smiled at him and his student, who had shaken their hands so enthusiastically…

"He said he worked for CalSci Press. He was taking pictures of students and teachers."

"Did he happen to mention a name, Charlie?" Don asked.

"Yes. Raymond Leary. He said that was his name."

"Raymond Leary," Don muttered. He pulled out his cell phone, dialing Terry's number. He turned when he heard a cell phone ring.

"I'm right here, Don," Terry said. She nodded at Charlie and Alan, then turned back to face Don. "The coroner wants to talk to you."

"I haven't had time," Don replied. "You two stay put. Terry, look at the rest of the photos, and tell David to get an APB out for a Raymond Leary. I want to get a good picture of him, so see if you can find anything on him. I'll be back, Dad, Charlie."

Terry looked through the rest of the photos, starting with the picture of Charlie and Keith. They could have easily been mistaken for brothers; it was disturbing.

The next picture was of just Keith, his dead body bloodstained and naked. She quickly went to the next picture, for she could sense Alan was looking as well.

It was a picture of a boy, about twelve years old, holding a fluffy gray cat. His big toothy grin would have made Terry smile, had she not known that the boy was most likely Raymond Leary's target.

"David," she called, noticing the tall, handsome agent passing by. David turned.

"We know who the next victim is. See if you can put a name to this face, after you get the APB out," Terry said. David nodded.

"Will do."

She looked at the last picture. It was of her and Don, at the latest crime scene.

"He might be a maniac, but he's a great photographer," Alan commented, startling her. "He knows how to capture emotions."

Terry smiled at him, then turned to Charlie. Charlie was still looking downward, caught up in grief for his student.

"Charlie, do you think you could help me?" She said, bring him out of his thoughts.

"How so?"

"Well, Don and I have not been able to find a pattern in the victims. Do you think you could help me?"

"Does Don want my help?" Charlie asked cautiously. He did not wish to upset Don any more than he already was.

"He needs your help, Charlie." Charlie closed his eyes for a moment, considering the possibilities.

"I'll help." Terry smiled.

"Thank you so much, Charlie."

"Your victim was treated in the same manner as the other victims. He was restrained, and his stomach, liver, and right and left lung were stabbed. I counted about thirty to forty separate slashes on each thigh. The penis was slashed as well, almost to the point of emasculation. The semen found on his body matches that of the other victims."

"So, it was the exact same style," Don said, looking at the mutilated body.

"There were some differences however, and one was the location of the note."

"Obviously," Don said. "Where did they find it?"

"In the navel," the coroner said, using two fingers to spread the navel. Don could see the stab wound was deep.

"I extracted this from it." The coroner handed him a laminated piece of notebook paper.

"I thought the police had already removed the note," Don said, putting on a pair of gloves.

"They did. This is a second note, placed deeper than the other one." He handed the note to the agent.

"You can follow, but never lead

You think you chase me

When in truth, I hunt you

It won't be long till I turn

And reveal a bleeding face

My game's just beginning

I'll always say hello, goodbye

But you'll bid farewell

When I disappear again"

"I'd better get this to Terry," Don murmured.

"She's the cute psychologist, right?" The coroner asked. Don grinned.

"Yeah."

"What a nice looking chick. Is she looking or-"

"Trust me, she isn't looking," Don said.

"I guess so. Chicks like her always go for the ones with the guns and handcuffs."

"Um, you said there were other differences," Don said in a desperate attempt to change the subject.

"Oh, yeah. I found small cuts all over the kid's chest," he said, pointing to the red cuts. "I found they were surrounded by a thick, sticky clear substance."

"What was it?" Don asked, not sure if he wanted to know.

"Saliva. Very vampiric, if you ask me." Don shuddered as he imagined Raymond Leary sucking on the cuts, enjoying the student's pain.

"I checked out Raymond Leary, Don," Terry said, holding a manila folder, entering the morgue for the second time that day. She handed it to Don.

"Raymond Leary, 25. Eldest of four children. He was raised here in L.A., didn't attend college. He owns a 1994 white Taurus, and that's pretty much all we know about Leary today."

"What do you mean, 'today?'" Don asked, confused. Terry handed him a second folder. Don opened it up to reveal a man whose face was similar to Raymond Leary's, but a bit harsher and older.

"This is Simon Leary. Convicted on two counts of murder, four counts of child molestation."

"Let me guess. He molested all four of his kids," Don said.

"And killed two of them, the two youngest. George, and Diana."

"Diana? Do you think she's the one in the note?" Terry nodded.

"Most definitely. It makes a lot of sense. The victims are raped and killed, just like Diana was. It also would explain his ritualistic sense. I think he's killing them for sacrifices in order to 'free' Diana. Whether that means bringing her back to life or something more spiritual, I don't know."

"And Raymond was molested as well," Don said. "That might explain why he likes to rape both men and women. Where's Simon today? Still in jail, or-"

"Suicide. Hung himself in the jail cell."

"They didn't put him on suicide watch?"

"They didn't think they had to. Even though he told one of the officers he wouldn't let them punish him."

"Great. He's a multiple rapist and murderer who's possibly suicidal. Did you get an address for Raymond Leary?"

"Yeah. I already had a team sent over. They didn't find much. He's not living there, that's for sure. So, what did you get?"

"Here, check this out," Don said as he handed Terry the note. "What do you make of it?"

Terry read over the note before answering Don. He noticed her face was a shade paler than before.

"I don't like this. He's trying to involve you more. He's trying to make this personal not only for him but for you as well. He's turning it into a game, and he's trying to manipulate you. For what reason, I don't know. But it's safe to say that he is threatening you. Why don't you spend the night at the office with your father and Charlie? Just to be safe. Please. For me."

Don stared at her, slightly caught off guard. She had been so protective of him lately.

"Fine."

Charlie skimmed through the data from each crime scene, analyzing it swiftly and silently. He could see why Don didn't want him involved; the pictures were indeed disturbing.

"Oh, my God," Alan said behind him. Startled, Charlie closed the folder.

"Dad-"

"Are they crime scene photos?" Alan asked, his face pale.

"Yeah. They turn my stomach, just looking at them," Charlie admitted.

"Well, don't look at them then," Alan said. All Charlie's life, Alan had done his best to protect Charlie from the world's brutality and sheer cruelty. And even though Charlie was a grown man, Alan couldn't help but try to protect him still.

"No, it's okay. They help. I'm trying to find a pattern in the murders, and sometimes the way the bodies are… uh, positioned helps me. Besides, Don has to look at them."

"Because it's Don's job too."

"He had to look at this kind of stuff when he was in the academy fifteen years ago. He was younger than I am when he first had to deal with this stuff."

"Charlie, you and Don are two different people."

"Are you saying I'm weaker than Don?" Charlie asked, looking down.

"Of course not!" Alan blurted out.

"I'm strong, Dad. I might not like conflict, but that's because I think there's a painless solution to everything. If I ever got into trouble, I could handle it. I don't need Don's or your protection."

"I believe you, Charlie," Alan said. "But sometimes, even if there is a painless solution to a problem, we have to use other ways. Don understands that. And that's why he protects you."

"What are you guys talking about?" Don asked, walking into the room. Charlie attempted to hide the folders.

"Uh, nothing, Don," Charlie said.

"Well, I'm going to find place to sleep. Goodnight, you two," Alan said. Don nodded goodnight, distracted by Charlie's

"Wait. What's that you're looking at?" Don said.

"It's nothing," Charlie said. Don snatched up one of the files, opened it up, and was greeted by the dead face of Angela Ramos.

"What the hell are you doing?" Don demanded angrily.

"I was just analyzing the data," Charlie said. "I was trying to help."

"Yeah, well, I don't want your help." Don grabbed the rest of the folders.

"Don, why don't you want me to help? I could save you a lot of time and work. Are you trying to protect me?"

"No," Don said, shaking his head. He began to walk away. Charlie grabbed his arm, catching the agent of guard. It was not like Charlie to act this way.

"Tell me why you keep pushing me away, Don," Charlie said, his eyes hard.

"I'm not pushing you away," Don countered, shaking off Charlie's hold. "It's just a hard case."

"Bullshit," Charlie snapped. Don turned to look at his little brother. He had never heard Charlie swear like that before, not in a long time.

"You are pushing me away because you think I'm weak-"

"That's not it," Don interrupted.

"I'm not weak, Don. God, why do you people think I'm weak?"

"You're not," Don said, but Charlie was not listening.

"You must think I'm weak because you won't let me look at crime scene photos because you'll think I run away crying, or throw up like I did in the Charm School Boys' case. You think I'm a complete wimp, that I'm-"

"I don't want you involved in the case because every time I look at these pictures I see you!" Don shouted. Charlie stepped back, startled by the outburst.

"When I first investigated Jenna Sanders' death, I kept on seeing you. It made me sick to my stomach. It shook me up, Charlie. I don't know what I'd do if I lost you, Charlie."

"Don…" Charlie's voice trailed off. He had never seen Don so upset.

"And now, this bastard's going after men! You have no idea what it felt like for me to see you in that picture with Keith Brown. Do you know what he does to his victims; this Raymond Leary? He handcuffs them, he stabs them, he rapes them, and then he finally kills them! All that keeps going through my head is 'what if he had decided to go after you than Keith Brown?' I wouldn't be able to handle it, Charlie. I lost Mom; I can't lose you too." Don stared at his little brother, and took a deep breath. Three months of frustration and fear had finally been released; he wished it hadn't been loosed upon Charlie.

"I see," Charlie said slowly, not sure how to respond.

There was a long stretch of silence between the brothers. And for the first time in a long time, it was an uncomfortable silence.

"You should get some sleep, Charlie," Don said, finally in control. Charlie laughed nervously.

I need sleep? He thought to himself.

"Goodnight, Charlie," Don said, leaving his brother alone.

Don didn't sleep at all that night. Guilt had pierced him. He shouldn't have yelled at Charlie; shouldn't have frightened him like that.

"…it's time to step away…" Suddenly, Terry's words came back to him. Maybe it was time. He wasn't doing Charlie or his father any good, frightening both of them by his armed entrance into the Eppes house earlier that day. He wasn't doing much for the case; if anything, he was hindering it. Charlie could have brought invaluable help to his team. He had given the killer a name, for goodness sake; something Don never would have been able to do. He wasn't helping Terry or David either. Terry was intensely worried about him, and David was left in the dark more often than not.

Don closed his eyes, leaning back in his chair. Terry had been right. He was letting this case control him.

"Don." His eyes opened, and saw Terry approaching.

"I'm sorry; were you trying to sleep?" He smiled, taking in her concerned face.

"Not really. What's up?"

"Nothing. I can't sleep either." She seemed like she wanted to talk about something.

"You sure nothing's up, Terry?"

"Well, actually-" Suddenly, Don's cell phone rang. He glanced apologetically at her.

"Excuse me. Eppes. Oh, hell. Already? Okay. We're on our way." Terry shook her head. She knew what that tone in Don's voice meant.

The Notebook Killer had struck again.

"This is the boy in the picture, Don," Terry said, leaning over the small corpse of 12-year-old Tyler Groves.

Don nodded, afraid to speak. He feared that if he spoke, his voice and words would betray his disgust and fatigue.

"We have to stop this, Don," Terry said softly, extracting from the boy's navel a laminated note.

"Twice FUCKED!

Twice KILLED!

Innocence groans,

George is freed…"

"Isn't George the name of one of the murdered Leary children?" David asked, who had finally been briefed by Terry.

"Yeah," she answered. "But it doesn't make sense. George was three, not two."

Don breathed a sigh of relief. It was over. Leary had finished his rampage. Charlie could go home. Quickly, he dialed his brother's cell.

"Charlie Eppes."

"Hey, it's Don. You and Dad can go home." There was a long stretch of silence.

"Okay. Don?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry about last night. You didn't need that."

"It's alright, buddy," Don said genuinely. "I shouldn't have acted like such a jerk. I'll see you and Dad tonight, okay? Bye now."

"Don," David said, catching his partner's attention. "I just found out from LAPD that we have a witness."

"A witness?" Don repeated, stunned. "Who?"

"The boy's father."

"Mr. Groves, tell us what happened," Don began, his voice gentle. "Take your time."

Groves took a deep breath. Then he proceeded to tell his horrible tale.

"I had just come home from a walk in the park. I always go for a walk on Thursday evenings. Ty… Tyler was usually home from school by then too, and we would have dinner together. However, the house was completely dark when I came in, so I assumed either Tyler was asleep, or he wasn't home yet. And then I heard… noises."

"What kind of noises, Mr. Groves."

"Muffled sobs. From Tyler's bedroom. I thought he was really upset about something, so I came in. I… I saw him on the bed. He was naked, gagged, and his wrists were handcuffed to the bedposts. But just as I stepped into the room, a man appeared from behind the door with a gun."

"He had a gun, Mr. Groves?" Terry asked. It confirmed her theory of how he was able to subdue his victims so quickly.

"Yes. He told me to sit down on a kitchen chair he had brought into the room or he would shoot both my son and me. So I obeyed. He tied me to it and gagged me as well. And that's when he started calling me dad."

"He called you 'Dad?'" Terry asked. Mr. Groves nodded.

"And he started calling Tyler 'little brother.'" He stopped, his face growing a shade paler.

"Mr. Groves please continue. Everything you tell us brings us closer to catching this guy," Terry said.

"He got on to the bed with Tyler. He… he… he started… touching him. Petting him. He touched my boy and made him cry… oh, God…" Mr. Groves broke down into tears, sobs racking his body.

"I'm alright, I'm alright," Mr. Groves said, for Terry had risen in concern. "I can do this. I can do this. After he was done, he began to… well, you know. The whole time he was screaming 'I want you, Daddy; I want you! I want you to kill me, Daddy; kill me!' Then, he began to stab my son. Tyler was very brave. He didn't cry out anymore; he stopped crying. He just gasped as that man stabbed him again and again. When… when he realized Tyler was… when Tyler was gone, he went up to me. He looked into my eyes and said 'Are you happy, Daddy? Little Diana is dead and George is dying. You killed them. You— he swore then— 'em and you killed 'em. Aren't you happy?' Then he dialed 911, asked for someone and left." Silence filled the room, thick with horror and disgust.

"One last question," Terry said after several long moments. She took out the picture of Raymond Leary. "Is this the man, Mr. Groves?"

Mr. Groves nodded, too horrified to speak. Terry could see this obvious terror and pain in his eyes. That face would haunt him for the rest of his life.

Terry walked over to Don, who stood silently.

"Well, it confirms my theory about why he kills. Don, he only needs one more victim. And he's escalated. He's trying to involve his father now. We need to find Leary now. Don, are you listening?"

"Mr. Groves?" Don asked quietly, speaking for the first time since the questioning had begun.

"Yes?" Mr. Groves said, his voice suddenly weary.

"When he dialed 911, who did he ask for?"

"I'm not sure. It was a strange name like the ginger ale. You know, Schweppes?" Don's eyes widened.

"Mr. Groves, do you think it could have been Eppes?" He asked, his heart skipping a beat.

"That's what it was! Yes. He asked for Eppes, Dr. Charles Eppes."

"Charles?" Don repeated. Suddenly, his insides went cold with fear.

"Yes, I remember now. Now can you please leave my house?"

"Yes. Sorry about that, Mr. Groves," Terry said quickly, for she too had jumped to the same conclusion as Don had.

"Oh, my God." He had been right. If only he had followed his initial instincts… Charlie was Leary's final target. And if Leary continued to escalate as Terry predicted, not only would he kidnap Alan Eppes as well, but he would also kill him!

Don was moving, no longer thinking. He needed to get to his brother and father, before Leary did. He would not let this monster destroy his family.

"Don, stop," Terry said behind him "Don, we need to call for backup. We need to wait for back-"

"I'm not waiting, Terry!" Don snapped, exiting the Groves' house. "My family needs me."

"Don, wait!" Terry cried, but it was too late. Don jumped into the car, and pulled onto the rode, driving like a lunatic.

Chapter 4, Torment, should be up in a few days. Thanks for reading!