Thanks to all who have reviewed or added this story to their follow list. I appreciate it! As a warning this chapter has some violence and it talks about abuse.

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Two weeks. It had been two full weeks since Rusty and the team had started going out on the streets and there was absolutely no glimpse of this guy. Sure, the streets were slowly becoming safer from the amount of people arrested after soliciting Rusty, but the reason for this entire operation just wasn't being played out. It was stressful for everyone involved, particularly Sharon and Rusty. The team had noticed more tension than usual between them. When questioned, Sharon had tried to play it off saying he was just tired from being on the streets most of the day, but she knew it was more than that. She knew he was remembering abuse situations. He was morose, quit talking to her and spent most of the evening in his bedroom. It was as though this mission was reverting him back to being the, angry fifteen- year- old he was when she first met him.

On top of all that, although their letter writer refused to show up during the police operation, he continued to send letters every two to three days; each new one worse than the previous. The latest, was particularly frightening and varied from the others being almost a page in length and detailing Rusty's death in a graphic, manner. It took every inch of will power to not pull him immediately from the streets after Chief Taylor showed it to her.

Since her evenings were now filled with silence since Rusty kept to his bedroom, she tortured herself, photocopying the letters and bringing them home to read over and over while trying to figure this guy out. What was his personality? Why was he writing these letters? Was he simply a lowlife who was fulfilling a favor for Phillip after a stint in jail? Could he possibly be one of Rusty's mom's dangerous ex-boyfriends? Was this guy an old client of Rusty's? Was there a possibility he could be a hired hit killer just waiting for the perfect time to strike? The thought that scared her the most was the possibility that this man was an officer who was acquainted with the case. It was a horrifying thought but Sharon had worked in FID long enough to know that some cops only chose this field for the power and were just as crooked as the criminals they put away.

Curling up on the couch, Sharon fought sleep as she read the fifteenth letter, forcing her mind to profile this guy. It had been a particularly horrible day and she knew she should be drinking a glass of wine and relaxing but she just couldn't, not after what happened. Closing her eyes she couldn't block out the memory of Rusty rushing into the precinct, his green eyes filled with tears as he yelled that he was done. He wasn't going out there anymore. She had walked towards him to offer him comfort and he had hurled all his hurt and anger at her. She knew he hadn't meant what he said, that she had merely been the target of whatever had triggered him, but the words "You aren't my mother," had cut her to the core.

Leut. Provinsa had offered to talk to him, but she had silently shook her head, walking down the hall to the restroom where she had cried. He was right, she wasn't his mother, although in every way possible she felt like she was. She selfishly wished he would give her up, realize that what she was willing to offer was more than his own mother could or would ever give him. She understood where he was coming from though. It might have been a really crappy childhood, and his mother might have been a horrible woman to him, but it was the only childhood he knew and she suspected there were probably good memories laced in between the bad that kept him hoping she'd come back for him.

Yawning, she laid her head back against the couch and closed her eyes, telling herself she could only rest for a minute. She still needed to focus on reviewing a work report, and hide the letters from Rusty. Her mind traveled briefly to the boy who was still in his room. She had no idea if he would change his mind and participate in the police action tomorrow or if he had reached his limit and was truly done. No matter what though, she wanted to be as supportive and understanding as she could in the morning. Her tired body had other plans though and her one minute mini nap turned into thirty minutes then two hours.

Opening the door to his bedroom, Rusty winced when he realized Sharon was still up. He needed to apologize somehow, tell her how sorry he was about what he said today. He was ashamed by the words that had spewed from his mouth. He really did think of her as a mother figure, he had just had no idea how to inform her that he hadn't meant it. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself towards the living room in the hopes of trying to repair the damage he had done. Hopefully she didn't hate him for what he said. He didn't know wh,y when he could really use her comfort, he snapped at her and told her horrible things he didn't mean.

Completing the rest of his walk- of- shame into the living room, he was surprised to find her asleep on the couch, papers dangling from her hand. Unsure of whether he should wake her up or leave her, he decided to at least cover her up with the blanket she always snuggled with when they were watching movies. Grabbing it from the back of the chair, he walked over gently covering her when he saw that the papers he thought were related to her newest case were actually the handwritten letters.

Anxiety, followed by curiosity, overcame him and he decided he needed to know how bad they were. Gently abstracting them from her hand, he brought them over to the table, quickly flipping through the ones he had read and settled on the newer ones. The first dozen were just like the ones that were written to him. A few short lines threatening Sharon, threatening him, letting them know he was waiting for them and would kill them. The last three however caused the hair on the back of his neck to stand up.

"You'll know my wrath when you see Rusty laying there, split in half from sternum to pelvis…."

"What will Rusty do, dear Sharon, when he finds you lying dead in the gutter?"

Swallowing against the bile he felt creep up his throat, he thought about the last line asking what he would do if she was dead. The thought had crossed his mind a few times once he realized she was being threatened, it was why he had made the deal that she couldn't go with them but once a week, and then she had to stay in the van. Reading the graphic nature of these letters brought back a memory he had hoped to never bring up again. It reminded him of one of his mother's ex-boyfriends, the most dangerous one in his opinion. The man had seemed different at first. He was sweet and supportive. He had started coming over in the evenings talking with them and playing games with him. His mother had changed. She became happy, hadn't gotten high and had actually been a good mother, cooking, and caring for him.

That all changed the day he moved in. The man was perceptive, and could figure out one's greatest shame and fears. He was a master at mind games and he used them over and over to torture him and his mother. After discovering his mother had been kicked out of her house at the age of seventeen for getting pregnant, he began to talk about how difficult it must have been for her. With a snap of his fingers he could bring her into a trance where she would literally re-live the moment. Instead of just having her go through it once, he would have her re-live it over and over, sometimes moving from one bad memory to the next till she was sobbing in the fetal position on the floor. Rusty would be forced to watch in shame as his mother would repeat how she hadn't wanted him, had hoped she would miscarry, how much of a burden she was on him, and how different her life would be without him. The man would then turn to him with a twinkle in his eye saying,

"See Rusty, you aren't wanted. It's your fault she's a messed up drug addict,"

It turned out that this man, Paul, had been a licensed psychotherapist, until several fellow doctors had become suspicious of the amount of patient suicides he had and did an investigation. Paul turned out to be a psychopath who thrived off mentally torturing his patients typically to their death. He had been convicted in court and had gone to prison but escaped. Two month after he had started living with Rusty and his mother, he had been recognized on the streets and the cops had come to Rusty's house to haul him back to jail.

It hadn't mattered much after that though, the damage had been done and Rusty's mother had gone further off the deep end. A few months after that, a new abusive boyfriend had moved in and the rest was history.

Rusty wiped a couple of tears away. These letters could just be mind games, like his mother and himself had endured, or it could be the real deal, but one thing for certain was, he couldn't live without Sharon. He knew the answer to the last question Dr. Joe had asked him. If his mother were to come back tomorrow for him, he would not go with her. She never loved him, she had wanted him dead. She hadn't cared what kind of boyfriend she had brought into the house. She hadn't cared if there was food for him to eat, and then she had left him to fend for himself to be with that ass and to get high.

This thought alone was what made him decide he needed to continue with this police operation. He didn't want to go back out there, he was tired, but if it meant that this guy would be caught, he would continue, for Sharon's sake. He didn't want her to read any more of these horrible letters.

A strangled whimper followed by a cry from the direction of the couch caused him to jump. Rushing over to Sharon he was surprised when she suddenly sat straight up yelling

"No! Rusty!"

"Sharon! Sharon its ok!" he said putting a hand on her arm hoping to wake her from the sleep trance she seemed to be in.

Still not fully present, she threw off the blanket launched herself off the couch and with a sob threw her arms around him squeezing tight.

Unsure of what he should do, he hesitantly wrapped his arms around her and tried his best to comfort her.

"It's just a dream Sharon," he said as she squeezed him tightly before letting him go.

"I'm sorry…." She said her voice shaky as she sank onto the couch clutching her hands together.

"No, I'm sorry," he replied seeing the pain in her eyes and knowing the nightmare she had experienced was probably the result of those letters.

Turning her head and looking at the wall she worked on calming herself down. When she was ready she finally turned to look at him and said,

"You have nothing to be sorry about,"

"Yes, I do. At the precinct when I said that, I didn't mean it. I was just angry because this guy, out on the streets well, he was one of my…." He trailed off embarrassed to be telling her about his past life.

Sharon gave him a sympathetic gaze and waited patiently while he finished,

"He was a regular. He paid me extra for…. certain things and when I saw him, it just brought all that up. I should have known I'd see some people I knew,"

Putting a hand on his shoulder, Sharon smiled at him sadly.

"Anyway, I'm sorry for taking it out on you,"

"I know, and I'm sorry you had to see someone who abused you,"

Silence came between the two of them. Then Rusty said

"Did your nightmare have anything to do with those letters?"

Anxiety flowed through Sharon as her eyes widened and she jumped up looking for the copies she had completely forgotten about.

"They're on the table, I read them," he said softly.

The little bit of color that was left in Sharon's face faded. Putting a hand to her face she gently rubbed her forehead, feeling stupid and irresponsible for falling asleep with them.

"You weren't supposed to read those," she finally said, her voice eerily calm and very low.

"Sharon, those new letters….."

She waited, wondering how freaked out he was going to be.

"They remind me of someone. I need to tell you but, I'd like Dr. Joe here when I do,"