All right, guys, we're on the home stretch, here. Only a few more chapters, and this puppy's DONE!
As always, reviews are lovely and much appreciated!
A little personal advertising: In the next few days, I intend to begin publishing pieces on FanFiction's sister site, FictionPress, under the same pen name. Though it is a far cry from the subject of my current writings, I urge you all to give it a peek...
Read, smile, smile again for good measure, and review!
12. Chasing Smoke
"The healthy man does not torture others – generally it is the tortured who turn into torturers." – Carl Gustav Jung
A shadow hung over the office, entirely separate from the dark that had slunk in with the setting of the sun a few hours ago. Computer screens and faintly burning clocks reading 11:13 PM did nothing to combat the malicious umber, for it existed as much in the hearts of the office's few remaining occupants as it did in the office itself. I was composed of equal parts determination to finish their task, doubt that they could, and fear of the consequences that would accompany failure.
Light from the war room played over empty, darkened cubicles, row after row sitting lifeless and abandoned… all except one. The sign on the desk dutifully identified its single occupant to be Special Agent Don Eppes, and yet, lamentably, the man huddled in the office chair, eyes glued to the computer screen, was not Don Eppes.
"…Eppsie and I have other things to discuss."
The screen went blank, and so did Charlie's brain. It was a strangely exciting new feeling, not thinking about anything at all, and he would have enjoyed it, had the reason for his brain short-circuiting not been so grave. He opened his mouth to speak, but with too many things to say and no one to say them too, he simply let his jaw hang open without purpose.
"Charlie?"
Starting, he looked up to see Colby approaching; his vocal cords still in a knot, he simply nodded in greeting. Taking stock of the blank screen, Colby sighed and scratched his head.
"You watched it?"
Another nod answered, and Colby looked down.
"Look, Charlie, we–"
"How could someone do that to another human being?" he interrupted.
Colby shot him a confused look. "The guy's a psychopath, Charlie. He doesn't follow the same rules – moral or otherwise – as the rest of us."
"Don's not a psychopath," he said quietly, revealing the true recipient of his former comment.
Realization dawned in Colby's eyes; he leaned against the desk, crossing his arms and watching Charlie closely. "No, he isn't, which means even if he did kill that woman, he must have had a very good reason for it."
This seemed to console Charlie not at all; Colby decided to pull out the heavy artillery.
"Look, Charlie, when I was on that boat, getting stuck up with needles, I had a job to do. That job was to not give away anything I knew. To accomplish that, I had to stay quiet until you guys came to get me… or until I died. Right now, Don's job is to stay alive, and to do that, he has to do what this guy wants him to do, and say what this guy wants him to say."
Charlie looked up. "What are you saying? That Don didn't kill that woman?"
"I'm just saying that, considering his situation, you shouldn't put too much weight on what he said."
Only a moment of silence passed between them when the elevator rang and out strode David, file in hand.
"You guys are gonna wanna see this," he assured them.
"Why? You got something?" Colby asked as he and Charlie followed David into the war room, where Megan and Liz were already assembled.
"I think I may just have our guy." He triumphantly threw a file onto the desk, which Megan pounced on. "I ran the picture we got off the tape through our database. It turned out this kid. Name's Sean—"
"—Lawson," finished Megan with a pang of realization. "Katherine Lawson's son." Skimming the file, all she could do was nod as it all fell into place. "He's a second year medical student at Stanford. Judging by what he did to Anderson, I'm gonna say he's a pretty good student."
"Third in his class," supplied David with a nod.
"Ooooh, that's gotta bug him," she exclaimed. "A young perfectionist with medical knowledge and schizophrenia. We've got our guy, all right."
"Wait," interrupted Colby, confused. "Schizophrenia?"
"Remember his outburst? He said when he gets frustrated, 'Mr. Weasel' comes to visit. It's not all that surprising, really; a kid loses their parents that young, and you have to wonder. My guess is it developed after he lost his mother; he felt helpless and frustrated, so he imagined up someone who could – or would – do all the things he wanted to do."
"Like avenge his mother's death?" suggested Colby.
"Exactly."
"I checked with his teachers, and his grandparents, who he used to live with," David said. "From what I can tell, he started out the year acting strange, and nobody's seen him in a couple of weeks."
"My only question is, why now?" Colby somehow still looked slightly skeptical. "The kid's had fifteen years to do this. Why the sudden rush?"
"It is that time of year; could be the anniversary of his mom's death set him off," David posed.
"Normally, I'd say yes," agreed Megan. "But six identical murders? He's been planning this for a while. Some other emotional trigger, then?"
"How about your girlfriend being diagnosed with cancer?" Colby pointed out the line in Sean's file, which he had commandeered.
"I'd feel pretty helpless," Megan said.
"Hey, check this out," Liz interrupted suddenly, pointing at the screen of the laptop on which she slaved. "Seven weeks ago, Sean Lawson bought a loft in South Central."
"A second year medical student? Where'd he get that kind of cash?" asked Megan.
"It gets better. The space downstairs used to be a butcher's shop, and get this – there's a basement."
"A big basement with concrete floors, maybe?" suggested Colby, raising his eyebrows.
"I don't know," cautioned David, peering at the time. "If we roll on this place and we're wrong, we won't have enough time to come back and try again."
"If we hit it and we're wrong, we have nothing to try again with anyway," Liz pointed out. "If we don't hit it, then what? We sit here and come up with something better?"
All eyes were on Megan – it was her call. For a single moment, she hesitated, contemplating the options. At last, she turned to face them, delivering the final verdict.
"We roll in five."