Disclaimer: Yeah... Uh.. I'm going to go ahead and say that's a no.

Author's Note: You can thank newgal for this update... She bugged me until I finally sat down and added it. :) Thanks a million to you guys who show your support; it makes me feel so much better about my writing. Special thanks to those of you who added me to your favorites. :) And thanks to my newest reviewer.

And, yes, this is perhaps the most aptly named chapter so far in this story.

And they always have to mess up at some point.

"I'm holding out for a hero 'til the end of the night, He's gotta be strong, And he's gotta be fast"

-Bonnie Tyler-

"It's not the location," he said, turning his head to look over his shoulder as the screen in the war room finally brought up what he wanted.

Their faces instantly fell, clearly anticipating that he had found the exact location of where the killer was. The agent higher up on the bureau ladder, their missing member's friend, and his brother had ushered him into this room upon hearing his declaration that he had found the location.

Seeing their faces fall and the smallest sliver of hope dim in their eyes, Charlie rushed on to add, "What I mean is that I don't know which one it is," he turned his entire body around this time so that he could look at them as he spoke. "The algorithm turned out three top locations. The only problem is that they all have around the same percent as being the most probable place."

The screen split into three sections, each one showing a different location. The problem Charlie had discovered, as he had gone along and as they could also tell from reading the words, was that the three locations weren't in the same remote area. Roughly there were about twenty five miles in between the first and the third spot.

"Three? Is there anyway that you can narrow those down, Charlie?" Don asked, taking up his usual stance of leaning against the table with his arms folded across his chest.

Charlie had tried that; Amita had helped him refigure the algorithm, trying to change a few variables here and there to see if any notable difference would come up in the numbers. It had been to no avail. Despite their minds both working together, these three locations had continued to stubbornly throw their selves back up at the top.

He shook his head, one curl falling in his eyes, blocking his view and irritating him. Idly, he thought, it might be time for a cut again. They were getting rather long. Charlie cleared his throat and pushed the dark curl away. "No. I tried that. Every time Amita and I reworked the algorithm it continued to throw these three locations out. They have the highest probability as being the place where this guy is. But…"

His fingers tapped out a steady rhythm on the keys of his laptop. The screen faded, only to come back split into just two parts. "But, I believe that it is one of these two buildings."

"And why is that, Professor?"

Charlie turned to the other agent in the room. It was the first time the man had spoken since demanding to know who he was and why he was here when Charlie had first arrived at his brother's cubicle, searching for its missing occupant.

At least his tone was less rough this time. With quick steps he walked to the screen, sweeping his hand out to indicate the numbers, pointing at them and the pictures as he spoke. "Well, these two had slightly higher percents than the other one; eighty seven to eighty two. Both of these have the same, eighty seven. The other one, which I disregarded, was located in the San Pedro Harbor. Far to close to people with all of the busy activity that goes on there. It was an older building and was set further back from the actual Port, but it still seems unlikely."

Charlie pointed to the first one. "This one is an old fishing factory in Wilmington. It's about fifteen miles from Drum Barracks and is set back in the middle of an abandoned, run down yard. Amita did some research on it and no one has owned it for years; it has sat empty for quite some time," he moved on to the next one. "The second one is located in an area off of Machado Lake in Harbor City. It's smaller than the one in Wilmington and is farther from the ocean. But this one is more isolated."

"Which one do you think it is? You got any feeling towards one or the other, Buddy?"

Charlie looked at his brother and then back at the screen. He wanted to do something, to make sure his brother was able to do what he needed to do. His mind knew that Don would be appreciative no matter what, but something in their relationship that had developed over the years always had him trying to go one step further, to please him just that one extra mile. Maybe it was to make up for everything that had happened when they were younger. He didn't exactly know what it was and he couldn't exactly stop it from happening. It just did.

Truth be told, the mathematical prodigy had no idea which one it was. Each one had their own sets of positive and negative factors that detracted and added to their probability. To tell which one he thought was the better one or the one this guy had actually decided to take up residence in was hard. One was more secluded but smaller. This one was much larger and had a better access route to getting anything that this guy would need, but was slightly more receptacle to anyone stumbling along and finding him.

He couldn't just pick one over the other. It wasn't that simple. Nothing in these situations was ever simple. Each of them was ideal and the identical percents showed that. Charlie shook his head and explained what he had rationalized already in his mind.

"Then," Kathryn said slowly, "I suppose we are going to have to go to both of them."

He nodded. That would be the safest way to go. To pick one and then have it turn out wrong and waste even more time would be far too detrimental. Time was of the utmost importance now. As the statistics were saying in his brain, the longer the time ticked by the lower the chances were that any of this guy's victims were still alive got.

"Not necessarily." Charlie watched as his brother grabbed a stray piece of paper off of the table, grabbed a pen, and began writing something, the pen scratching across the sheet furiously.

Finished with whatever he was copying down, his brother took off from the room, changing directions and weaving through the bull pen and the other busy agents. Seeing that Kathryn and the SAC were just as confused as he was, Charlie followed them as they tried to keep up in his brother's wake.

Don's destination found, they came to a halt inside the first part of the interrogation room, where the monitors showed that Colby and David were still inside talking with a rather young man. The Latino man looked tired and harassed, anger simmering beneath the surface. Anger simmered beneath the surfaces of Colby and David too, Charlie noticed.

Charlie watched as David remained seated at the table, forearms against the table aggressively. Colby paced the room, circling back and forth behind the man, doing his best to intimidate. Intimidating he was. The two were asking him a question that had something to do with another man.

He never heard the man's reply. Don slammed into the door, entering the room, and bringing all three heads up to stare at him.

"What the hell is he doing?" Agent Loosle whispered under his breath, muttering a few other words.

What the hell are you doing, Don? Charlie turned back to the screen, it being the device that would allow them to hear the words that would be exchanged.

The man who was not an agent looked up at the newest person in the room, and vehemently stated, "Like I already told these two. I ain't got nothin' else to say."

Don shook his head and gave a tight lipped grin before tossing the piece of paper he had written something on down onto the table. Everyone, in the room and out in the monitor room, watched as it slid across to rest in front of him. "Yeah. I've already heard all your crap, Ricky. You're too scared to say anything else. I'm not asking you to say anything else. Just point to which one it is. And I'm not asking this time."

Ricky, whoever he was, looked long and hard at his brother for a moment. Something must have shown in Don's face because after several long seconds, the man pointed to the what Don wanted, licking his lips and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Satisfied, Charlie watched as Don grabbed the sheet again, ripped it in half and exited the same way he had come. He didn't say a word as he passed by, only pausing long enough to shove the paper in Agent Loosle's hands. Wordless, he left, leaving them still confused as to what had transpired right then.

Charlie and Kathryn both stepped beside the agent, craning their necks to see what was written there. What magic words were on that sheet? There in plain black scrawl were the letters spelling out the address for the old fish factory in Wilmington.

What the hell, indeed. His curls shook as his head moved from side to side. Leave it to Don to be the creative one. The man hadn't talked. He had never uttered a word, and still they had won.

He turned back around, looking out the glass for any sight of his brother. It didn't surprise him when he didn't find him among the people in the bull pen. Agent Loosle was already on his phone, barking out orders for a team to be put together and ordering that a team be ready to go now.

Stepping out of the way as the older agent moved out from the door, Charlie caught Kathryn's gaze, seeing the worry that must be mirrored in his own. If anything should happen to go wrong…

Doing something that he hadn't done in a while, he issued a silent prayer for things to go well tonight and for their side to prevail.

They would certainly need it…

His grip tightened on her arm, pulling her along as she stumbled to keep up with him. He had bound her arms behind her back again and while it was the smart thing to do, it made for a very troublesome way to get her to follow him, being that she couldn't exactly control her equilibrium. Giving her a shot of another drug had seen to waking her up and bringing her back full swing into a level of alertness.

He jerked her back up as her foot caught on something, saving her from falling. Her head stayed bent down, hair falling to curtain her face from his gaze. She hadn't said one more word after divulging the very interesting fact that she was a doctor. A doctor working for the F.B.I. must mean that she was a scientist involved with examining the evidence of a crime. That meant she must have a degree in either chemistry or biology. Perhaps physics, but he was willing to bet that it was one of the two more forensic related fields.

Stopping in front of a door, she tried to pull away. He tightened his grip to a vice, grinning as she let out a small whimper. Perfect she may be, but she was now his way to reach his goal. The door opened with a small amount of coaxing upon his part. This old and abandoned building was drafty and wet, causing the doors and such to rust and stick when attempting to open them. His hands pulled her along as she pathetically tried to resist him. She was far too small to try and stand up against him.

He flicked the switch, eyes narrowing in annoyance as the beams flickered and sputtered. It was almost too dark in here for him to carry out his surgeries and experiments. Almost too dark. There was nothing he could do about it; this building served his purposes quite well. No one could hear the screams that came from below the ground. Shrugging, he turned back around, noticing that he had errantly released the woman.

Her nostrils flared wildly as she sucked in oxygen. It took him a moment to realize that she was fighting the urge to fall and pass out. He cocked his head to one side, and examined her, taking in the wide eyes, pupils dilated, jaw clenched, shoulders shaking. His mind couldn't fathom what was bothering her so much.

His head turned and he looked over his shoulder. That must be what was causing her behavior, but why he still couldn't fathom. Chuckling, he pulled her forward and back to his side, making sure to keep a tight grip so that she couldn't bolt, and said, "Come now. Don't tell me you're frightened."

Together they approached the large metal table in the room. It was a dark color, dark steel, made so by the use over the years and the inexcusableness on his part to keep it polished. Dried red and brown streaks marred the silver, ruining its beauty. They stopped when their stomachs hit the top.

He looked down in satisfaction, the same euphoric thrill running through him as he gazed upon his work. The woman had closed her eyes tightly again, and he hissed, reaching out to grip her chin, forcing her to open them and see. She let out a rather large gasp and shut her mouth quickly, nostrils flaring again.

"What's wrong with it?" He asked, wanting her to tell him how to fix his problem.

Her head shook and he felt his anger rising. Here he was, trying to perfect this inferior human race, and she, a perfect being already, was for some reason on their side. Her chin shot downwards, forcing her head down, as he violently moved it to that position.

"Look and tell me how to fix it," he hissed out, releasing her chin to try and appear nice so that she would help. Perhaps if he showed kindness, she would reciprocate it.

He let his gaze fall back down and looked at the same thing that she was. It was not known on his part that what he was seeing was very different from what her mind was processing. There on his table was a body, a twenty year old college student to be exact. His chest rose in even measures, the ketamine in his body keeping him under the anesthetic's lure. His eyes were what caught both of their attentions and was the source of his question. Open as he held the lids back, they stared sightlessly up at them, the irises still a murky brown color. The chemical dye had only succeeded in irritating the organ, causing the vessels to become pronounced and red; a faint blue, the only hint of the dye, stained the white area with the red inflamed vessels.

"I can't help you," she whispered softly in the dim room, the sound vanishing. She swallowed and then said louder, "I won't help you."

His anger rose and spilled over. With a growl he raised his hand and backhanded her sharply across the face. That sound echoed around the room. Her head snapped to one side and her body followed the movement, sending her crashing into another table and then to the floor.

How dare she refuse to help him? How dare she refuse to tell him what he sought? Where else was he supposed to find the answer to what was going wrong? His mind fumed and raged as he looked down at his life's work. He needed his answer. To be so close…

A noise brought his mind back and he turned rapidly to where it had come from. The woman had regained her bearings, breathing heavily as her body leaned against the table. His eyes followed her hand as she smeared the blood dripping from her nose. Her free hand. How had she done that?

She sniffed and wrinkled her nose, wiping it once more. Her eyes raged with an unbridled fury, her other hand rising to show a thin, rusty razor. The force from his hand had caused her to land back against his surgical implements table. Blood dripped from her fingers. The woman had grabbed the razor behind her back, and used it to cut the rope away, cutting her nails and skin in the process.

Warily he turned to face her. Her green eyes, full of anger and hate, narrowed at his movements, the flickering light from overhead glinting off of the razor as her fingers twisted and turned it; red blood dripped to fall in drops to the floor as every twist of the blade cut her skin.

He shouldn't have moved at all. As soon as he put one foot towards her, she lunged forward, the other hand grabbing something else off of the table. He brought his own hands up in defense, but her fury and drive made her strength far greater than what it should have been and the momentum carried her into him.

The razor slashed left and right, cutting his hand and nicking his face. Quickly he jerked his face back and brought his hand to grab her wrist, forcing the razor away from him and towards her face. It was her turn to hiss as it sliced into the fine features of her chin, and she moved away, retreating for a second and then slamming her other hand into his neck.

He hadn't been prepared for that and he watched in confusion as she backed away. Stunned, he reached up and wrapped his fingers around cold glass. Ketamine. She had grabbed one of his syringes and injected him with the same drug that he had used to subdue all of his victims.

He pulled it out, ignoring the pain when the needle caught on his skin. It wasn't enough to bring him down, but it was enough to make him lightheaded. He looked around for the doctor who was supposed to have been his salvation.

The sound of the door banging against the stone wall caught his attention and he saw the tell tale flash of gold as she flitted around the corner and back up the steps.

He growled. He had offered her a chance to help him in reshaping the human world. To perfect the imperfections in an inferior race. And it was a shame. He couldn't let her get away now. She knew too much. It was a shame. For now…

She had to die…

I've decided that CreepyGuy! is the funnest character to write. His mind is so twisted. Don't forget the other guy is still out there too.

And now we wait for the cavalry to ride. Feels like I should have a trumpet or something. Or is it a bugle?

Anyone have one I can borrow? Hit that little purple button down there if you do... Or you can just hit it anyway. :)