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Chapter Three
Peter dreaded the hours of night; he knew he would not be sleeping. The storm that was blanketing the area was so severe that the search for Neal had been postponed until a break occurred or at least daylight arrived.
Certain things were already in place: bolos, alerts and special reports but the on ground search, which Peter feared was necessary to save his friend's life, could not go on in the current weather situation.
In spite of Peter's insistence that it wasn't the case, the Marshals were proceeding as if Neal had fled his radius to escape federal custody. But since Peter had nothing to offer them other than his gut feeling and his knowledge of Neal, they could only follow protocol. If Neal had decided to run, he wouldn't have done so wearing a tracking device. The alert that he was out of his radius had been reported to both Peter and the Marshal's office at just after five in the afternoon and calls to his phone went straight to voicemail without ringing. The weather had been bad all day and by afternoon it was already deteriorating to the point that it was interfering with the satellite signal. The Marshals thought that could be the reason Neal had chosen this particular time to leave but Peter could not understand their reasoning; Neal could just cut the anklet and leave. He wouldn't leave it on and be tracked. Add to the fact that Mozzie hadn't heard from Neal either and it left only one option; Neal had left his radius against his will. Someone had taken him.
The sketchy tracking data cut out completely once the storm had deepened, blocking all signal. The last known location was along highway 106 just off of Interstate 87 in the area between Tuxedo Park and Southfield. They thought he had stopped there because of the storm. There had been three different readings, spaced several minutes apart that were stationary. All other locations had been in progression along the highway. The last signal had come through just before seven, and Marshal's and local law enforcement officers had converged on the location. The storm was severe and darkness was fast approaching. There was nothing at the location; it was just a piece of highway, surrounded by forests on both sides. Peter, fearing that Neal had been tossed out of a moving vehicle, had insisted the marshal's search along the highway. They had found nothing but anything short of a body would have been buried in the snow that was piling up. Even evidence that someone had been there would have been covered beneath the rapidly falling snow.
The marshals would not use all their resources on the premise that Neal was still in the area. They had to take into consideration that he may have continued on to some unknown destination. Still, the search of the area had continued until darkness and worsening conditions had stopped the efforts.
Peter hoped that Neal had continued along the highway, even with whoever had taken him, because it seemed a better scenario than the other one; Neal was somewhere in the wooded areas in a snowstorm. If that was the case, the chances of finding him alive were slim. It was going to be a very long night and even though his house was warm, Peter felt chilled to the bone.
WCWCWCWCWCWCWCWC
Nick began to shiver again just after ten, moving restlessly upon the sofa. Derek took this as an indication that the man's body temperature was still below normal, but he was not unpleased by that. He had been careful to warm the man slowly to avoid strain on the heart, and also careful to warm the man's core before the extremities to reduce the risk of shock. He had kept watch on the wounds in the man's stomach during the process as well. Even though he had seen an increase in the blood seeping from the bandages, it was not at an alarming rate. But Derek had no way of knowing if the man was suffering from internal bleeding. In the man's current state, with so many possible competing issues, it was hard to know what symptoms were representing. His unconscious state could be caused from exhaustion, hypothermia, hypovolemic shock or even the blow to the head he had taken; the bruise across his forehead had worsened over the past hours.
He approached the man, who was now muttering, and found that his skin was no longer cool to the touch. It was quite warm. Another possibility came to mind; infection. He took a look at the stab wounds again. He had cleaned the wounds as well as he could while the man had slept, but they had continued to bleed. There was no discoloration in his abdomen but he did feel a warmness around the wounds that concerned him. The storm was still raging outside; there was no calling for help and no travel possible. He and Nick would be forced to wait it out and hope for an early break in the storm.
"I gotta go." Up until now, the man's words had been unintelligible but now they were more clear. His eyes opened and were again full of panic. "They will be coming for me…." He looked around the room as if expecting to find them already there. His voice, although weak, was insistent. Was it the police he was expecting or the person who had stabbed him? Derek assumed either one might elicit fear from the man.
"You are safe, Nick." The man put a hand on his shoulder firmly, anticipating an effort to rise even though he was sure the man would be unable to accomplish it. He did not want rash movement to encourage any additional bleeding from his wounds. "No one can get you here, rest."
"They thought I was Nick," the man said, almost conspiratorially, the touch apparently calming him, "and they took me, but I wasn't being him, I was being me."
His words told Derek that the man was still confused, possibly delirious with fever. "You weren't being Nick," Derek repeated, "so who were you being?"
"I was being me," the man said again. Derek had thought the man looked young when he had been lying unconscious on the floor but somehow the openness in his face made him look even more so now.
"And you are?" Derek pressed for an answer. The blue eyes had an unnatural shine to them and he was sure the man would be honest in his current state. Pain, fever and delirium did not aid in duplicity.
"I'm Neal," he said.
"So your name is Neal and not Nick?" Was the man just impaired because of his injuries or was he mentally ill?
"Sometimes, it just depends," the man answered, then his face clouded, "Is Peter here?" His voice grew fainter as his energy abandoned him, but he still looked around the room, this time for his rescuer instead of pursuer.
"Not yet," Derek answered, then "Is Peter Nick's partner or Neal's?"
"He's partners with both of them," Neal muttered, eyes drooped heavily now. "He should have been here already…." His voice trailed off and the eyes closed.
Partners with both of them? Derek sighed, perhaps the man was insane. He sounded truthful but nothing he had said had made sense. Derek took the opportunity to switch out the blanket for a lighter sheet. Having worried about his patient's body temperature being too low, now he was concerned in the opposite direction. For the time being Derek gave up on the puzzle of who the man was; hopefully, help, and answers, would arrive when the storm cleared in the morning.